Equimancer's Realm

By A.B. Robertson

In a world spanning six continents and twenty diverse cultures, a delicate balance teeters on the precipice of chaos. Exuberant festivals and smoldering resentments set the stage, as brute force clashes with extraordinary mental abilities and ancient warfare faces off against the latest steam-powered weaponry.

Within the United Empires, known as the Realm, opulent royal balls and the vibrant rhythm of monthly festivals veil a sinister truth: an underground organization waits in the shadows, poised to seize power and eliminate their age-old nemeses—the Equimancers. These protectors of Balance and the enigmatic Structure shrouding the entire continent, a society of Academy professors endowed with extraordinary mental gifts, must unravel the mysteries surrounding a series of murders and thwart the rise of a malevolent movement they thought long buried.

Caught in the web of conspiracy is Mordan, a well-intentioned yet ambitious student who succumbs to the allure of power and wealth. As he becomes entangled in a plot that infiltrates the highest echelons of society, he grapples with the perilous consequences of his choices.

Meanwhile, on the untamed continent of Sarea, the ruthless Matriarch Vipra wages a brutal war against rival tribes and the ancient shamans of the Bone Temple. Her conquest could rewrite the history of her homeland and shape the destiny of all six continents in this captivating tale of power, deception, and the enduring struggle for balance and order in a world on the brink of upheaval.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.B. Robertson
• Release date: Apr 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311685445

A.B. Robertson

One of the most interesting things about me is probably the fact that I have met my husband in the World of Warcraft (a massively multiplayer online game). He wasn't the only one who I met in games. My book "Who Needs Real Life?" is based on these experiences.The characters of my novel play a game called CoBO, which is based on my fantasy book "Equimancer's Realm" ( The First Book of the Cycle of Balance).In real life I have lived in London, Glasgow, Cologne, Prague and Budapest.Professionally I have worked in various areas; among others international trade, translating, finance.I'm married, have a lovely daughter and two fantastic dogs. In my free time I like to read, write, swim and play computer games with my husband.

Book preview

Month of the Crab, Midsummer

Realm’s Heart Island, The Academy

The Structure sparkled in the summer sun.

The Structure that embraced the whole of the Realm.

The Structure; created by the Gods, made of Gods’ Glass.

Or so the legend said.

Gods’ Glass.

The material that looked fragile and almost transparent, yet was indestructible.

The Structure’s Centre - the highest tower in the World -, was located in the middle of the Capital, Realm’s Heart Island.

The Structure consisted of three gigantic wheels.

One in the skies, one on the ground and one below the earth; all held together by thirty-seven towers.

Each spoke, wheel and tower was several dozens of yards in diameter, the length of each axis was two-thousand miles.

Mordan Grimdor gazed vacantly at the light-blue shimmer of the Structure from the window of one of the Academy’s common dormitories.

Mordan was one of the lucky, lowly-born students, whose education was paid for by an affluent benefactor. In his case this was Count Nicholas Swiftarrow, his mother’s employer. After he had been informed about the noble patronage that would change his life, the seventeen year old Mordan left his hometown and his mother without looking back. He didn’t even mind that he had been a year older than most, when he had started Academy life. In fact, he considered it a stroke of luck; this way he was in the same year as his – by now – best friends.

He was twenty-one now; this would be his last year at the Academy.

What then? He still had no idea what to do after graduation.

Of course, he had his aristocratic friends, who didn’t need to worry about their futures, as they had money, influence and privileges handed to them by birth right.

Octarian Sunflare of Heliodoria, Sylvain Wintersky of Lectricka and Wolly Wheatfield of Vosia; all three of them Princes of the noblest houses of the Realm. They spent all their time together now, but what will happen once they graduate?

Most probably over time he would become ‘Mordan What’s-his-face, you know, from the Academy’.

He got used to luxury, to mingling with high society, to being invited by proxy to the most important events of the Realm.

His hand involuntarily slid to his neck, and touched his Throatmark; the tattoo that was the size of a gold coin, and burned forever into the soft flesh between his collar-bone, depicting a candle over two waves. The Throatmark that told the entire World that he was a Pyonian.

If he didn’t get his act together, he would have to go back to where he came from.

How would dear old, muddy Pyonia compare to the sophistication of Realm’s Heart Island?

He hoped never to be in the position to find out.

After three rapid knocks, the door flew open. Octarian and Wolly came barging in.

