[b]Damarskan, The Temple of Light[/b]

Erinye stared in fascination at the two aspet guarding the entrance to the Temple. Each of them wore a heavy bronze and leather hauberk, knee-length, with elaborately engraved and gilded iron plate covering their arms from shoulder to finger tip and their knees and feet. Their helmets were grotesque, which Erinye found passing strange considering their roles as champions of the light. Each had an iron face mask designed to look like a snarling demon, frightening and disgusting in its intense leer. The aspet on the left had a pair of gilded bull's horns, ending in sharp tips, protruding from his crown; the other's was encrusted with jagged chunks of garnet and obsidian, making the helmet look like it was covered with horrible boils and pustules. Each leaned on a two-handed, spiked longaxe, the blades decorated with symbols of blight and ruin.

[i]These are the warriors of the faith?[/i] she thought, repulsed but fascinated as she walked forward, the hems of her white and silver robes whisking around her slender calves just above the polished cobblestones of the Grand Avenue. Trying to appear aloof as opposed to nervous, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her sleeves and straightened her bodice, looking casually around the square, at the passersby, anywhere but at the aspet and the door they guarded. It was made of ironwood, a rare and extremely precious material in the Vale, carved in simple but elegant geometric patterns and set with fire opals, pearls, and tiny diamonds that winked and flashed in the sun. That door represented more money than she and her entire home village had seen in her lives. Intimidating, but not nearly as much as the message she'd received a week ago.

She'd been in her home village, the place she loved most, Sitsagr'rok. It was a place of stone and spray in the northern mountains, barely even in Dominion territory. The village was built over a series of rapids from which rocks like angry teeth jutted, great arches of stone with little houses built directly on top of them. The clansfolk grew gardens in brightly painted boxes that hung out their back doors, over the river, and hung out lines to catch salmon during certain parts of the year. Fir trees surrounded the village on all sides, and massive blue-grey mountains towered above to breathtaking heights. A little over a hundred souls lived there, and most of them had kept the Old Way until roughly a year or so ago. They hadn't even had a ghekhav, just an old shaman by the name of Kardem. Then the Tausar'Luysi had come.

Her eyes lost focus as she thought back on that day, eleven months ago. The aznvuygun had gathered the villagers, including Kardem, and shuffled them out of their homes to a small clearing nearby. One by one, they had knelt and offered oaths of allegiance to the Tia'Gevor and his Marshalls, knowing that refusal meant not only their death, but the execution of their families or the seizure of their livelihoods. After that, they were made to forsake the Old Ways and name the Horned Lord and the Lady of Wind and Water as demons. This was harder, but again, nobody refused. All but Kardem. He'd just solemnly shaken his head when his turn had come. He was asked one more time. Again, that silent shake of the head. Without any further hesitation, the aznvuygun next to the Tausar'Luysi priestess had lowered his spear and driven it through the old man's throat. Kardem had died with barely a sound, staring up at the priestess, who'd looked back down at him dispassionately, uncaring.

Erinye would never forget that moment in time. The blood gushing down Kardem's face, his accusing eyes, the way his body had bonelessly collapsed to the ground when the spear was withdrawn. She still dreamt about it sometimes, waking up in a cold sweat and staring at the sky or ceiling she'd been sleeping under, remembering. Part of her hated the Tausar'Luysi for murdering Kardem. However, she had grown to love the Path, its purity and sense of order and purpose. She knew that she was a small part of something far more important than her family, than Sitsagr'rok, or Kardem even.

After the folk of Sitsagr'rok had sworn the oaths of allegiance and given up the Old Way, the Tausar'Luysi priestess had begun walking among the villagers. She had stopped and stared at each turn, fixing them with a penetrating gaze. Her eyes had almost seemed to glow with some inner power. For some reason, she had saved Erinye for last, and when she had finally gotten to the young woman, she had lingered there for nearly five minutes. Then she nodded abruptly and turned to her escort. "Take her," the priestess had said, her voice somehow serene yet curt. The aznvuygun had moved in, roughly seizing Erinye, who cried out at struggled until receiving a sharp blow across the back of her legs with the haft of a spear. Several villagers surged forward to protect her, but stopped before a wall of glittering spearpoints. They'd dragged Erinye, crying and screaming, on to the back of one of their horses and ridden off south with her. Her training had truly begun when they'd reached Damarskan, but she viewed this as her first trial.

In Damarskan, she was brought to a small abbey for initiates of the order. She was examined, poked, and prodded -- most embarassingly -- by several withered old crones of the Tausar'Luysi. When they had determined to their satisfaction that she had never taken a lover, they shaved her body, scrubbed her down, and gave her simple, pure white robes of linen, with scratchy wool undergarments. Her training began with the simplest of meditations and prayers and learning to read and write. She'd just been learning the most basic principles of ritualistic magic -- something she'd actually been fascinated by and eager to take up -- when her superiors had sent her back to her village. Erinye had still been novice in the the order, only six months into her initiation. Apparently, the priestesshood was stretched thin, and they needed her to spread the word of the Light to "the farthest, darkest corners of the Dominion."

