by M.Y. Roger
CHAPTER TWO
THE KINGS COUNCIL
Dusk was gathering over the city, when the lone horseman came galloping upon the northern roads that descended from Rimmon, clad in a dark cowl with a hood over his head, he raced impatiently through the half-deserted roads like one fleeing from a rout. Nigh the gates he hardly allayed his speed, and in a quick trot he passed through the watched gates even as the soldiers watched in disgust at the rider, through the narrow cloven passages he rode to escape the bustling streets that climbed straight to Thurin-hill, the footfall of his steed sounded horrendously loud in the quiet passages.
The rider rode through the dark shrouded alleys that were dimly lit by flickering lamps which gleamed through windows; finally he cantered at the stair of Thurin-hill. He threw behind the hood revealing his doughty and travel-worn face, and even as he alighted from the horse, it was reined away by another soldier. At the stair Thurin-mill the captain of the golden hall stood in company of other soldiers, they appeared to be discussing some strange prospect, and as he approached Thurin-mill recognized him to be Amroth the captain of Comorus, for he bore a striking resemblance to the king his brother, his chiefly armour was now revealed as he drew his cloak away.
“Amroth,” Thurin-mill gasped. “What brings you so hastily to Ain like a fleeing brigand?” the old soldier asked humorously, but the captain’s face remained indifferent for his coming was urgent that he had no time to regard pleasantries.
“Only one thing drives a fox out of its hole, trouble! I must speak to you at once before we seek the king.” Amroth said in a hurried whisper, and together they climbed up the stairs into the fortress.
The door opened to reveal a large half empty room, whose wall was adorned with weapons, armours and strange banners from every realm under the king. A shelf stood hidden in the shadow away from the flickering lights of a hanging lamp, through the open window a cool nightly wind was breezing and one could see much of the city in the tranquility of the night. Amroth helped himself heavily into a chair, while Thurin-mill poured him a drink into a mug from the shelf.
“Have this, though the mead in Mythia is referred to as inferior to that of Porsa which you have grown fat on, but a weary man like you have no choice.”
Amroth took a long sip, and dropped the half empty mug on the table with a heavy rap, across the table Thurin-mill was now seated and was caressing his long wooly beard, haste was written all across the graven brows of Amroth and he could see fear in his eyes.
“As the captain of Thurin-hill you must hear this first before we consult the king. Yesterday at dusk a ship sailed near Tirbane from the northern, it was not from Maul or Fysia as we had thought, but out of the Peat garrison, the first Asp ship to be seen since the fall of Surrucia.” Thurin-mill’s face straightened as he sat up in his chair with much anticipation. “Though we saw none of that foul race of the north in the ship, they sent us a package and before we could ready our ships after them they had sailed away into the darkness.”
“And what package was that?” He asked anxiously. The fey pallor on his face was now growing whiter.
“It wasn't a hewn head as is accustomed of the Ibis, but a letter smirched with blood.” Amroth said, and reaching into the folds of his cloak he produced the brown old parchment and left it on the table. Thurin-mill was visibly shaken as he stared in consternation, his hands trembled to open the letter and it appeared he now contemplated it, finally he touched it.
“Has it been opened before?” Thurin-mill asked.
“Aye! It is written in the uncouth runes of Ibisia which we all lack the skill to construe, but nothing has ever come out of thence than death.”
“I feared your coming had evil, because you rode like a deranged person. I cannot read an Ibis hand, but I know it has one aim to instill deep fear in our terror-stricken hearts, to deter us. I guess there is one that I know who could help decipher that for us, an old acquaintance of mine who served in Maul, a great soldier though he has long forsaken that path and now looks towards tending his field.”
“If he lives in Maul, we must find fresh horses at once and ride all night.” Amroth snapped.
“No need for that, he lives just outside the city walls.” Amroth sighed in relief and sat back.
“I cannot wait to find out what evil is written there, and I will neither eat nor rest until I know.” Amroth said.
Together both captains took their leave, they rode through the city in silence without any company for their mission was clandestine, at the fringe of the city they took the south westerly roads towards the Wislow woods.