Ready for training? Wolly demanded.

Oh no. Not this again, Octarian sighed when he spotted Mordan’s luggage.

Is this some kind of new obsession of yours? Packing your bags and then going nowhere? asked Wolly.

I know… I just can’t make my mind up, Mordan rubbed his face.

I can’t believe you didn’t come to Lectricka with us because of your travel plans. And you didn’t even to go Pyonia, Octarian said reproachfully.

I just… dunno… I have a strange feeling that something’s not right. But when I’m all packed and ready, I keep asking myself ‘what the Hell are you worried about?’.

Exactly. What are you worried about? So your mother accompanied Count Swiftarrow and the young Lady Swiftarrow on their journey. Isn’t your mother the little Lady’s governess? Wolly asked.

Yes, but all she could write about in the last months was for us to meet, and then suddenly she says ‘don’t come, I’m going away’? It’s just so unlike her.

How stupid would you feel if you turned up just to be told that she has gone travelling? Just like she said she would, said Wolly.

Well, go if you feel you have to. Nevertheless, I’d like to point out that you would never make it back in time for the Sunflare Festival. And you wouldn’t want to miss that, Octarian cocked his eyebrow at Mordan.

No. I wouldn’t want that. Definitely not.

Why don’t you stay now, and go during the Autumn Break? I tell you what; I’ll even go with you. I’m sure your mother will be back home by then.

Really? That would be great. Thanks, man, Mordan slapped Octarian’s shoulder.

That will go down a treat; a Sunflare in Pyonia, Wolly snorted.

Eh. What’s life worth without adventures? Octarian shrugged.

Fine, I’ll stay.

Come on then, son. What you waiting for? Get your gear on and let’s go. Professor Atlas will sulk for half the training if we’re late, Wolly clapped his hands at Mordan, who started changing into his Falconer gear.

It’s hard enough to train with only one Sharker and three Falconers. I hope Trillian and Sylvain will get back soon, Wolly went on.

You’re one to talk, you missed every single training session during the summer, Mordan huffed.

Well, I’m back now. Sorry I couldn’t recount my adventures last night. I was exhausted.

What are the Ermelian girls like? Octarian grinned at Wolly.

Talkative. Virginal.

So nothing to report then? Octarian squinted at him.

Wolly smiled mysteriously.

And how was the curious continent of Ermelia? Mordan asked.

Mental. Mentally hygienic. I feel so healthy that it’s making me sick.

I’m ready, let’s go, said Mordan.

Just promise me one thing; we’ll go somewhere to drink tonight. Euposia is an alcohol-free zone, Wolly pleaded.

Absolutely. We have to celebrate your return, nodded Octarian.

"Only virgins and no drinks over there? That is mental," muttered Mordan as they left the dormitory.

The Sea Goat, Realm’s Waters

After five months of involuntary capture and nineteen-and-a-half years of a self-imposed stay, Roderich Raven-Zinn was finally on his way home on board his beloved ship, the Sea Goat.

He was a wealthy Kronurian explorer and business man. A man of middle age, average height, average looks, but with big ambitions. Kronuria, which was just north of the Realm, was the most developed continent of the whole World.

He had travelled the World and visited all continents; decadent Roditee, intellectual Ermelia, religious Euposia and of course, the Realm with its wondrous Structure. Before his current expedition started, there was only one exception – Sarea. The least developed and most mysterious continent of the World.

Despite the sketchy – and frightening – information, and everybody’s best efforts to talk him out of his reckless plan, twenty years ago he set sail to be the first to explore the whole of the continent, and live to tell the tale.

***

It all started in the spring of the year 759.

He knew the risks, as did his crew. Once they passed Lawless Islands, the storms grew savage and never ceased. They were relatively lucky; they got shipwrecked only a few hundred yards from the coast of North Sarea. Miraculously, Roderich had only lost three of his men.

Two days after they had crawled onto land, they found themselves captured by a large group of hostile men. They were armed with weapons Roderich only knew from ancient books, clad in black leather loin cloths, bracers and sandals. Unarmed and at the verge of dying from thirst, he and his men surrendered without a word, and followed their captors.

After a forced march through the barren and wind-swept landscape, they arrived at a rock face. They were herded through a huge iron door that was covered in bones, into a vast underground hall.

The air was stiflingly hot and moist, caused by steaming pools of hot water and a multitude of burning torches, made out of skulls. Pots of orchids were lining the walls, which were decorated with explicit depictions, showing half or completely naked men and women.