It had been a bleak homecoming. Nothing was changed visually -- Sitsagr'rok was just as beautiful as she'd left it -- but her reception was chilly. There was no one to greet her, and everyone treated her as if she was invisible at first. Two aznvuygun had made the journey with her, and when their backs were turned, the villagers made the sign of the Horned Moon when they passed, the ancient symbol to ward off demons and evil spirits. It was difficult to educate the people of her village in the ways of Enlightenment when they considered her a witch -- Light-blinded, they muttered under their breaths -- so most of her time was spent teaching the handful of children in the village what little she could of reading and writing, and administering simple cures and remedies to the very young and very old...those who didn't care who or what she was, in other words.

This had gone on for four or five months -- the days blend together in a place like Sitsagr'rok -- when a message came from the capital. It was terrifying in its brevity and authority; [i]Return to the Temple of Light at once for reassignment, or face Pacification.[/i] "Pacification" was the polite term the Tausar'Luysi used for the public execution of traitors and "demon"-worshippers. She had left as soon as possible, with more than some regret. The villagers had just started to accept her back within their ranks, and she was sad to leave all the little ones behind. But orders were orders, and she and her escort were riding through the dark hills and valleys of the northern mountains before the sun had set. Their journey through the Dominion heartlands was as swift as possible considering the increased foot-traffic; war was on everybody's lips, that or the news filtering in from the east about the growing power of Geistarussir.

Being in Damarskan was a dizzying experience for a girl who'd grown up in a village of one hundred and twenty souls. As far as she or anyone else knew, Damarskan was the largest port in the world, a sprawling, teeming edifice to mankind with a population of two hundred and fifteen thousand Ordovin citizens. Sailors from Savian, Reinamm, Fenia, Aylsfyn, and even as far away as Lumenor and Akataneka, and a dozen other free city-states, crowded her dockside warehouses and marketplaces. Outside the city the Grand Marshall's army was encamped and ready to march, a second city in its own right, but far more orderly, nearly thirty thousand men all in all. Where they intended to march was anybody's guess, but most bets were northwards, to crush the rebel Taelyc. As they rode past, Erinye stared at the camp. It was difficult for her to imagine all those lively bodies rushing at a similar number of men and women with the intent to kill each other. The thought of thousands of people [i]dying[/i], all at once, their flesh cloven and rent by bronze and iron and steel, was too large for her to really grasp.

They passed through the shanty towns and farming communities that ringed the inner city and under the city walls, still scarred by the Vydari assault. They were covered in many places with scaffolding, or had earthern ramps leading up to them, and the entire thing was aswarm with masons and the slaves they directed. It was rumored that the Grand Marshall intended to make the walls twice as tall and four times as thick as they had been, with bastions and towers manned with war machines at the intersections. The money and manpower for such a construction would be monstrous, but well within the Dominion's capabilities...especially if it was fueled by plunder from Lord Taelyc's realm, and the silver mines he controlled. Whenever the Dominion absorbed another clan by conquest, there was always a small influx of slaves and goods. With the fall of Taelyc's land, which was the size and prosperity of a small Gevorin, the walls might be completed within a year.

Erinye snapped out of her reverie as the door opened, and an older priestess stepped out. She wore the ornate, sumptuous robes of one the Artak'in, the second highest rank in the order, her face and hair concealed underneath a pristine white cowl, trimmed with cloth-of-gold. Pearls clacked together at her sleeves and hem. An aspet trailed behind her, gauntleted hand resting lightly on the hilt of his scimitar. Unlike the other two aspet she had seen, his mask was a serene, gilded face, the brow decorated with a silver disc. "Quickly, child," said a rasping voice from within the priestess's hood. "You took long enough getting here." Erinye bit her lip, knowing better to voice protest, and followed the Artak'in and what seemed to be her personal bodyguard in to the Temple of Light.

The Temple was a hushed place, a sanctuary of white walls hung with white tapestries, white rugs muffling the steps of white garbed sisters. Aspets stood still as statues here and there, eyes gleaming from behind their monstrous masks. The Artak'in led Erinye down a series of hallways, past many closed doors. [i]All of Sitsagr'rok could fit comfortably in this place,[/i] Erinye thought, looking around with silent wonder. She was finally ushered in to a vast chamber with vaulted ceilings that disappeared in to shadowy crevices. The room stretched away to all sides, and a lack of windows cloaked the room in darkness. The only light came from a beautiful golden candelabra, set with moonstones, on a round marble table veined with gold. Around the table sat ten women. Erinye gasped when she saw that they wore the pure white, unadorned robes of the Dalch'argik, the Inner Circle.

"Child," said one of the Dalch'argik, a surprisingly young woman whose skin seemed to almost glow with good health. "The Light blazes within you." Erinye fumbled for words, uncertain and afraid. "What do you mean...?" she asked in a faltering voice. She looked behind her, and saw that the Artak'in and aspet who had brought her here were gone. "You possess the gift, child," said another of the Dalch'argik, a stern-faced woman with straight black hair streaked with silver. Her skin was incredibly pale, almost luminescent. "With training, with the right nudge, you may utilize the Secret Art. Magic." Erinye stared at her.

"I...I see," she said slowly. She realized that she was nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of her robe, and stopped at once. "What...what would you have of me, Your Graces?" One of the women pulled a tiny glass vial out of her sleeve. Erinye stared at the vial, and felt dread rising within her. "Service, Erinye," the woman said softly. "The Dominion needs you."

"...what must I do, Your Grace?"

The first Dalch'argik spoke, her beautiful face smiling and calm, but her eyes were like chips of flint. "Kill the traitor, Lord Taelyc."