Part Five: The Tale of Peldor and Baron
They travelled west for the remainder of that day, leaving the region's hard paved roads behind and disappearing into fog-cloaked lands where most travellers did not venture. The ground became more uneven as they continued and the foliage became denser. Trees of many descriptions rose from the fog, pines and firs and cypress trees that crowned the surrounding hills and loomed against the dense sky, and the land occasionally broke into gullies rich with life. Every once in a while animals would cross their path, wild creatures that either ignored them wholly or gave them only a cursory look before disappearing once again into the mist. Once, Ravena spotted movement in the distance, and they hid in deep foliage as a tribe of imps passed by, twenty or so stocky creatures garbed in green and white. Master Greylin insisted that the scattered tribes of imps that inhabited these regions were mostly harmless and usually as scared of humans as humans were of them—it was only the races that dwelt in the now-sealed Underworld and the far north that were dangerous or malicious—but Taurin was not eager to test the extent of his teacher's lore.
Close to evening, the brush gave way, and the two travellers found themselves looking over a boggy expanse at whose end lay the beginning of a dense forest. Tendrils of fog rose from the swampy ground ahead of them, thick streams of mist that crept across the soft earth like a body of water before rising to join the grey horizon.
"It's very foggy," remarked Taurin, as he lay down to rest against the roots of a towering tree, his legs sinking deep into the carpet of brown and yellow leaves that had gathered over the prior months, "almost as if the sun never shines here."
"It rarely does." Ravena's voice was remote, as if she her thoughts were far away. Turning towards her, Taurin saw that her eyes also bore a distant look. "The lands to Peldor's west are like this for most of the year. The sun only shines in summer, and farther to the northwest, not even then. They call those lands the Mist-heath. There aren't many trees, just weeds and shrubs and a lot of fog, but there aren't many people, either. Some of the storytellers in Katheton say there's a very old village somewhere beyond the Mist-heath, on the other side of the caves and tunnels that run through the Everchill Range. They say there's a valley there, where the mist is thickest." She shook her head. "Even the people who tell these stories don't know what the village is called. Nobody's been there in a very long time, and the people of the village no longer speak the same language as other lands. We just call it Mist."
"How do you know so much?" Ravena broke off her reverie and looked at him. Taurin shrugged. "I mean, about the world, about the lands around Peldor."
"My parents were pretty important people in Katheton," Ravena replied at last. She hesitated for a small moment, as if collecting her thoughts, and then continued. "My father came from outside of these lands before I was born, and he brought a lot of money with him. He seemed to think that it was important that I was taught about geography and language and astrology, those sort of things." She gave a small laugh. "And I ended up a street child, at least for a few weeks. So I guess all my education didn't do me much good."
"What was it like, being taught all of that?" Master Greylin taught the children in Bellguard, and although there was nobody to compare him against, Taurin had always believed he did it very well. All the same, children had many duties, and time set aside for teaching was always limited. Greylin seemed to go out of his way to make interesting stories boring and to talk as little about heroes and wars as possible, but Taurin had still always liked history. "Did you cover many old stories, history about battles and prophecies and things like that?"
Ravena nodded. "A fair bit. Obviously I don't know all of them, because I'm still being taught. Mostly I know stories about the Federation and the land of Peldor, but also some of the larger tales like the one about King Cecil and Zemus, and the stories about King Peldor's life and his battles against the Seven Crimson Sorcerers. Also, a bit about the end of the Shadow Years and the founding of Mysidia as the first city, at least of the cities that remain today."
"Can you tell me about King Peldor?" Everyone knew the king's name—it was the most famous in the city's storied history—but some of his deeds were not so well known. The story of King Cecil was more easily recounted, a single great adventure set over a span of months whereas Peldor's journeys and achievements spanned many years. Cecil's story also had a much happier ending.
