Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  One could not perceive very well if Oiskal was merely alluding to the weather, or if there were other intentions behind his words. They had indeed been received with coldness, and the future looked stormy. But Sanquivio gave an answer that could address both interpretations, and one could not perceive very well if he had done it on purpose:

  “Indeed. But there is a good remedy for cold and rain alike. Please, enter into our home,” he said, with a welcoming gesture directing them to the pharaoh’s abode, atop the ziggurat. “Our walls will shelter you from the cold, and our roofs will cover your heads from the rain. Also, we have important matters to attend to, and such matters cannot be dealt with apart from a good table with pleasant foods. Let us hope, then, that when we are done, the clouds are already gone, and you may leave in peace.”

  The legates gaped, but from their mouths issued no sound. Was this really the pharaoh’s son? How could such a gracious giant have been borne from Skillotz, or rule over such an unruly people? Yet Sanquivio did not humiliate them by requesting them to speak or shut their mouths. He turned aside, so as not to see their bewildered countenances, and said to them:

  “Kindly follow me.”

  Captain Amizdel then whispered to Oiskal’s ears:

  “I wish this would be the one we would be entreating with!”

  They would not be so lucky. They were brought high up through the steps of the pyramid till they reached the summit, by Moab’s shadow. At each level, they could see the multitudes of doors leading to the soldier’s quarters. But atop, there was only one door, and one house: the pharaoh’s.

  The throne room was not very big, but the black and red standards of Lamech cascading down the walls gave the room the appearance of a depth it did not really possess. Unlike the crizia’s throne room, this one did not have a domed ceiling, but rather a straight one, like a sepulchral stone seen from the grave. In the centre of the room, there was a throne made of dark wood and bedecked with iron thorns, similar to the king’s crown. Upon the throne, Skillotz waited—on his lion skin mantle, he had sewn a lamb wool around his shoulders, as kings today do with armine. In his left hand was an iron sceptre; in his right, a small golden sphere symbolizing the world. In his scabbard was the sword Lauz-Ispariz; on his head, the Razil crown. And on his face he wore an intimidating and cool belligerence.

  “Hail, oh King of Lamech,” the legates saluted. “Pontiff, Council, and crizia send you their warmest regards.”

  “Yea, I imagine so,” Skillotz answered them, with undisguised boredom.“Let us forgo these long-winded niceties. You said you wanted to parley. Parley, then. The pharaoh listens.”

  For the second time the legates were amazed at how different king and prince were. Oiskal came forth and, with a bow, said:

  “We have come to beseech you, oh King, in the name of Bilidio, the pontiff, and the Council of the Peoples: Please, cease your hostilities towards Ophir and our Pilgrim Cities. We humbly exhort you: Allow our pilgrimages to resume, safely and unhindered.”

  The pharaoh stretched his neck out of his mantle, as a turtle peering out of its shell. His face glowed with a new smile: the smile of one who has just been proven right.

  “Behold, my son!” Skillotz said to Sanquivio. “Behold how ill-spent was your indulgence! They are traitors to giantkind, all of them, and will never cease to be traitors.”

  “We are no traitors, my lord!” Oiskal rushed to clarify. “We came to warn you. We fear you might not be privy to the whole story. Lend us your ears, for the whole fate of the logizkal may depend on it.”

  “Speak, I hear you!” So replied pharaoh, and he was most unserious when he spake. He would hear them, not as someone who listens to grave matters uttered by important dignitaries, but as someone who humors a knave to entertain himself.

  “The pontiff petitioned Mamreh, mother of the winds and godmother of all life in Thebel, that she would ask for an audience in the celestial spheres. Mamreh ascended and requested the Higher Sylphs to shed some light on all the events taking place during that fateful night when Salem disappeared. It is true: A strange shadow swallowed up the heavens that night. Even today, no one but Aigonz knows who or what that shadow was, or whence it came, or where it went afterwards. It is also true: Salem did perish that night. And this, my lord, is where the Higher Sylphs’ agreement with Nod’s account ceases. There was no war in the firmaments, nor did anyone claim Salem’s crown since her death. On the contrary, the Higher Sylphs unanimously proclaimed that there should be no other king but Aigonz, till the time Aigonz so decrees. They told us also that two other stars, besides Salem, have disappeared from their celestial orbits since then, and no one knows their whereabouts. As for Nod, no one on high knows that name.”

  Skillotz scratched his almost beardless chin. He was not convinced, but he needed help to find reasons not to be convinced:

  “What say you of this, oh Nod, my star?” he asked the sylphid, as she floated near the ceiling like the morning mist hovering below the celestial vaults.

  “Are these poor, confused mortals accusing me of lying? What could a star like me profit from such a lie? Would I not be in a better station if I kept myself there, nigh the ether which the stars drink? Would I not be happier bathing in the cosmic fluids which the celestial sylphs breathe? These homes of yours, made of brutish matter, exposed to the harshness of the weathers, are no more comfortable than the heavenly mansions. Quite the contrary. What other reason could I have to come down from the heavens themselves, bear ye these most unfortunate tidings, and fight a war by your side? What have I gained of all this? What power, what reward? Perchance have I demanded that you make me your queen? Nay, I desire neither your thrones, nor your titles. Nor is there anything fashioned out of your mortal hands that I yearn for. What other reason, then, besides my concern for your welfare, could have driven me to lose so much, and gain so little?”

  She so spake, and made Oiskal stammer. Nod came down from the air beneath the ceiling, placed herself face to face with the legate, and resumed:

  “Also, must I remind thee I am a sylphid? Who saith the Higher Sylphs told the pontiff of all these things? Could not the pontiff be the one lying? Who uttereth these words? Sylphic mouths, or carnal mouths? For I see naught but mortals before me, no Higher Sylph do I hear. ‘Tis my word as a sylphid, against thine word, oh northern legate!” With that, she turned to the pharaoh. “Ask them this, my lord, and put them to the test. Ask them if Mamreh, when she went up to consult with the Higher Sylphs, also inquired about the fate Aigonz hath reserved to thy kind! Is it true or not that the logizkal will be supplanted by the ophalin?”

