by Luke Norris
“Yes, keep them pumping! How's the coal looking?” asked Oliver. One of the other smiths shoveled another scoop into the top of the stack. It had reached such an extreme temperature this time that a steady stream of coal was required to compensate for the rate at which it was burning down. The iron ore had been stacked in layers between the coal.
The molten slag was oozing at a steady rate from the bottom, tin, copper and other impurities. Oliver cleared them out with a stick which instantly caught fire upon touching the tiny man-made lava flow. The roar of the furnace and smell of burning metal had everybody on edge with anticipation.
Oliver chipped away the baked clay at the bottom of the furnace to enlarge the hole. More molten slag came out, then large solid chunks. Finally, he felt his stick hitting a large solid form, wedged inside the cylindrical stack of the furnace. He methodically chipped away at the hole to make it larger and leveraged against the baked clay edge to dislodge the bloom.
Slowly the glowing rock emerged, white hot with darker red patches where the temperature wasn't so extreme. It was bigger than the last one and required one of the boys with tongs to help Oliver carry it to the slab of stone they used as an anvil. It looks like an igneous deposit from a volcano, thought Oliver.
“Ok Maadin, time to see!” Oliver handed him the hammer.
The blacksmith swung the hammer gently at first. Golden globs of molten slag exploded from the surface and seared the dirt at their feet. But the rock stayed in one piece. He swung harder, small impurities broke from the surface, but it stayed in one piece. Soon the Blacksmith was swinging with all his might to be greeted by the sound metallic clang that came from the solid piece of iron under the hammer. The other men in the workshop let out a whoop in celebration, and Maadin shook his head in disbelief.
“My friend,” Maadin placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder and looked at him imploringly, “your land over the mountain must be great! You have brought great knowledge to us, and you've only been here one week.” He shook his head and laughed. “You must stay here and teach us!”
Oliver was still reveling from the fact that the iron smelting had actually worked. I could really help these people, he thought, there is so much basic knowledge they don't have.
“I'm not going anywhere, Maadin!” Oliver’s eyes reflected the smoldering iron bloom as he stared at it. I've got nowhere to go.
26. Lowlands
Haras scowled in disgust at the form shuffling quickly down the hall towards them, taking short dainty steps as not to disturb the flow of his long robe. His posture was perfectly straight apart from his eyes which held their focus at the base of the throne. I would love to put a sword in the hand of this sycophant and watch him shit his pants on the front line, thought Haras. But hell, I'm just a glorified court rat too now. For all my valor I got promoted to polish my armor and stand here suffering these brown-noses all day. His scowl deepened, extenuating the shape of his flat nose that had been broken in battle too many times to count. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes extended to the side flaps of his polished helm. He was somehow being punished. Many soldiers would dream of being elevated to the Kingsguard, but Haras was a warrior, born to fight beside his men. There's nobody to fight at the moment anyway, he reminded himself.
Scores of small torches threw the advisors shadow against the ornate bronze vases and the throne room murals as he walked. Even Haras had to admit that the most recent artist had created a masterpiece, the battle scenes appeared to come alive in the dancing shadows.
“Your Highness,” the advisor said, stopping five meters from the throne and bowing low. Years of training his facial muscles in the king’s court kept his expression plastered in a perfect sickly mask, conveying sorrow, amusement, sympathy, and assertion simultaneously. He stood, prostrated before the king, his gaze at the foot of the throne.
The captain of the king’s guard rolled his eyes.
The king gave Haras a knowing smile before turning back to the patrician. “Rise Nasah!” he leaned forward eagerly, “have they arrived?” The king’s lean form was concealed beneath the draping black royal robe. His dark hair had strands of grey and been combed immaculately and pulled into a tight ponytail which hung down to his waist. The only visible jewelry the king wore was the golden seal of Naharain kingdom that dangled free below his neck.
“Yes, Your Highness. The emissaries from beyond the black mountains have arrived with the prophet.”
“Huh,” Haras stifled a scoff. He did not believe for one second they were from over the mountains, but the reports of these travelers had been curious indeed. They had developed almost a cult following as they traveled through the land, using displays of magic to seduce the common folk. Con artists no doubt. But their purpose was to allegedly bring a prophecy to the king of the two rivers.
“I will see them now!” The king waved his hand at the advisor.
“Your Highness,” he bowed slightly and hurried back along the polished stone floor.
“I know what you're thinking Haras,” the king said, turning to the captain of the guard, “but they have collected quite the following I hear, and by simply granting them an audience I can avoid unwanted attention among the folk. Besides, I am a little curious about this so-called prophet.” The king arranged himself in his throne and made sure the Naharain medallion was clearly visible.
Before Haras could answer a voice echoed from the end of the throne room. “His Highness, the king of the two rivers.”
Four figures wearing travelers clothes were led into the long hall by two king’s guard. They seemed an unlikely bunch to Haras. A young woman with a short dark hair pinned back at the sides, a skinny blond man with nervous twitching eyes, a man that held himself with an air of authority and following behind was a very large cloaked man with a hood covering the top half of his face so the lower half was obscured in shadow.