"I can. Not all of his journeys, because there are too many—at least for one night. But I can tell you a bit. When Cecil came back from his journey to the Red Moon and was made king, the world hoped for a long peace. And for a while there was peace …"
And so she began her story, telling of the birth of Peldor Harvey in a time of peace and plenty, when the age of kingdoms was growing old but still had countless years left to run and it seemed as though the harmony brought about by the fall of the lunar mage Zemus would last forever. He was born to King Cecil and Queen Rosa, who had fought Zemus to secure the world's future, and in his veins flowed not only the blood of heroes but the Blood of the Moon. Cecil had been the son of a great lord among the Lunarians, the people who inhabited the Red Moon and whose race predated the races of the earth. This mighty lineage continued with Peldor.
Peldor was born in Cecil's seventh year as ruler of Baron, and was younger than his sister Laurelia by three years. Even from his earliest days, he approached the idea of being king with reluctance. His talents lay with the art of healing, and so did his interests. He refused to learn how to wield a sword, brushing off his father's protests and maintaining that his place in the world was to save life, not to take it. Eventually, the stress that went with being heir to the throne of Baron proved too much, and shortly after his fifteenth birthday Peldor left home, escaping from his regal chambers in the dead of night and disappearing from all knowledge. Search parties were sent forth but could not find him; the royal guard patrolled the surrounding countryside but learnt nothing of his whereabouts.
In fact, Peldor had left Baron. He changed his name, his clothes, even the colour of his hair. Calling himself Jarel Arment, he began a journey across foreign lands and eventually arrived in Toroia, where the art of healing was experiencing a renaissance. The man who now called himself Jarel became apprentice to the famed healer Cynta Crestlem, and was the first male to become a Toroian healer in more than a century. Years passed, and Peldor grew to manhood. He became a famed healer and a trusted friend of the governing Circle of Clerics. He also caught the eye of a young woman named Hella Fiodel, the youngest daughter of Toroia's High Cleric and accounted a great beauty.
Back in Baron, King Cecil had fallen gravely ill. One morning, in his fifty-second year, he called his councillors to his side and confided that his illness was terminal. With proper care and the right medication, he might last another year—perhaps two. However, he had no wish to lie idly in bed, watching his days slip away and waiting for death to claim him. He vowed that he would climb Mount Ordeals once again, and at its summit he would relinquish his spirit and pass from the world of mortals. He would also set the Sword of Legend back into its shrine, awaiting the next man or woman who would claim the mantle of Paladin. Before he died, he wished to see his son one last time. Scouts went through the lands searching for Peldor, but again they could not find him. Word of the king's illness had not yet spread beyond the walls of Baron Castle, so Peldor himself had no reason to search out his father.
When the scouts returned with no word of the prince, Cecil announced his final journey to the people of Baron. He also decreed that a circle of regents would govern until Peldor was found; if the prince did not return to Baron within seven years, then a new king would be chosen. There was much mourning in Baron as the people realised that the passing of their beloved king was close at hand. Nevertheless, Cecil undertook his journey, accompanied by ten soldiers whose duty was to bear his body from the mountain top once his life had passed away. The great king's final odyssey was completed successfully, and legend holds that a glorious blaze that could be seen across half the world emanated from atop Mount Ordeals as Cecil Harvey gave back his life.
Word of the king's passing reached Toroia, and the man who called himself Jarel was grieved to hear of the death of his father, no matter how triumphant his end. He vowed that one day he would visit the site of Cecil's departure from the world of mortals. He also reaffirmed that he would never return to Baron; the city could choose a new king. It was later that year that he proposed to Hella, and she accepted. They arranged for their wedding to be held on the third Fullmoon Day the following year.
The wedding of Jarel Arment and Hella Fiodel was to be one of the high points of Toroia's calendar. But, early that year, tragedy struck. Jarel and Hella were out on a riding expedition when a figure decked in black armour emerged from the undergrowth and struck their chocobos down with deadly crossbow bolts. He then came at them with his sword and stabbed Hella. Jarel tried his utmost to fend off the attacker, but without a weapon he was helpless. The man in black armour brushed him aside and continued to stab his fiancé. He then came for Jarel, who was saved only by the arrival of a patrol of Toroia's soldiers. The figure retreated, leaving Jarel looking helplessly at the mortally wounded figure of Hella. The soldiers helped him bear her back to Toroia, where he watched her life slip away, his powers of healing unable to save her or even ease her pain.