Roderich and his men had momentarily forgotten about their delicate situation and openly stared at the images, causing some of them to blush furiously, others pointing, whooping and guffawing while they awaited their fate.

On closer inspection, Roderich had noticed that the paintings were embellished with thousands of bits of precious metals and stones. His heart started beating faster; they must be sitting on top of a gold mine – literally.

They were led through several smaller halls, all built and decorated in the style they saw at the entrance. Soon they found out that the wall images didn’t depict some ancient rituals; they saw several couples and even groups casually mating - and doing things to each other none of them could ever have imagined, not even in their wildest dreams - on silk covered couches, in the shallow pools of the vast halls, or simply up against the walls and on the floors.

Modesty was apparently not a Sarean trait.

They finally reached their destination; an inner sanctum that must have been the throne room, as it contained an ornate chair made of bones, on top of a dais at the back wall.

In it sat a young, dark haired and olive skinned woman, whose expression made it clear that she was the one to talk to.

She wore a garment that was very hard to call a dress; a leather collar from which hung dozens of long straps and a belt of the same kind, its long pieces reaching her ankles. Her whole outfit was black and didn’t leave much to the imagination.

She also wore a huge amount of exquisite jewellery, but none of the captives seemed to pay any attention to that, except for Roderich, who again was amazed by the treasures this continent must have to offer.

Úlmán, o lodat, said the leader of the squad escorting them, joining the others in falling on their knees and bowing their heads to the floor.

Órryokat vir! she commanded, gesturing for them to rise.

Chammom yäkkit? she addressed the leader.

Min kuban, Úlmán, he replied with a little shrug of his shoulders.

Mísb nip o yotók, she ordered the man, who approached Roderich and took a look at his neck.

Zegto íz chanatálo iy täldim, he replied. Hat and hourglass in a circle.

From the brief flash in her eyes, Roderich realised that the woman apparently liked the answer.

She turned to the captives.

Do you speak the Ancient Tongue? she asked, referring to the language of the Realm.

Yes, my Lady... if I may call you my Lady, Roderich replied. His mother tongue was Kronurian, which was a corruption of the Realm’s original language, thus he was more than capable of holding a conversation in the Ancient Tongue.

Yes, she said with a shrug.

Roderich had the feeling that she wasn’t one to share information unnecessarily – particularly not with a potential enemy.

Your Throatmark states that you’re from Kronuria.

That’s right, my Lady.

Are you their leader?

Yes, my Lady.

Good. She gestured to her men to take the prisoners away.

Thus started the time of captivity and torture for Roderich and his men.

They were prepared for the worst, - for almost anything – except for what had followed.

Immediately after they were dismissed by the Lady, they were fed strange potions and mostly raw, but quite delicious dishes, got bathed and then smothered in fragrant oils and led to different rooms.

They all, without exception, – down to the scrawniest and ugliest member of the crew – were made to mate with different females of the tribe.

None of the crew put up a fight.

Very soon, they found out that it was not a welcome ritual, but one that became routine. At regular intervals.

Most of them were sailors, stuck at sea for months, usually having to pay for similar treatment in one of the joyhouses of the World.

Although there was no comparison.

The girls of the tribe, most of them wearing similar outfits to their leader - or nothing, - seemed to have two goals in life; giving and getting pleasure in ways the crew never experienced anywhere else in the World – not even the famed joyhouses of Roditee.

Months went by.

Roderich’s partner was the Lady herself. Once a month he had been summoned to her quarters, which he then didn’t leave for three days.

Usually, on the second day she would uncork the little vial that was hanging from her neck, and give them both a drop.

Roderich knew that he would never forget the first time he had licked the drop off the back of his hand.

It was as if an explosion of sunlight had filled his head. Within a fraction of a second the sensation had spread to every single fibre of his body.

All his fears were forgotten, his exhaustion had vanished.

All his senses were heightened; the World was beautiful and he loved everybody in it. He felt invincible, and thought that he would burst with delirious happiness.

The following hours were euphoric.

What was that? he asked her when the effects of the potion had almost worn off.

Vayítay órbóz. As he had found out later, it meant liquid blessing.

Apparently the drop had made her unusually talkative.

Maister Raven-Zinn wasn’t a stupid man.

Even though he couldn’t complain about the current outcome of things, he was sure that the more than accommodating hospitality of the tribe came at a price.