I can still remember vividly that night Thurin-mill rode to our house in company of another man. The waning gibbous moon was rising over the grey range of the mountains; a cold wind was rising as I sat on the porch thinking of my forth coming date with Veasty. In the gleam of the light that flickered through the window, the shadow of my father moved in his room. My heart missed a beat as I now feared he was searching for his sword which I had taken to the farm in the evening for practice and had not returned; moments later he came through the door and stood by the porch. I sat in tension and would not look up at him, he cleared his voice in the fashion he was fond of before a tirade, when we heard the clatter of horses hooves in the darkness approaching the house, now he will go back to fetch his sword I feared, but even as the riders approached like wraiths hunched up on saddles, they called out in peaceable terms and from the familiar voice we could tell Thurin-mill had come.
They trotted to a halt at the porch, hailed each other warmly and shook hands with my father. “What brings this old soldier to my abode in the dead of the night, like an emissary of the enemy sharing bounty?” my father asked.
“Can’t I behold the face of a friend without a reason?” Thurin-mill asked laughingly, but the other rider appeared sinister upon his saddle.
“You didn’t come to see my face Thurin, the sun has long gone to sleep something different has brought you here. Now come in for at first I thought Heres had come to some new trouble since he has now become lord of that order.” The riders leapt off their horses and I reined them away but hurried back to eavesdrop on what was about to transpire, like my father I had a mixed feeling and premonition about Thurin-mill’s riding in the dead of the night in company of another rider that was chiefly clad in armour and wore long boots of supple leather, the riders went in at my father’s beckon. They sat before him, but I remained outside by the window listening attentively to them.
“Whatever we say here tonight must end here, it is secret, and no ear outside here must hear of it. This is Amroth captain of Comorus the king’s brother.” Thurin-mill said in a whisper as he looked around for me, at that my heart jumped into my mouth, my father sat back the cheerful look on his face died, and Amroth spoke.
“I have ridden for two days from Tirbane, if you know it is the great fortress of Mythia that overlooks the sea in Comorus. I need your help for all our fate is now tied to you.” Amroth’s deep voice implored. Thurin-mill brought out a strange brown parchment and pushed it across the table to my father, with much reluctance my father received and unwound the parchment and took a long frightful glance, what he beheld startled him as a terrified look crept over his face.
“It is of Ibisia…!” He gasped, Thurin-mill nodded affirmatively. Then was my first fear allayed even as a greater fear roused from the sound of the word, Ibisia “How did you come into possession of such a foul message?”
“That I cannot disclose to you, all I want is that you decipher it, for we lack any with that skill.” Amroth said.
“An Asp ship of Ibisia brought it.” Thurin-mill whispered.
“An Asp ship from Ibisia!” my father exclaimed.
“Even the king has not heard of it.” Amroth added.
“The runes are of Ibisia and it is sealed in the name of the warlock on the rock that never sinks.” He said and stared deeply into their weary faces:
“The warlock on the rock!”
Amroth exclaimed. “What does that mean?”
“It sounds like a legend.” Thurin mill said.
“It is the legend of Aardoo, the rock is his stronghold called the Peat garrison, the ibis call it Gurlotta.”
Hurulk mansk illrik alvol iden Mythia, aril Maul halak izin gildal.
Harokal Sondon malzal illik Galadrosia, halmul illas illik inark halak.
“This is what is written in the black Ibis speech, now may I translate it to you in our own tongue, though grave and evil words they are but I am certain that you must have prepared yourself for it.” They nodded silently, and after a sigh he began.
“Here is written in the Ibis characters according to the mode of Ibisia: The end has come for Mythia, Maul and the realm of men, the dark master now musters the might of his lands, his war is nigh and it will cover all in its darkness, the dark days are drawing nigh, the warning of Galadrosia I now repeat.”
He paused and looked straight at them. “It was sealed by the hands of Aardoo, and from the blood that is smirched on it, this is no mere prank.” My father said, and he wrapped the parchment back and gave it to Thurin-mill, who raised his head from the sheet he had been scribbling on.
“Alas! The fears of our fathers now dawn on our age.” Thurin-mill gasped. “What is your counsel master Horace; they say none can rival your knowledge of Ibisia.” My father sat still like a statue in his chair. The night was now old, though my legs were waning fast like the moon but I could not go without hearing the last of this secret meeting.