He vowed then, as he watched her pass from the world, that he would find her killer and avenge her death, regardless of how long it took, no matter the cost to himself. He abandoned the arts of healing, and dedicated every waking hour of his life to becoming a master swordsman. Grief lent strength to his resolve, and within four years he could best any swordsman or swordswoman in Toroia. During his long road to mastery, he had cultivated a network of scouts to determine who the man in black armour was, and to locate him. After years of fruitless search and countless false leads, one of the scouts returned with news: the man was an assassin known simply as Onyx, and he was last seen in Fabul.
Two hours after receiving the news, Peldor left Toroia and began a long journey towards Fabul. By the time of his arrival, Onyx had departed, but Peldor was able to learn his next destination. Across the world he tracked his quarry, the months slipping by with no result. Eventually, he caught Onyx in Mysidia, and they fought to the death. Peldor was almost slain by Onyx's first blow, a severe slash to the torso, leaving a wound that would never fully heal. But he fought on, his grief and determination lending him endurance he had never before possessed. He bested Onyx with a thrust to the chest, a blow that clove through the assassin's dark armour and broke Peldor's sword in two.
As the assassin lay dying, he revealed that he had been sent to kill Jarel Arment—who was really Peldor, heir to the throne of Baron. His services had been bought by the Crimson Sorcerers—the seven regents who governed Baron in the absence of a king, and who sought to cement their regime by slaying the heir to the throne. When Onyx had failed to slay Peldor, he had earned the ire of the Crimson Sorcerers. They had sent agents to try and kill him, but he overcame them. He had considered extracting revenge on the mages, but they were too powerful, both in sorcery and influence. If Peldor truly wishes to avenge Hella's death, then he must return to Baron and slay the Crimson Sorcerers. The only weapon capable of overcoming their dark arts was the Sword of Legend, which once again rested atop Mount Ordeals, to Mysidia's east. Then Onyx died, but Peldor's quest continued.
He made the perilous journey to the summit of Mount Ordeals, and entered the Shrine of Paladins. His father's spirit came to him, then, and told him that in order to become the next holy warrior, he must overcome his past. Peldor then saw the consequences of every decision he had made in his life, every remote connection between his choices and their effects. He was shown how his desire to be a healer had left Baron exposed to the cruel reign of the Crimson Sorcerers and how his presence in Toroia had led to the death of Hella. Peldor cried out for the torture to stop, but the story of his life went on. Then, when he thought it was all over, his reflection emerged from the crystal walls and attacked him. It morphed into the form of Jarel Arment, but his curative powers had been transformed into powers of death. Whenever it gestured as if to cast a spell of healing, Peldor felt pain lace across his body. It became too much, and he collapsed into blackness.
When he finally awoke, he had been reborn as a Paladin.
Peldor returned to Baron with Legend in his hand. It was the seventh year of the Crimson Sorcerers' rule, and few people now expected to ever see the heir return. When Peldor strode up to the castle gates and challenged the mages to do battle, the news spread like a firestorm. Before the sun set that day, there were rallies held at almost every plaza in the city demanding that the mages vacate the castle. The sorcerers made no response to their demands, hidden safely behind the castle's mighty walls. Several favoured using the royal guards to drive Peldor from the city, but the leader of the mages—a cruel but shrewd man called Jafax Isenstor—determined that such an act would incite riots, and perhaps even cause the soldiers to turn against the mages. It was much wiser to flee Baron, and use the connections they had made while in power to seize influence in other lands and work to build a new empire. Their control of Baron had also given them access to ancient tomes revealing black magics thought lost to the world. With power like that, they would have little difficulty rising to prominence in other kingdoms. He promised them that they would one day return to Baron, and he would make it his life's duty to vanquish Peldor Harvey.
As the next day dawned, Peldor was still standing before the gates to the castle. He was now backed by a formidable army of townspeople and even soldiers. Before midmorning, the gates to the castle swung open, and the head of the royal guard declared that the Crimson Sorcerers had disappeared during the night. He swore fealty to Peldor and welcomed him back home. Peldor took the throne ten days later, and ordained that Baron was at war with the Crimson Sorcerers; he would scour the land searching for them, and he would destroy them.
