Legends of Belariath
Zophiel
Excerpt from Chapter 2 of 'The Piecemeal Memoirs of
Zophiel de la Espada'
Reflections of a Gloriously Misspent Youth
It was not until I stood at the aft railing of a ship and watched the silhouette of my homeland fading behind us in the early morning light that I really began thinking about the events of my youth, the circumstances that had led me to this moment, the beginning of my exile. I could easily say I was forced to this, but ultimately I had a choice. I could have stayed and been hanged, or burned. No, I chose to abandon the archipelago that I had known for these first twenty years of my life.
But what was I sacrificing, really? I did manage to leave with the family heirloom, the sword for which we were given our surname. It was to be the only real tie to my people, the one tangible thing that I would carry with me to the mainland. Inheriting this ceremonial rapier was the greatest goal of my youth. Ah, but I was so naive then. With mother and father off tending to their own affairs, and leaving me in the hands of my tutors, my first double-handfull of years were quite sheltered.
I grew up in study chambers and sparring gymnasiums, not a care for anything beyond the estate's walls. But, as was bound to happen, I grew bored with all that. I remember several little adolescent exploits, beginning with stealing extra sweets from the larder, until by my fifteenth birthday, I knew the secret passages and back ways about the estate better than the oldest servants. This was immesurably useful, because I had taken to slumming in the seedy taverns along the wharf. Oh yes, by nights I was quite the little scoundrel; I spent many nights watching the ne'er-do-wells of the Drowned Rat Tavern going about their nefarious business. When I felt ready to make my move, I insinuated myself among them. They were skeptical at first, but most of them had begun their careers even earlier than I was starting mine, and so it was not that difficult to earn their trust. All I had to do was buy it.
I was surprised, but it only took me two years to climb the ranks of the loosely-organized thieves' guild. I never became the leader, or even one of his lieutenants, but I made myself indispensible. As the son of a merchant-duke, I had greater access to priveleged society than most of them, and I used it shamelessly. Needless to say, many came to rely on me for information or help, all at a price, of course.
And so it was that I stumbled upon some rather unsettling truths regarding my nation. A few of us were hired to plant compromising evidence that would lead a certain noble to be tried fort heresy. When I say tried, I mean condemned and executed. The Celestial Order boasted that no heretic, once caught, escaped their grasp. They neglected to mention that they accomplished this perfect record by simply denying all arrested heretics any sort of defense whatsoever. But I digress... we were given books and scrolls that contained forbidden information, all penned in the forbidden language of the elves. Most of my cohorts were barely literate, but I was a man of education and resource. So I took it upon myself to ask for extra copies of the materials, 'just in case'. The originals were planted, and after that, I set out to learn the forbidden tongue and read these intriguing heresies.
That was when I discovered the depths of the Islasorans' hypocrisy. Our religion had, somehow, become corrupted over the generations, and an increasing tendency for xenocentric men to come to positions of influence led to a violent increase in 'military excursion drills' performed on the islands inhabited by our fair neighbors. What I had before me was an accounting of the five hundred years of my peoples' history, from the elven perspective. The reading left me burning with curiosity, and so I secretly traveled to the elves' islands with a native slave whose escape I orchestrated. Their distrust of me made the guild's initial reactions seem inviting, but after continuously proving myself by smuggling out more of their slaves, they finally came to trust me. A year and a little under fourscore liberated captives later, I was taken into the elves' confidence.
At the age of eighteen, a man now, I had discovered a great many things about my people. It had come to light that the Celestial Order, under the pretense of shepherding and protecting the Islasorans, had in fact enslaved them through tyrrany and fear. For reasons I never was able to ascertain, the Order initiated a pogrom of subjugation and genocide against any race not human and any religion not their own. This bloody tradition has continued now for at least three centuries, during which the elves have been attacked, and those who were not killed were dragged back to Islasoros to serve as slaves. None of this would have unsettled me so deeply, save that race was the only motivating factor in the matter. Genocide and race-hate are clumsy and born of ignorance. I was shamed to see my people, in many ways the epitome of culture, so easily caught up in this savagery. Tyranny and oppression are crude and ineffective; my people deserved better.
And so it was that I gathered my larcenous companions together and proposed an initiative of our own. None of us enjoyed the persecution of the Order, and we were certain that a decline in its power would only make our lives easier. So, we began slowly spreading heresies of our own. We gained some influence with the quiet elf sympathists, and also with those disenchanted by the Order's heavy-handed tactics. The best-traveled merchants knew that there were much subtler and more effective ways to exploit masses, and so in return for early opportunities to fill the gap of power left when the Order was to be weakened, they joined in our cause. And so it was that the Keepers of Truth were formed. I rather liked the title, though it was not my idea. The irony of it was just entirely too delicious to refuse. I'm sure some among us had lofty goals in mind, but most of us wanted the power that this propaganda war could leave the victors, and would create the 'truth' in such a way as to give us as much of that power as possible. Plus, an opportunity to dip our hands into the Order's deep coffers was never to be missed.