“Tell the king that the dark days we have long feared will come in his reign, and there will be wars. Though it will take awhile for the whole might of Ibisia to be mustered, but if it has then we shall not avail much. It shall be our doom, tell the king to begin to muster as much might as possible and prepare armaments for our enemy has never been idle.”
“Every single word you have said will be relayed to the king; you might even be summoned before him.” Thurin-mill said.
Without further deliberation the riders gathered themselves in heaviness and rode off into the night for the city. Even when I entered he was still lost in thought that he sat pathetically in his chair with a hand under his chin. He looked up at me when he realized I had for sometime been staring at him.
“Heres.” He called and feigned a smile, not two hours ago he was as cheerful as a groom, but now he appeared pale and weary with grief like a groom whose bride had just scuttled away with another man.
“I heard everything father.” I said. He sighed deeply and his head fell. “You cannot continue to shield me from such matters.”
“When I didn't hear any sound of you, I knew you were eavesdropping on us. The end is near Heres; indeed the dark master has not forgotten his malice as we had hoped. We are all helpless in his overwhelming darkness, ever since Surrucia fell and its host banished, the enemy has never been at rest, he has relentlessly plotted our downfall and now his dark plot is almost ripe.” He said.
“Is there no hope?” I asked frightfully. He looked up and deep into my eyes with gloom.
“There has never been any hope, except a fool’s hope from a path that we have long deserted, men no longer remember that path, perhaps there is only a handful that still remembers that path.”
“And what path is that father? Is it that of the scroll for indeed there is no hope there, since none can sack the horde of the dark master without binding him first, which is definitely impossible.” I said.
“Go to bed Heres, and do not ponder over this thing, it is for us that are old, your life is still before you and it is bright.” He said, but he lacked the reassurance in his almost wavering voice, and even as I walked away I looked at him sidelong as he clasped his bent head in his knotted hands in grief.
The guards by the door drew it apart, and bowed as Amroth and Thurin-mill walked into the upper room, and by a window that opened towards the north the dusky shape of a man stood. His hair and robe flowing in the cold draught as he backed them, peering into the distant night,
“Hail! Lord of Mythia, Roc my brother.” Amroth called, the pitiful face lifted and turned even as they paid obeisance.
“I was told that you sneaked into Ain, brother.” The king said, and embraced Amroth warmly which his brother could not reciprocate.
“Is it the refreshing breeze, or your habitual watch over the Rimmon as if Rogoroth still commands a realm before you, that makes you watch over the night like a guard in Fagshold?” Thurin-mill asked.
The king grinned. “You can never tell what tale the night brings, sometimes I believe I can read the will of the enemy from the stars, they say the same constellation we see here are also seen in Carn-dunn.” The king paused and continued to gaze into the night, even as Amroth and Thurin-mill contemplated with incredulous looks on who would break the grim news to the king.
“A strong shadow of fear has been growing in my heart of recent, evil stirs in the north I can feel it in the earth, Sondon has not been idle neither has any of his servants been slumbering.” The king said as he turned to them. “What brings you to Ain, are you now tired of your watch over the Isis?”
“My lord I’m afraid I have only come to confirm your fear.” Amroth finally summoned the will to speak about the matter at hand. The king faltered against the wall as Amroth handed over to him the Ibis parchment, the king walked over to the sputtering torch. And like everyone who had come in contact with the parchment, he unwrapped it with a sense of dread as if a curse would be unleashed if ever opened.
“This is of Ibisia!” He exclaimed almost hurling away the scroll. Thurin-mill waited until the king had regained his composure, then he was given the interpretation. He read and pondered for a while with grave fear which pelted his heart.
“This is the repetition of the warning of Galadrosia.” He muttered even as he now appeared to be standing aghast. “And it was not written to warn us but to scorn.”
“My lord it is the hand of Aardoo who now hails as the wizard king of Gur-lotta, the same Aardoo who brought the line of Andron to an end in Maul.” Thurin-mill said.
“How did you find this?” He asked, raising his face which was gnarled by fear.
“Yesterday my lord, at dusk an Ibis ship sailed south to Tirbane and left the message in the water.” Amroth said.
“Long have I feared this, too long have I imagined that evil was stirring in the north, now the dark master knows that we have no allies in Surrucia, and dissension now grows amongst us like rot. There is now no power left in us to withstand him not even his vanguard, it now seems our doom has been hastened.”