Ravena then told what she could of the following two decades, years so rich with history that she was forced to be very brief. Still, Taurin heard enough to satisfy his curiosity. He heard about war waged on foreign shores and on the plains surrounding Baron and even in the sky. He heard about epic adventures that Peldor himself undertook, spending as much time away from Baron as on its throne, hunting his nemeses, and he heard about the Crimson Sorcerers' retreat to the Underworld to forge their empire anew.
The part of the story Ravena remembered most clearly was when Peldor sneaked into a windowless stone tower held by the Crimson Sorcerers, hearing that it stored a mighty treasure. He was searching for a talisman to help vanquish his foes. Instead, he found Alena Rasslehelm, the stunning daughter of the world's wealthiest merchant. The Crimson Sorcerers had been holding her for several months, threatening her with death unless her father financed their war. Peldor rescuing her earned him Alena's father's gratitude, and it also earned him her affection. The first would translate into an unlimited stream of supplies for Baron's soldiers. The other would lead to a happy marriage, a new queen for Baron, and one child: Theolen Harvey, whose name would be fabled but not loved.
After almost twenty years of conflict and adventure, Peldor Harvey had destroyed the forces of the Crimson Sorcerers. The mages themselves retreated into the vast Underworld, there to amass a new army and dream of revenge. Peldor knew he could not find them underground, so he concentrated on rebuilding his kingdom, vowing that he would avenge Hella Fiodel before he departed from the world.
In the years that followed, Baron flourished. Towns continued to grow into cities, goat tracks became great roads of stone, and the towers of the capital rose ever higher. Baron's name grew as a city of fine arts, and its smiths produced weapons famed the world over. But the peace did not last as long as its citizens had hoped. In the eighth year after the retreat of the Crimson Sorcerers, word grew of a vast force growing in the mountains to the north-east. Rumour said that its soldiers were not human, and that they came from tunnels leading to the centre of the world, tunnels forged by magic. The Crimson Sorcerers had returned, stronger than ever and ready for the final battle.
Baron's armies made a brave stand, but they were swept aside by the vastness of the enemy forces. It was comprised of dark imps from the Underworld as well as other nameless creatures that were more terrifying. Some people said these creatures devoured souls.
Driven back behind the city's gates, Peldor decided to make one final assault against the black army, his goal being to reach the sorcerers and die fulfilling his oath for revenge. And so a massive counterattack began, a charge that emptied Baron's garrisons, the single most ambitious battle in the army's storied history. It failed. The forces of the Crimson Sorcerers seemed indestructible. Peldor himself was thrown from his chocobo and surrounded by enemy forces.
At that moment, the horizon was obscured by the arrival of a new army. Not as large as either of the forces currently on the battlefield, it nevertheless clove through the startled ranks of the Underworld invaders and freed Peldor. The enemy forces were so astounded by the unexpected arrival of this new force that they fell back in despair.
Peldor was taken to the leader of his newfound allies. All the soldiers in this army wore black, but while everyone else wielded a sword, this man carried a spear. He introduced himself as Kain Highwind, one of Cecil's companions on his journey to the moon. Kain had betrayed Cecil during his quest, a turn of events brought on by the magics of Zemus and by Kain's own human flaws. After Zemus was vanquished, Kain had left his friends and journeyed to Mount Ordeals. He intended to spend the rest of his life atop that terrible mountain, doing penance for his wrongs—and in fact he spent many long years on its slopes, fighting hideous creatures and risking his life every day.
Many years later, Cecil made his final journey to the summit of Mount Ordeals, there to relinquish his sword and give back his life. He encountered Kain on his journey to the top, and released him from his self-imposed penance. He called him a friend and told him to do whatever good deeds he could; the path to redemption was travelled by helping others, not by punishing oneself.