Several things about these visitors grated Haras immediately. The casual manner in which they walked, stopping even to comment to each other on the artwork in the throne room. They showed complete disregard for the fact they had just entered the throne room of the king himself and were in his presence.
To Haras's disbelief, the tall man had not removed his hood upon entering and was striding quietly behind the others. Why had the guards not seen to him removing his hood? He would have stern words with them later. Eventually, after casually inspecting the Naharain carvings on one of the huge bronze vases they idled up to stand before the king. The cavalier demeanor made Haras more uncomfortable than the king’s slimy advisor had.
“You will remove your hood in the presence of His Royal Highness!” Haras ordered loudly, his voice echoing off the stone walls. To his utter surprise, the tall figure wearing the hooded cloak turned to one of one of his companions to confirm if he should do this. How dare he! I give the orders. The stocky man at the front nodded his ascent. The man swept his hood back over his face, revealing gleaming granite-like ebony skin. Haras heard a small gasp escape the king’s lips, he himself was taken back also, but he held his composure.
So the rumors of this prophet are true! He isn't from these parts, thought Haras. I may not know anything about prophets and fortune tellers, but I know about battle, and those are the eyes of a hardened killer as sure as the mountain’s shadow. His thoughts were interrupted by the girl who stepped forward.
“Your Highness, I am Verity, and I speak for my companions as they have not yet mastered the tongue of the Naharain. Firstly, thank you for this audience, we have traveled on a very long journey to see you, and bring you important council, king between the two rivers.”
Interesting! She has the accent of the clans, Haras looked to see if the king had noticed too. She is polite, but by no means intimidated by the court, how can a girl so young show no fear or awe before a king?
“Lady Verity, the reputation of you and your companions precedes you. Reports of your exploits in my realm have reached the court, and I see you have certainly curried favor
with the people.” The king leaned forward with a cocked eyebrow. “We hear many rumors here, but I appreciate hearing news straight from the source. However, seeing now that there are only three men in your company I fear the rumors were grossly exaggerated.”
The king considered the four travelers before him. “I have had appeals from the northern villages to send soldiers to police the forest. A gang of bandits have become a problem there. However, my soldiers are required on the borders because of high tensions with the Wasat realm. Those villages are also importantly supplying my army. Sending my soldiers to find a hidden group of bandits of unknown numbers and strength posed a problem for me.” The king paused. “And then I hear a report that a group of foreigners from...over the mountains,” he glanced at Haras, “single-handedly killed twenty-two bandits and brought the leader to the baroness of the northern province for justice.” The king waited.
“Your Highness, this is true,” Verity winced.
Why did she wince? Was she lying? No. It was something else. The memory pained her perhaps. Harras had heard rumors of the brutal way the bandits had been disposed of. Was that it? This girl didn’t have the eyes of a killer. She seemed out of place among her companions. They had kept the bandit leader alive as a strategic move to get them into the nobility circles, by allowing the local authorities to perform justice and save face. Smart! Their plan had worked, because here they stood before the king. But if she is not lying then was Harras supposed to believe that they’d really taken out the entire gang of bandits, in their own territory, by themselves?
Impossible, thought Harras, three men against twenty-two. But as he looked into the impassive ivory white eyes of the tall dark-skinned man his warrior instincts told him it was true. This dark-skinned man, so-called ‘prophet’, radiated leadership, strength and a calculated lethal air. His whole demeanor somehow commanded the subservience of the room, dare Harras think it, even more so than the king himself. More perturbing, he seemed subjugated to this smaller man at the front, Harras felt a tremble in his spine.
“If this is indeed true,” the king said, “should I not also see you as a threat?” Of course, he did not feel threatened, archers placed around the balcony floor were always present when the king had an audience.
“Your Highness, it is true that my companions possess other skills, which is also the reason they were selected to come here to help you fulfill the prophecy.” Verity's brown eyes held the king’s gaze. “Eventually you will come to know us as the greatest allies you ever had.”
Haras would have laughed if it wasn't for the matter-of-fact tone and over confident air of these strange people.
“Tell me Lady Verity what is this prophecy I keep hearing about?” The king was unconsciously playing with the medallion in his hand. His kingdom was on the brink of war with Wasat, and tensions were higher than a harp string, positive words seemed like something he should entertain.
“Very well your Highness. The prophet Drake,” Verity indicated to the huge dark-skinned man behind her, “has come to tell you that the world is entering a new age of prosperity and enlightenment.”
Huh, typical! I don't know why I expected anything more...Haras's thoughts were interrupted as Verity continued.
“This new age will bring technology to your people you can only dream of and will make life easier for all,” she paused, the fact this was a half-truth gave the lie more conviction. “For this to happen the four realms must be united to strive for this common goal. King between the two rivers, you will unite the nations! You will lead the people of this world into the age of light!”