We smuggled some of our brethren away to the mainland to learn of the magic that the Order forbade any of us to use, and they returned with some rudimentary, but useful, skills in the arcane craft. Meanwhile, the war with the Celestial Order had quietly begun. Pamphlets were distributed, rumors flew, religious ceremonies were disrupted, and members of the Order were killed. The lattermost activity was my favorite. Noticing the pleasure I took in robbing others of their lives, one of the guild's lieutenants pulled me aside one night and introduced me to a new heresy: the worshipping of other gods. I had nearly forgotten that other gods existed, so busily was I focused on the Order's racist policies. Always drawn to novel ideas, I eagerly listened as my mentor told me of the Dark Blade, Lord of Murder. I was an easy convert, and once I was inducted into the faith, I used the backs of my victims to scrawl out blasphemous prayers to my patron deity. Needless to say, this only added to the panic among the populace and anger in the Order's halls of power. It was just so perfect.
And then, not long after my nineteenth birthday, I was rudely awakened in the middle of the night by the woman my father was arranging for me to marry. Yasmina and I were mutually attracted to one another, but neither of us held any illusions about what was to come between us. We were being joined so our houses' powerbases could consolidate. As such, it came as something of a surprise to me that she had bothered to warn me that I had been betrayed by one of my allies. The Celestial Order's Hierophant himself, Yasmina's uncle, was assembling his finest soldiers to come drag me from my bed. I think it upset Yasmina a little to see how easily I left, and occasionally I can't help but wonder if she had truly cared for me, despite herself. The irony of our pleasant lie becoming a bitter truth, if this is the case, will not be lost on me. I never came to care for her, but then again, at that point I had never really cared for anyone but myself.
And so it was that when first light broke the horizon and the ships began to sail from port, I was alone and nearly impoverished, huddled in the hold of one of those vessels. When we were safely under way, I came up to the deck and bade farewell to the only place I had ever known.
---
Once I reached the mainland, I made finding some sort of cover my first priority, and so I went about looking for work. I needed a means of explaining the exorbibant amount of money I had planned to acquire in this city, so I could buy the information and protection I would doubtlessly be needing. A jeweler was hiring, and so it was that I learned to shape metal and gemstones into things of beauty. The woman who taught me, an elf of exacting standards, was nearly enough to make me wonder why I had bothered to free any of her race from my people. There were several nights I entertained fantasies of stealing my way into her home and slitting her throat while she slept, but I kept my vengeance in check. She had much to teach me, and she allowed me to establish an indispensible cover. Jewelers do make quite a bit of money, after all.
I received word from Islasoros at one point, a letter from Yasmina. She had discovered the identity of my traitor, the elf slave I had seduced and used for my own private entertainment on occasion, Noelani. The naive creature was convinced that we were in love, and that I was saving up money to buy her from her current owner. She was the one who taught me her peoples' language, and so had deduced my involvement in the Keepers of Truth. It made me seem noble of spirit in her eyes, which only bolstered her devotion. But even still, the Celestial Order was purported to have a great deal of expertise in the art of torture. It hardly came as a surprise that they had broken the elf's will, but I was rather disappointed. Originally, I hoped to have her smuggled to the mainland at some point. She would make a more easily-manipulated traveling companion than Yasmina. According to the letter, though, Noelani had been executed not long after her confession. So much for having my pet elf accompany me in exile.
The letter continued, and became more disturbing as I read on. She stated that she would be coming to the mainland to be with me, and that she looked forward to holding me in her arms agin. I thought on this, and it occurred to me that Yasmina would never permanently leave Islasoros. She was every bit as hungry for power as he, and she had a great deal of it there. No, I realized that she meant to capture me and bring me back to the island chain to claim the glory of my defeat for herself. She may have cared for me, yes, but she was ultimately a pragmatist. And if bringing me to 'justice' would restore her reputation after the scandal of having nearly been married to a heretic, she would not hesitate to do so. And so, once again, I was forced to leave.
Taking only what I could easily carry, I headed farther inland. I heard rumors of a town called Nanthalion, and an inn not far from it. Given the broadly contrasting information I gathered, I decided it would be the perfect place to hide and amass power, far from the Celestial Order's reach, and comfortably tucked away in the anonymity of being just one of many outcasts and criminals. Hopefully.