So Kain founded the Warriors of Kain, a clan of elite swordsmen initially operating in secret and dedicated to overthrowing injustice. In later ages, the Warriors of Kain would stray from the path of virtue and become little more than mercenaries. But for many years after their foundation, they held to their purpose. They had been training near Baron when word reached them of an army from the Underworld heading towards the city. If they were able to hold off the assault until help arrived from other nations, then perhaps Kain could repay his debt to Cecil. He was an old man now, his hair grey where it was not white, but the many years spent on Mount Ordeals had made him the most talented fighter in the world. He would consider it an honour to fight and die alongside Cecil's son.
Aided by the Warriors of Kain, Peldor fought a desperate delaying battle, hoping to fend off the attackers until Baron's friends in other lands could mobilise and march to its rescue. The defence dragged on for many months and the attackers breached Baron's walls many times, but they were always thrown back. Kain himself was slain, defending Rosa Harvey from a spray of enemy darts. The Warriors of Kain promised to fight on in his memory, saying that the survival of Baron would be his legacy. Eventually help came, first from Damcyan, then from Fabul and Toroia, and finally from Eblan. The combined forces of the free lands prevailed, and the armies of the Crimson Sorcerers were put to rout.
All seven of the mages perished during that final battle, Jafax Isenstor by Peldor's own hand. But something had happened during the long months of conflict that would not become known until later. Jafax had disguised himself in beggar's robes and had crept into the great city. He made his way to the castle, and there he encountered Theolen, heir to the throne. His intention was to slay him, a bitter, cruel and cowardly strike at the Harvey line, designed only to cause grief. When he finally entered Theolen's chambers and encountered the prince, he sensed something that changed his plans completely and set into motion a vast and terrible scheme that he had not even considered.
There was something very strange about Theolen, not in the way he looked or even the way he behaved—but Jafax could read the spiritual patterns of other beings, and Theolen's was different from anything he had ever encountered. The exact nature of the difference was impossible to determine, but Jafax could immediately sense its basic character, and he could very quickly guess many of the surrounding circumstances.
When Cecil had destroyed the core of Zemus' spirit, the vanquished lunar mage had lashed out with a black curse, not a curse that would affect Cecil directly, but one that he would carry in his blood, a curse that would destroy the life of one of his descendants. The curse had taken hold of Theolen, and it had passed to him some of Zemus' traits: immeasurable strength in the field of magic—and enormous capacity to do evil. In fact, Theolen's mind was so black that he was wont to commit evil for no reason other than evil's own sake. He had managed to disguise his impulses as he grew to adulthood, quickly realising that such behaviour met with punishment, and that it could endanger his path to the throne. But he never abandoned his evil thoughts or habits, not completely. They were with him as he grew into a young adult, and Jafax could read them in his eyes.
The Crimson Sorcerer immediately abandoned his plans to slay Theolen, devising a longer-reaching goal that would plague not just the Harvey line but the entire history of Baron: the corruption of the heir to the throne and the fruition of Zemus' last curse, laid down decades earlier. He befriended Theolen—or more rightly he earned his trust, appealing to the prince's thirst for power and his urge to spread darkness. Jafax acknowledged him as a kindred spirit, giving him the one thing Theolen had never had: empathy. The Crimson Sorcerer crept into Baron several times over the course of the war, bringing Theolen black tomes that contained the secrets of the world as well as the mastery of black arts. They had been gathered from many places, and were translations of evil volumes written during the Shadow Years. Theolen grew in power as he absorbed the lore of that black age, Zemus' curse finding an outlet in his new powers. And so it was that, while Jafax Isenstor fell on the field of battle, his legacy endured.
The years immediately following the final destruction of the Crimson Sorcerers were peaceful ones, but it was a hollow peace overshadowed by rumours of a mysterious man who wielded unknown powers and pursued a nameless agenda. Stories said he roamed through the streets of the city and even along the corridors of the castle, always at night, his passing always cloaked by a haze of darkness. Wherever he went, he left a distinctive trail: acts of wanton ruin and random malice, and murders that were backed by no motive and advanced no purpose. The city's soldiers could not locate him. Spies hired by wealthy merchants and aggrieved families could uncover no clues; in many cases, they met with grisly ends. A frail peace may have prevailed, but beneath it, Baron was gripped by an enduring fear.