“It has not been hastened my lord, the dark master has not gathered all his might, if not he would have been at our door, we should only hope that it takes awhile.” Thurin-mill said.
“Awhile!” the king scoffed. “That the fathers die in peace while their offspring’s suffer the brunt of the tyrant, no. Many times have I pondered over this on my sleepless bed, into Ibisia we must go to reclaim that scroll, but none would volunteer even for all of Mythia, for the tale of Ibisia is as the fire that melts away courage like wax.”
“We must muster our might, though a little it may be my lord.” Amroth said. “We must call upon a council of every lord and captain found in the free realms of men, a council my lord like that of Fark and Andron when hordes of Ibis marauded the south under Cyran.”
“Then there was strength still left in men.” The king snapped even as he paced about, he now appeared old and broken. “The best blood of our race has been wasted upon the battle fields of Galadrosia many years ago, even in the undying world our great fathers now weep for us. We are now caught between the hammer and the anvil of an invincible and implacable foe.” The king leaned back by the window, the once strong gleam in his eyes faded, he sighed deeply and looked into their weary faces.
“Aardoo might have sent this to scorn us, but the evil in his heart has made him blind to his weakness, he has only robbed his mast
er the advantage of the element of surprise. Send out messengers to Maul, Iop, Comorus to every captain under my liege, let them assemble at my hall before a week.” He ordered. “Though long has the forge-master prepared the furnace it can still be ruined by a cup of water.”
Before dawn the next day, horsemen were readied and as the gates were opened they took their journey out of the city, dispelling in all directions. Those to Maul took the eastern roads, while those to Iop rode down the southern roads and those to Comorus took the roads towards the grey mountains heading for the gap of Thundrin. The king stood alone on the top most turret of the tower of Edessa watching as the riders galloped north, though he knew many would answer to his call but only a few could stand the test of valour? For too long had any seen any battle in this part of the world. When ever he watched the formations and battle readiness of the host of his realm, he could only compare them to the fainthearted of the host of his father when he fought Cyran.
The first light of the rising sun was coming from Maul. Grey mist veiled the woods at the threshold of the mountains. Peering down as the darkness retreated from the city he could see people begin to move about the streets in peace, and how he wished it would remain as such for long. Behind him he could hear the rap of footsteps ascend up to him, and turning back he saw Thurin-mill clad in a grey robe and ascending wearily.
“This evil tiding robs everyone of sleep, my lord.” Thurin-mill said, as he stared piteously into the downcast face of the king.
“To many being a king means the best of everything, but there are times when a king’s only wish is to throw away his crown and run around like every ordinary person.”
“What you need is good advice, and that your father made me swear to always give to you and in due season you will have it.” There was deep silence for a while amongst them at length the king spoke out of his thoughts.
“I wish I could tell the heart of the enemy, to know how much time is left to us for our mustering, but even if I’m given that opportunity I would rather not take a glimpse for the horror I would behold in there would kill any man.”
“Ever since Surrucia fell, the reach of the enemy has become exceedingly long, it plucks and supplants whatever it desires, and his darkness now enshrouds the earth.”
The morning was bright, and the wind was rising from the south, by now the riders must have covered many leagues, and the dark master must have mustered many hundreds the king thought. Frayed clouds now hovered over the mountains and at their feet the mist was fading.
Four days after the sending out of emissaries, the delegates from the various realms had begun to converge in Ain, but even then the council could not hold until every marshal expected had assembled. On the seventh day the king sat on his throne in the opulent golden hall and hailed the great knights and captains who had answered his call. The wine flowed in goblets and the beer in mugs as they drank, but they were all oblivious of the gravity of the matter at which they had been summoned, except Thurin-mill and Amroth who stood beside the king with no cup in hand, music filled the great hall from the minstrel, songs of great valour of the valiant of old were sung, and praises were rendered of the great ridding of the lords of Maul, the archers of the Morbids, but when it came to the turn of Porsa their meads and beers of much renown got the praises to the cheers and jeers of the men.
At last the king motioned to the minstrel and the music faltered to an end, the captains and marshals soon took seats as the king began.