He didn’t believe that they had landed in an erotic paradise to be rewarded for their wit and good looks; he knew his crew, most of them didn’t possess either.

He was watching the tribe members intently. Some of them spoke a few words of the Ancient Tongue. He had tried his best to both learn about his surroundings, and to pick up as much of their language as possible.

He discovered that the North Sareans had called their lands Areshadia. Originally, all Sareans had spoken the Ancient Tongue, but the Northerners were a secretive kind; over the millennia they developed their own language just to spite the Southerners.

Slowly a plan had formed in Roderich’s mind.

He had decided to act the next time he would see the Lady, who – as he had discovered - was Matriarch Vipra, but nobody addressed her by her name.

Úlmán, I would like to make you a business proposal, he said, as soon as he was brought into her room.

By then, Roderich realised, that even though Areshadians were about three hundred years behind the World – thus four hundred behind Kronuria – they knew business when they saw it.

After we’re finished, she replied, ordering him with a gesture of her index finger to join her on her bed.

Much later, she got up and sat on the masterfully woven spider-silk carpet, next to an ornate water-pipe and clicked her fingers at a servant for refreshments.

Roderich watched her, trying to slow down his racing heart, waiting for her further orders.

You still want to talk? she asked, patting the carpet next to her.

He obediently clambered out of bed on shaky legs and sat down next to her, trying to collect his thoughts.

It wasn’t easy; he knew he only had one shot at this.

Roderich’s mind conjured up images at a feverish pace, based on both experience, and the scraps of information he had learned from the Areshadians; Kronurian inventions, an annual gathering of Areshadian tribe leaders involving human sacrifice, the drops of vayítay órbóz, the fate of male spiders… and his final thought of the Matriarch reading his mind.

He knew it was a foolish notion, but it was the only explanation for many strange happenings during his time in Sarea.

You’re a clever man, Kronurian, she said with an approving hint of a smile. Even though he had shared with her more intimate moments in the last five months, than with his late wife in five years, she had never bothered to ask his name.

Tell me your business proposal. Let’s pretend I’m interested, she demanded, inhaling the vapour of the water-pipe, apparently tired of rummaging in his mind.

He knew the rules; no flattery, no trickery, straight to the point.

When he had finished talking, Roderich didn’t need to be a mind-reader to see that she was sold.

She looked him intensely in the eyes. He held her gaze. He was sure she was reading his thoughts, but this time he didn’t mind.

I have two conditions though, he said, marvelling at his own bravery and earning an icy stare.

Nevertheless, they both knew he had a deal, regardless of his requests.

Firstly, I need to meet with the Southerners.

His gamble had paid off. She found both conditions acceptable.

Thus ended the time of captivity for Roderich Raven-Zinn and his crew.

Though their ‘torture’ kept going on for quite a while longer.

Realm’s Heart Island

I understand, Lord Boran Tauntall, Mayor of Irontown and the Governor of Covax, said with a sad smile and took his leave.

He aimlessly wandered the streets of the Island for hours.

He suddenly stopped, and made his way to the Stinger District. He went to the Temple of the Warrior. For a while he sat in silent prayer. Then, he asked the priest of the Warrior for a blessing. He went over to the Shrine of the Dark Lady of the Underworld, and received a blessing from one of Her priestesses.

Great peace came over him. It was time to celebrate.

He returned to his luxurious suite in the Imperial Island Palace, the most expensive guest house of the Realm.

He told his manservant to have his bill settled, and ordered a sumptuous meal to be brought up.

Lobster, venison, flambéed chocolate pancakes, a bottle of Roditeean Sparkle, a bottle of Roditeean cognac and three cigars.

Once his manservant had returned, he pushed an envelope and a wad of ten-gold notes in his hand.

Give the letter to the concierge; tell him to bring it to the director of the Palace in the morning. Now go, have a good night and don’t come back until you have spent all this.

After the dinner and the bottle of sparkle were finished, Lord Tauntall opened the cognac and lit a cigar. He then went to the window, and opened it wide. Taking in the lights and sounds of the city, he inhaled deeply.

He went to his desk, and scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper.

Then, he pushed an armchair to the full-length window, and started working on his second cigar and third glass of cognac.

For the first time in ten years, he felt happy.

Deliriously happy.

Once there was nothing more to drink or smoke, he stumbled over to the bathroom, and drew himself a hot bath.