After four years of this silent terror, events came to a head. An old maid was cleaning Theolen's room when she stumbled across his hidden library of black books. She immediately alerted the king, who confronted his son. Theolen admitted his evil deeds, but refused to repent of them. Overcome with grief, but realising that his son was beyond salvation, Peldor ordered for Theolen to be locked deep underground, in Baron's deepest dungeon.
But Theolen escaped that dungeon, calling on his terrible powers to shatter his cell and slay his guards. He disappeared into the night and began his evil deeds anew. His black library had been burnt immediately after he was imprisoned, but Theolen was now familiar enough with its contents that he could have rewritten it, word for word, chapter for chapter, if the need had presented itself. After several months of preying on Baron's citizens, he sent the king an ultimatum. As rightful heir to the throne, he challenged his father to a duel in the Royal Stadium, which was nearing completion after almost sixty years of construction. The battle would be to the death, and Theolen undertook not to draw on his dark magic. In exchange, if Theolen won the battle, the throne would pass to him, irrespective of any other edict or the wishes of any other noble house. If Peldor refused to accept the challenge, Theolen would continue his reign of terror—and would begin to target Peldor's immediate family.
After anguished nights of indecision spent pacing his study, Peldor accepted the challenge. He issued a proclamation that the duel between father and son would be held on the first day of winter—now eight months away. One way or another—whether it be by death or by ascension to the throne—Theolen's crimes would come to an end. The only question was whether Peldor's life, already storied, would also end. The entire city was invited to look on from the building's massive stadium, and rulers of distant lands also travelled to Baron to witness the most important duel in the history of the world.
After months of anticipation—and an undercurrent of dread—the first day of winter finally arrived. Peldor entered the arena to a deafening reception and awaited the arrival of his son. Theolen then emerged to face him, clad in white silk to Peldor's grey. Both men bore standard broadswords, the Sword of Legend having been banned at Theolen's insistence. They locked eyes for a full minute, and then the arena's great bell sounded and their fateful battle began.
After a series of slashes, parries and ripostes, Theolen landed the first blow, a mighty slash to Peldor's torso. He chose his target well, opening up the near-mortal wound that the king had suffered when he had finally encountered Hella's killer, all those long years ago. Peldor fell to his knees, and most onlookers held their breath, thinking him finished. But he clambered to his feet, throwing back Theolen even as the prince brought down his sword to finish the fight. The king's body was wracked with pain, and it would stay that way for the entire duel. His agony was so intense that it showed on his face, but still he persevered.
The two men fought for much longer than anyone had expected, longer even than most had thought possible. For five hours they battled back and forth across the arena's vast basin as the sun rose to its zenith then began its slow descent, the man in grey and the man in white, a beloved king fighting with all of his energy against the son whose soul had been lost to him even from birth. They pressed each other beyond human endurance, and fought long after exhaustion had claimed them both. For all its length, the duel ended abruptly. Peldor brought his sword down in an ambitious swing that Theolen dodged. The prince then dealt a swift blow to his father's chest. The King of Baron stood rigid for a moment, then dropped his sword and fell to the ground, his eyes looking heavenward as his life ebbed away. Theolen placed one foot atop the dying man's chest and gestured in triumph as a staggered audience numbering in the tens of thousands mourned the death of a hero and witnessed the passing of an age.
Taurin slept deeply that night, dreaming rich dreams of brave knights and malicious sorcerers, wars that dragged on for decades and years of peace that drifted by all too quickly. The story Ravena had told him merged with other legends he had heard—myths of the nine clans of ninja that had travelled the world as outcasts, braving the elements and waging war against one another for countless centuries, and then finally banding together to found the city of Eblan; tales telling of the coming of a great shadow to the lands of Fabul and Ralemark, and the fall of those kingdoms; bare and nearly forgotten whisperings that spoke of a mystical kingdom in the clouds, a kingdom destroyed by its own pride and avarice, whose fall into the oceanic depths below reset human history and gave birth to the Shadow Years. Although some of his dreams ended in nightmare, they all spoke of noble deeds and heroic achievements. And they enveloped him completely, taking him away from his tired body. To Taurin's mind, left weary by a full day of travel, that was quite enough.