“Once again I hail all who have come to my call to honour oaths of fealty and friendship.” And a cheer of hoarse voices rose with the lifting of mugs and goblets. “Once again we stand in this great hall of our fathers, on a day when even as we sing of greatness and raise toast of friendship. An evil more ominous than those our fathers withstood stirs and rouses in the north.” At that the very atmosphere of merriment died, the mugs fell onto the table and dead silence reigned.
“Ibisia.” The word fell like a thunderbolt from the king’s lip, and every man that heard it blanched and sought to cower away. “Ibisia is on the warpath. The dark master and his fell servants have not been idle.” He said plaintively. “Not ten days ago we received a message from the lord of Gur-lotta, Aardoo who was once amongst us; it speaks of great indignation, a vindictive and malicious intent devised by the dark master himself to bring upon us death and ruins. Though the main aim was to instill fear in us, but it has also forewarned us lest we be caught off guard and for that reason we have all been assembled here.” The graveyards now had more cheer than the king’s hall, the first time such a thing will happen ever since the hall was built; the king was appalled at how the dread of Ibisia had eaten deep into men. The shallowness on their faces was as Sondon the dark master was suddenly revealed in their presence.
“Indeed I have seen the extent of the reach of the Sondon even amongst us that instead of uniting we now chose to grovel and beg for his black mercy. No wonder how easy and cheaply we fall to his dark wiles, eighty years ago beyond the Sinaren river nigh Farkburg, Andron of Maul and Fark of Mythia, the twin lords fell side by side in battle when all fled, today we sang of them and wish that one day our names would be called in such mighty songs, but it will never be achieved by such faintheartedness that would only end in we groveling at the feet of a foe who has no interest in prisoners of men.” The king said more trenchantly to imbue their courage.
“A mighty army has been mustered at Gur-lotta that will require wielding all our strengths together to vanquish. But it is still a piece of the great armies of Ibisia which has long been stirred while we grew fat on wine and food.” He said, gesticulating with his hands emphatically to reveal the size of the enemy which most could feel from the graveness of his face and voice. “Our age is drawing nigh its doom; Sondon is awoken though he never slept and has mustered all his fell servants. The tale out of the north is that he brings war. Ibisia is on the warpath we have run thin on our number of allies, most that have strengthened his arm are from our own race, and one thing must be accomplished to avert our doom.” He said, and paused. “The scroll of Surrucia must be found and our old allies awaken.” At that a tumultuous din began to stir.
“The armies of Surrucia were never destroyed but weakened, and whosoever would attempt this venture, though it is the most precarious and foolish I will make the lord of Mythia and every realm in the south to the boundaries of Surrucia.” The king said, but the din of rowdy voices was so great that Amroth and Thurin-mill seemed the only ones that heard the last part of his speech.
The rumpus of voices was exceedingly loud that all about Thurin-hill people could hear the uproar, and gradually they were gathering about Thurin-hill to catch a glimpse for themselves. Inside it now appeared that the captains were snarling and tussling each other. The king motioned to the warden of the hall to clang the cymbal to bring them to order, but it seems to fall on deaf ears, the grappling and tussling got fiercer as wine and mead was spilled on each other, after a long period of commotion, order returned but it was fragile as any moment from now it could be broken.
“All I have asked this great gathering is for volunteers, for I would give anything to such a one.” He said.
A captain sprang to his feet, and without the usual courtesy he spoke flippantly. “Who will!” he exclaimed. “It is but a foolish thing to attempt such a venture, we are not all oblivious of the tales of Ibisia, its woods are watched beyond mere eyes. A great evil resides there with hordes of Ibis and their greater folks like the sands at the shore, perhaps you should have asked for volunteers to sack the hoard of Sondon.”
“Do not stir fear in the hearts of others, you fainthearted nitwit.” Another snarled as he rose against the first.
“Why don’t you volunteer? Andron!” and soon both opposing captains were joined by their supporters, but those who were in favour of the king were a handful and were soon overwhelmed by those against him, and even as the ranting exceeded into new heights the king saw Arioch an
d Arius of Maul seated calmly in front, keeping their cool, great captains they were, close kin of Zek, the last murdered king of Maul.
“Let the king volunteer first!” someone yelled. "Let him keep his gold and throne to himself, dead men need no gold or throne."