There was stunned silence then the king let out an exaggerated laugh. “I was expecting positive words of affirmation, the usual sort of news a fortune teller would bring a king, but your prophecy certainly did have a touch of the grandiose,” he chuckled. “My good lady, I don't know what your intentions really are, but we are on the brink of war with the Wasat on our western border. There certainly isn't any unity happening soon.” The lines on the king’s face deepened as he reflected on his last comment. “Unfortunately,” he added.
A different voice pulled the king’s attention back to the group. “Your Highness, my name is Yarn, I am leader of us.” The king had to concentrate to make out the man’s thick accent. “What Verity told you is true, but that is only basics of prophecy.”
Verity whispered translations in Yarn's ear as he spoke. “Full prophecy very detailed with plans for strategy for every step. Full prophecy tells exactly how to defeat Wasat Realm.”
The king’s face grew serious. “I will hear more of this! But the hour is late, I have been in war councils all day, and you have had a long journey so we will continue on the morrow. You have done my realm a service in the north, and you will stay on the palace grounds tonight, Haras will see you to your quarters.” He nodded to the Captain of the guard.
As Haras obeyed, he watched the eyes of the large ebony man as they stared back assessing, gauging, critically analyzing.
*
On Earth Verity had just been an observer, aghast to learn the nature of this business, but not taking part. I’m complicit now, she thought, and there’s no justifying my way out of it. I stood in front of that king and manipulated him just like Yarn had wanted.
The way Yarn ordered the systematic disposal of all those bandits over the last months made her sick, and now they had weaseled their way into the leadership of this land precisely as Yarn predicted.
Since Shira’s death, Yarn seemed removed any last vestige of human emotion when making decisions, as if everything could simply be calculated with the right information. His depraved moral code already saw first-stagers as a means to an end, not as people seeking happiness, fulfillment or deserving of justice and fair treatment. It terrified her to think how much devastation he could wreak from a position of leadership in this place. The situation was already starting to feel frighteningly similar to Earth.
The three second-stagers sat together with the huge driver, Drake, and talked freely. The guards outside their rooms were unable to understand their alien language.
“This is perfect! The people trust this king and are loyal to him,” Riff said.
“Yes, that will make our job quicker,” replied Yarn. “We can control him, and the masses will follow. We don't have to waste time trying to win over the population. He is desperate too. I could see it in his eyes, so willing to latch on to our messages of hope. He thinks we will deliver him from his little war.”
“Well lucky for him we are here to deliver, right?” Verity said.
Yarn shook the last drop of wine from the pitcher into his cup. “Huh! I guess you could look at it like that. As long as the people trust him, things will move quicker. It's a happy coincidence for our king here that his desires align with our plan. We have a lot of work to do." Yarn scanned the well-appointed stone room. It was in a separate building from the main palace but still on the grounds. “This will be our base of operations. Being separated from the palace will be an advantage I think. We can operate from behind the scenes, keeping the illusion of the king’s rule intact.”
How many times have they done this? This is just business for usual for these two pirates, Verity realized, listening to the two talk. “How do you expect to get this planet to achieve space flight? I mean, these people are still so primitive,” Verity asked. Her eyes were still alert, unlike Riff who had a lazy smile and stained red teeth from the wine.
“Yes, it will take longer than we originally discussed,” Yarn’s brow furrowed in thought, “and it may be a few years before we can go into cryogenic sleep. We have to plant a hell of a lot of technology, and it will still take a century, at least, before they develop enough to achieve basic space travel.”
Verity recited her understanding of the plan. “We seed the technology for them, and then go into stasis sleep for a century, here on the planet,” she said aghast, “and wake once they have developed spacecraft that can take us back into orbit?
Um, doesn't anybody see a problem with this?” Verity looked at the others.
Drake sat silently as always, unable to understand everything being said in the refined second-stage language. His dark face an unreadable placid mask.
Riff blew a kiss in Verity's direction that sent a blast of wine smelling air to her, then hiccuped.
“I know what you are thinking!” Yarn nodded solemnly. “Full stasis sleep will be dangerous not being in the cryogenic beds on the ship, but…”
“That's only the half of it,” Verity cut him off, “how are we going to wake up? If we slow ourselves down and go into a self-induced sleep, there are no ship’s computers here! How are we going to wake up after one hundred years? This sounds so dangerous, and I've never heard of it being done. So, let me get this straight. Over the next few years we plant technology and give these people a blueprint for their development for the next century, then we slow down and sleep for a hundred years and wake up to a prehistoric spaceship that will take us back up to the mothership?”
“You're pretty when you're fiery! You know that?” Riff hiccuped again.
“Look, it’s a plan in progress young lady,” Yarn grinned, “but we aren't exactly presented with too many options. And, don't worry your pretty little self, darling, I will find a solution to that. We need to work through the first stages of the plan first, and we can't expect to see any technological progress until these people are united.” He turned to Drake, switching to the more basic driver language. “That's where you come in.” The big driver nodded and flashed an ivory grin.
“Hey, don't leave me out of the fun,” Riff said, “I'm getting good with that thing.” He indicated to the bow lying in the corner, “and, I thought my display against that last group of highway robbers was impressive if I do say so myself,” he hiccuped.