Oh boy, aaa‘m shtinkin’ drunk, he chortled when he almost fell over.

Yet, his thoughts had never been clearer.

He clambered into the tub and slit his veins.

The Black Scorpion Inn, Bogroot, Pyonia

Vandar Blacclaw had expected an entirely different welcome to his village.

He had finished the Academy with top marks, and was about to start his career in the Realm’s Army as a Commander of a Falconrider squad.

He had spent the summer with his friends from the Academy, but he wanted to see his mother before he started his army life.

His snow-falcon Vanda had been given to him by the Academy in his first year; she was his pride and joy. He had had her since she was a chick. Professor Atlas Quickfin attuned her to Vandar and he had been allowed to name her. Because he joined the Army, he could keep her.

He left Vanda behind at the garrison. He patted her back, and making sure nobody saw, he planted a kiss on the bird’s neck. He planned to present her to his mother and the villagers the next day.

Be good, girl, I’ll be back tomorrow, he said to her and made his way on foot towards his village.

No sooner had he set foot on Bogroot’s main street, he heard shouts from all around.

He’s here!

Vandar has arrived!

Get Mistress Blacclaw!

The innkeeper of the Black Scorpion hurried towards Vandar, took him by the arm and dragged him into his establishment.

We’ve all been waiting for you. Half the village is here, he beamed at him.

Mistress Blacclaw had arrived, throwing her arms around him, showering his face with kisses.

My boy, I’m so proud of you. So proud, she said with tears in her eyes.

The villagers shook his hand, bought him drinks and said ‘welcome home’ dozens of times. The noise was ear-splitting. When the inn started to calm down, the innkeeper asked for attention to make a speech.

All raise your glasses to the first man from our village to become a Commander in the Army, everybody obeyed, cheered and drank.

All raise your glasses to the man who has proven that even poor Pyonians can achieve great things, more cheering and drinking followed.

All raise your glasses to the first Pyonian Army Commander who will join our cause and lead us to victory, people cheered again and everybody drank, except Vandar who looked at the crowd in confusion.

Join?

The innkeeper looked at him uncomprehendingly.

That’s why you came, right? To join our movement. To put the Dark Empress on the throne. To fight the Sunflares… and if we have to, the whole of the Realm.

Vandar shook his head.

The Dark Empress? That’s just a myth, he looked around in astonishment.

Suddenly, deathly silence set in.

Watch your tongue, boy. She’s real alright. If not to support her, why did you come here? the innkeeper demanded.

I came to visit my mother before I start my duty.

Your duty? Within the Realm’s Army? What about your duty for your homeland? the innkeeper’s voice became more and more hostile by the second. The patrons stared at Vandar incredulously.

"The Realm is my homeland and I swore to defend it."

"You would defend your precious Realm against Pyonians?

You would kill us to defend the Realm that’s keeping us in oppression?" the innkeeper shouted.

Vandar looked at him defiantly for a moment.

Yes. If I had to, I would.

Mistress Blacclaw dropped her head.

I’m sorry. I didn’t raise him to be a traitor, she whispered.

Shouts of ‘traitor’ disrupted the silence. The innkeeper signalled to some of the men, who grabbed Vandar, twisting his arms behind his back.

Just to be absolutely sure… if you had to choose between Pyonia and the Realm, which one would it be? asked the innkeeper, his eyes sparkling maliciously.

I can assure you, with no doubt in my mind, that every time I would choose the Realm over any other place in the World. The Realm is my home with all its twelve countries, and I would die to defend it.

How sentimental. Someone get me a bucket, the innkeeper spat.

Chuckles rippled through the crowd.

I mean it, you morons, someone get me a bucket of water.

When it arrived, the men pushed Vandar on his knees.

I’m asking you for the last time; will you join us?

Never.

The innkeeper held his head under water while Mistress Blacclaw averted her eyes.

Before the final darkness fell over him, Vandar thought he heard Vanda’s painful screeches echoing through the Pyonian countryside.

Apothecary Snakebite’s House, Cadentia

Rica woke with a start. For a second she didn’t know where she was. She had a crippling headache, was bathed in sweat and started shaking. She looked around and tried to remember… anything.

Then it came back to her. She was in the apothecary’s house.

The only place she knew.

The place where she had woken up one day and realised that she couldn’t remember anything. Anything of the previous day, the previous month, her previous life. She didn’t know who she was; she didn’t know what she was.