The commotion got wilder. The men were at the point of drawing swords. The warden of the hall clanged the cymbal countless times until its sound to order became a part of the commotion, and when it was to no avail he sat back and watched in grief. When the men became spent of their blustering they faltered to their seats and the king had their attention once again. This time like sober drunks they sat in shame with terror in their eyes, if only the enemy could have a sight of the havoc his dread could cause, it would send Sondon reeling endlessly in laughter that he would send his least captain for the sacking of men instead of his whole army. Men had now chosen their doom instead of uniting against the evil. The king arose this last time to call for volunteers, and if there be none so be it, to the gallows of the dark master they must all prepare to go.
“Once again.” He began heavily. “For all the riches of my kingdom, the title of the lord of Mythia I call upon any that volunteers, and upon bringing back the scroll I would hail him as lord. Now if there is any with such courage let him step out.” He said, and took a seat but he expected no one to volunteer. From the silence that reined within the golden hall after the long fits of rage, as men sat like statues frozen with fear, it was obvious that not in this age would a man dare the dreadfulness of Ibisia for all the riches of men and even that of Ibisia.
The king’s council came to an ill-fated end, men had now embraced their doom and like a beaten dog with its tail hidden between its legs, so did the once imperious captains leave the golden hall like cowards, to return to their lands and begin the slow muster for a hopeless and foredoomed war.
After that assembly the king left for another secret council in company of other great men, it was still evident that by hook or by crook he would find men to go into Ibisia, now he wished he was a wizard of any sort with the power to cajole anyone into going to Ibisia even against their own will by just a spell, but even such powers could flounder at the sight of an invincible foe he thought.
“With such dissension in our midst, all Sondon has to do is to send the least of his captains upon us.” Amroth said as they went.
The king’s secret council was held behind close doors at the tower of Edessa that night. In attendance was Amroth and Thurin-mill, Arus and Arioch, Halman from Porsa and three captains from Comorus alongside the king.
“If for all of Mythia and its riches, none has volunteered, then the fear of Ibisia has eaten too deep in us.” Arus said.
“I have studied the ancient scrolls of Maul, most dating to the days of Salmengras the first lord of our house when he warred against Saliban at Azulator. Ibisia is a dreadful place to tread on, no mere man would dare it for every evil we have heard of that place is true.” Arioch said.
“And are we going to just sit here like sitting ducks and let Sondon do away with us as he pleases?” Thurin-mill asked plaintively.
“We must look to our own defenses, we must prepare for sieges we must fortify our grounds.” The king said. “Tirbane must be fortified and the watch about the gulf of Torgarmah doubled lest Aardoo land a fleet behind our backs.”
“My lord it is obvious that none would volunteer this task, but that does not mean it would not be attempted, for even though we defeat the armies of Ibisia here over and over again, eventually we would succumb and fall by the edge of the sword or by the dark power. Only securing the scroll would bring a long-standing solution to our plight.” Arioch said. “Now listen to me, for it might be the best advice you would get in this dire time, chose the men that you greatly detest, your enemies, and send them though against their will, but fate would always walk out its way.”
“I greatly reject your counsel Arioch.” Thurin-mill snapped. “It is the most foolish thing to do, to send such men who would easily sell their services to the enemy for their lives. For at the first sight of the terror of Ibisia they would succumb more or less when they see the torture masters of the dark lands.”
“I think I like the counsel of Arioch, it makes some sense to me for I have just thought of whom to send!” the king exclaimed. The gleam in his eyes waxed like one who had just found the answer to a troubling riddle.
“And who will that be, my lord.” Amroth asked. Looking up, the king grinned for the first time in many days as he peered into the confounded faces that looked up to him.
“Who if not him who has brought so much grief to my house, of all the despicable things that I abhor, it is him that I greatly detest, for robbing me of the love of my only child: Heres!” he exclaimed angrily. Thurin-mill’s head fell in disbelief and grief, for he could now imagine the horror of only me heading into Ibisia, it was to be my end indeed.
“My lord I know that lad like the back of my hand, he is just a child who has never seen the Isis Sea or even heard a tale about Ibisia. He would perish before he even set a foot upon the shores of Carn-dunn. My lord it is unwise to send him.”
“I am not sending him to find the scroll that would be stupid of me; I only want to get rid of the rat that devours the barn!” The king fumed.
“My lord when the message of Ibisia came to us there was none in Ain or Mythia to decipher the character of Ibisia for us, but his father.”
“Was that him?” Amroth exclaimed, and Thurin-mill nodded to him. “He shrieks at the sight of a rider at night what more a clad enemy.” He scoffed.
“And who is his father?” The king asked.
“Horace the Hornite.” Thurin-mill answered.
“Horace the Hornite of Maul!” Arioch lividly exclaimed and sprang to his feet and all turned to him incredulously. “Horace, long have I wanted to see the face of that scoundrel so that I may plunge my sword into him and watch him bleed slowly to death, it was with his aid that Zek our king fell.” Arioch growled.
“That’s an allegation that was never proven.” Arus said.
“Well in that case Heres has found himself a companion into Ibisia.” The king said.
“No, he knows nothing about the treachery of Aardoo!” Thurin-mill snapped.
“Why do you defend him?” Arius asked.
“Then why has he not become a lord in Ibisia like Aardoo or worst still inherited a hideous curse?” Thurin-mill retorted. “Or was it not said that Meroc placed a curse on all the collaborators of Cyran amongst men?”
“I will not bandy words with you Thurin-mill, for you are more than a friend, but I do not see your part in this tale. Send out orders I want Heres and his father arrested, and summon me another council in two days.” The king said, and off he went angrily, but even as he got to the delving flight of stairs Thurin-mill spoke.
“But who would go to Ibisia my lord? I guess none of us here would, nor those frightened captains who would rather dig their own graves and bury themselves.”
The king halted and turned back, he appeared to be deliberating within himself, and at length he spoke. “If Heres and his father never make it there, then it was never destined that a man would see the dark lands.” He said.
“Does that mean that our hope now lies with them, for in that case we are worst that those bastards we called knights we assembled?” Thurin-mill said. The king went away but with much misgiving.
Thurin-mill was devastated at what the king had now resolved to do, it greatly distressed him but he could not disclose it to us without been branded a turncoat and becoming a party to those doomed to go to Ibisia. For a while he remained in shock and unbelief of what he had just heard which very much stunned him, he stood leaning by the window like an old tree assailed by wintry blizzards.
A day after the disastrous king’s council I saw Veasty again, in a tryst that was to be our last before our journeys towards Ibisia would begin. We sat on the buttress roots of an old tree in the fi
elds. Her beauty was enchanting and I felt lucky to have her. She told me the strange tale of the coming of an impious warning out of Ibisia, not knowing it was with the aid of my father that message was deciphered. She also disclosed the council of the king and his captain which ended in a fiasco, but she had no idea of the other secret council lest she would have mentioned it to me.
We conversed on the prospect of the great impending war, the fate of our age if Sondon concealed all in his hideous darkness. To my surprise she was also quiet knowledgeable in the tales of Ibisia, she spoke of the mustering of men and riders, the fortification of Tirbane, Fagshold and Ain. But most of all we spoke of the fate of our love and where we would flee to in the midst of the downfalls, to the southern wolds beyond the Grey mountains she suggested, but I thought it better to head south to the old ruins of Surrucia. Before she left for the city, she reiterated her love for me, and even as she spoke she shed a tear perhaps she felt a frightful premonition that it would be the last time she would see me.
In the second hour of the night I came strolling back home, from the lights that spurted through the window I knew my father had returned in my absence, I walked in and took off my coat as I sat heavily.
“Hullo son!” he said. “D’ you have a nice date?”
“Well at least no one showed up to ruin it for us.” I answered, he came towards me with a mug half empty in his left hand and a scroll in his right and into his chair he sat.
“Father, she told me that the king held court for all his captains, but none ventured to go into Ibisia even for the throne of Mythia, the treasures of the kings and her hand in marriage.”
“What did you expect?” He scoffed. “Dead men do not become kings; none would go into Ibisia even those who are oblivious of that land.” I wished such an offer had been made to me, for Veasty alone I would go into Ibisia I thought.
“Well if the brave captains of the Mythia would not dare such a venture, it means we are all doomed.”
“Doomed you may say, but somehow someone will go to Ibisia, by what means I cannot tell.” My father said thoughtfully, but little did he imagine that he had only predicted our fate.
“As long as the evil lot to go into Ibisia does not fall on us, it should give us little concern.” I said, he chuckled and sat back and took a sip.