The only thing she knew, she needed her vial. She rang the bell, and seconds later she heard steps.

Good morning, my dear. Seems that someone has overslept, Master Snakebite, the rake-thin owner of the house smiled his usual toothy smile.

Do you have my medication? she whispered.

Of course, little Lady Rica. He took out a small vial from the pouch that hung from his neck.

She often wondered whether she was really a Lady, or whether she had been indeed called Rica. She couldn’t remember. For a while she kept asking the apothecary and his housekeeper Gunda dozens of questions. All they said was that she had been brought here by friends, and they were told to look after her. Whether they knew more, she didn’t know.

She took the vial and drank down its contents greedily. In a few moments she felt the familiar sensation spreading through her body.

Maybe I’ll lay down for a little bit she stammered.

Yes, yes, that’s a very good idea, my dear. Gunda will bring your breakfast soon. Rest for now.

She hardly heard him shut the door behind him, as she closed her eyes to savour the effects of the potion.

Royal Palace of Stinger, Realm’s Heart Island

"Blessed be

The One Creator,

The Two Genders,

The Three Qualities,

The Four Elements,

The Seven Old

And the Three New Gods,

The Twelve Houses

And the Structure.

Deliver us from Zego’s

Disciples and Minions.

Balance will be upheld.

So be it."

Empress Sidonia finished her prayer while she shot a disapproving look at her husband, who spitefully kept his thin lips pressed together. Unfortunately not for long.

Do you have to say that bloody piece of rubbish every time we’re about to eat? her husband, King Scypian Stinger spat after the servants left the dining hall.

It’s the Prayer of the Realm; it stands for everything I believe in.

It stands for everything that’s wrong in this World. Your damned Balance! That’s the pretext for why they took our country. That’s why you’re the Empress of Nothing! Do you ever do anything at the Houses’ meetings? Have they confirmed at last that we’re getting Pyonia back?

He looked at her aggressively, trying to coax her into a full-blown argument. Annoyingly, she just looked at her plate and carried on eating.

Go on, just ignore me. You’re just like your father, that coward of a Windscale. I’m more of a Stinger than you are he hissed with disgust.

That’s why we shouldn’t have married in the first place. If it wasn’t for my mother’s brilliant idea to keep our bloodline clean by making me take you for a husband, I could have married somebody else but my own cousin.

Scypian and Sidonia were not cousins first grade, they merely had the same great-grandmother, but for Sidonia it was still too close for comfort.

But of course, inbreeding is such a lovely Stinger tradition, explains all the degenerates in our family.

She looked at Scypian with contempt. He could feel the loathing radiating from her with such intensity that it took him aback for a second.

Maybe that’s why we can’t have an heiress to the throne. The Gods dislike the union of relatives. They must be punishing us, she said, expecting the outburst to follow.

She didn’t have to wait long. He jumped up, grabbed his plate and hurled it at the wall.

My fault is it? he screamed, spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth.

If your great-aunt was still alive, you wouldn’t dare to talk like that. She would show you how to be a real Empress of the Stingers.

I would like to point out, that if my aunt was still alive, I wouldn’t have to be Empress. That would be the only upside about her not being dead. Besides, just in case you’ve forgotten, she was the reason why we lost our country in the first place.

Damn you, you don’t even want to rule! If it’s such a bother, make me the Representative, he said for the thousandth time.

Along with the Bullsbloods, Moonstones, Wheatfields, Mountainborns and Seafoams, the Stingers’ rulers were female, the heads of the other six houses were male. The Gender Rule made sure to keep up the tradition.

You could appoint me. The Royal Council would have no objections, Scypian hissed.

Even though the Gender Rule was binding, the rulers could appoint a family member to represent the country in the Realm’s Government in the House of Houses. While the Emperors and Empresses wore the crown, it was the Representatives who wielded real power.

The last thing the Realm needs is you as the Pyonian Representative.

He stormed towards the door shouting I wish I could have married your aunt!

So do I, she said before he slammed the door after himself.

Empress Sidonia of House Stinger was in fact Empress of nothing; that much was true.

The last war was instigated by Stingers in the name of their traditional God, the Warrior. They had convinced the Warhorns – who worshipped the same God - to take part in their holy war, but of course it wasn’t about religion, just plain hunger for power. Not that it was ever very difficult to awaken the Warhorns’ lust for fighting.

Sidonia’s late great-aunt, Empress Vultona decided that she had had enough of the elections of the House of Houses and went to war to finally have a Stinger Empress of the Realm. The resentment of the Stinger dynasty had been building for centuries. They were the only house who had never had a Realm-wide ruler.

Empress Vultona, Ruler of Pyonia, the living embodiment of everything the Stingers stood for, had decided to take matters in her own hands.

She was ruthless, cruel, and vengeful, with an unhealthy appetite for power. Real Pyonians adored her.

With the Warhorn Emperor she gathered – beside the official Royal Armies of Pyonia and Covax – tens of thousands of mercenary and militia troops, and everybody who could be talked or blackmailed into joining their cause.

The bloodiest war in the history of the Realm went on for seven years, but in spite of all the effort, ferocity and tactics displayed by the Stingers and their allies, the last battle ended at the Stinger Summer Residence of Pyonia with their defeat, exactly fifty years ago.

The Warhorns admitted defeat two years before the bitter end, surrendered and even helped the rest of the Realm to fight the Pyonians. As a result, they were graciously pardoned by the Emperor and the House of Houses.

After the war, the Houses’ meeting decreed that Covax would be under Royal Army supervision for a quarter of a century, at which time their vote in the House of Houses went to the Emperor’s family, the Sunflares.

For having started the war – and the last two – the Pyonians were punished much more severely. The rest of the Realm had had enough of the Stingers and decided to teach them a lesson. Their country and vote was given to Emperor Lexandros Sunflare’s dynasty – for fifty years. After twenty-five years Pyonia was allowed to have an Empress again, who could attend the House of Houses meetings in a guest status.

It was decreed that the further fate of the country would be decided once the five decades of punishment were over.

The House of Houses consisted of the Representatives of the twelve countries and the First Servant, who was the leader of the Academy.

It was Emperor Lexandros Sunflare I, who suggested learning from their mistakes. He graciously offered to abdicate as the Emperor of the Realm and became merely the Emperor of his country, Heliodoria with only one vote instead of the seven that had been granted to the current Realm-Emperor. The Representatives of the other eleven countries, as well as the First Servant, agreed that by not having a Realm-wide ruler, they could negate the struggle for the coveted throne and title.

The Peace Treaty of 729 also decreed, that due to the lack of a supreme leader, the countries were to govern themselves and give their people the opportunity to elect Mayor-Governors and other officials rather than having them appointed by the Emperor or Empress.

The continent was given a new name; United Empires. It didn’t really catch on; most still called it the Realm.

The only things the Stingers could keep after the war, were the Stinger Palace Complex on Realm’s Heart Island, their title and - since 754 - their seat without a vote in the House of Houses.

After her mother’s death, Empress Sidonia was the Stinger’s House of Houses Representative.

The fifty years of punishment were coming to an end. The House of Houses had to vote in the next few weeks whether the Stingers could get their country back. In less than four months, on the First Festivalday of the Month of the Scorpion – the old or the new Empress would step on Pyonia’s throne.

Sidonia finished her meal, rang for a servant to empty the table and to clean up the mess that Scypian’s shattered plate had caused, and decided to visit her cousins at the Windscale Palace.

Pyonian-Lazulian Central Garrison

Commander Searbow of the Pyonian-Lazulian Falconriders was getting desperate.

Blacclaw was meant to return three days ago. His falcon Vanda was getting unmanageable.

Searbow had sent out two squads daily to find him; with no results.

He decided to wait for another day; then he’d have to make a farspeaker call and inform the Academy.

The Garrison was in one of the thirty-seven towers of the Structure.

The Main and Central Tower of the Realm, was the seat of the House of Houses. The other thirty-six – twelve around the Capital, twelve in the centre of the Realm and twelve on the outer border – were the main hubs of the Realm Guard.

On the top the Falconriders, on the ground the Sharkpatrol of the Structure’s Channels, and on the bottom, deep underground, the Infantry of the Fire Rings and Tunnels.

Somewhere between the ground and the top were the quarters of the Academy Professors.

The members of the Realm Guard were used to the Academics emerging from the middle section of the tower; they suspected some kind of transportation device inside, as the members of the Academy had never used any other means of travelling. They were right; every tower was equipped with a Dodecagon on the floor, which portalled the Equimancers to other points of the Structure. Nevertheless, there was no possibility to investigate the matter; the Academy level was inaccessible to anybody