  So accused, Oiskal swallowed dryly. But he could not keep silent, or all would be lost. So, he stammered and sweated his response:

  “We do not know, for the Higher Sylphs did not tell us. Truly, not even they know. Such events belong to Aigonz’s sigils, and it is not incumbent on us to know of them before the time is right. The future does not belong to us, only the present. This is why we should cherish it.”

  Nod flew up to the pharaoh and reclined at his feet, basking at the sight of the legates’ embarrassment:

  “Behold thine answer, my lord. Or rather, the lack of a proper answer. Mayhap they be lying? I do not know, neither do I care to know. One thing they said, though, I know to be false, of that I can assure thee, Pharaoh. The future is indeed thine; future and present alike. And thine will be forevermore, unless someone snatcheth them from thine hand.”

  The king rose from his throne. He had heard enough. He extended the shadow of his sceptre over the legates and proclaimed his verdict:

  “Today, you have squandered your last chance. The only way you could have saved your souls, would have been if you had come to join your forces with mine. Then we would again be a logizkal brotherhood, united against a common foe. Now that door has been forever shut! For who could trust you again, after you have shown such malice? Could a traitor ever change his nature, and cease to be a traitor? Even if such a mi
racle would be possible, how could I live without constantly looking above my shoulder, lest you would stab my back with a cowardly dagger? Truly, my back you shall never again see, for I shall not lead you, nor will I ever retreat in battle before you! Begone! Flee from my sight, before I forget the oath I made, that I should not hinder you!”

  Oiskal moved forth to reply to him, but Amizdel halted him by placing his strong hand on his shoulder. The priest turned to the captain, and saw him sadly shaking his head. It was pointless. Amizdel had already measured the pharaoh’s heart and knew words would not move it. His mission now was to protect Oiskal from the king’s ire. However, as a legate, he also had something to say:

  “Our armies do not fear you, Skillotz.”

  The pharaoh heard him, and his words burned inside him, and he threw both sceptre and globe to the floor, and yelled to the point of wounding ears:

  “Then your armies shall be crushed!”

  Prince Sanquivio hurriedly ushered Oiskal and Amizdel back to their hippogriffs, bowing and silently apologizing along the way. As they left the throne room, a torrential downpour began.

  Chapter

  19

  The Siege

  At the pharaoh’s behest, Moruzio mustered a thousand of his warriors and marched them towards Ophir. Under the banners of Lamech and Bera did they march, and they planted their standards by the road leading to Ophir’s main gate. They set camp at a safe distance, so as not to awaken the sphinxes. The Sphinx of the Lance was indeed alarmed by this sight, and her magic raised the drawbridge. Her fear, however, was not enough to awaken the Sphinx of the Sword, for she could not move unless Ophir had been attacked first. And the nephilin did not storm the gate, for they remembered the blood spilt when their gryphons awakened the Sphinx of the Sword and waged battle against it.

  So did the nephilin blockade the city, so that none could get in or out. But neither could the nephilin get into the city, on account of the sphinxes guarding it.

  Skillotz then considered other weak points in the fortifications. The river Kárys flowed northeast, so close to Ophir’s outer wall as to kiss it. In happier days, Faris-Romil had ordered a vault to be carved to the wall, so as to allow the river to enter and continuously supply the city with fresh water. The walls arched over this newly formed river branch, and falling from the arch was a bronze grating. But this arch was more protected by the river itself than by the grating, for the river Kárys flowed too strongly to allow an assault, or even to allow itself to be dammed.

  But there was another river in similar conditions, except it flowed outward from Ophir rather than inward. Born from the lakeside before large slopes strengthened it, the currents of the Ergon river were weaker. The arch and the bronze grating over the Ergon were much more vulnerable. But Faris-Romil had also noted this weak spot and placed another sphinx guarding it: the Sphinx of the Club. This one had not been tested yet, so Skillotz opted to take his chances here.

  A couple of days after the siege began, the Crizian Guard beheld a terrible sight, as it rose from the Ergon’s course. From atop the ramparts they spotted half a dozen mammoths on each side of the river, stampeding towards them—yet not aimlessly, for there were reins in their mouths and nephilin on their backs.

  The Crizian Guard assembled and showered arrows against them, but mammoths and riders alike were protected by iron armour, so the arrows could not pierce their flesh. On they came, till they clashed against the pillars of the arch or against the bronze of the grid by the river margins. The walls trembled, and the guards lost their footing, but there was no breach. The nephilin kept striking the mammoths, so they charged against the archway with their plated foreheads, or rearing on their hind legs to strike the grid with their front paws. The southerners had also coated the mammoth’s tusks with iron, and fashioned iron hammers to fit their trunks, and used them also against the wall.

  To no avail.

  A horn was heard blowing in the distance. The mammoth riders stepped aside and the Crizian Guard saw something new charge against them: scores of logizkal carrying battering rams, each with a wooden shaft a hundred feet long and fitted with an iron-coated cap in the shape of Moab’s head. The archers fired upon the assailants, but these covered their heads with shields. Their charge would not be halted.

  They rammed against the grating—once—twice—thrice—as many times as they could! Then they saw why the grate could not be breached. As much as their blows mangled the bronze, the metal returned to its original form. And even the cracks in the wall seemed to heal, as if they were flesh wounds. Both the bronze and the stone shone red as they were restored. The nephilin looked up and saw the Sphinx of the Club glowing with the same hue, and they understood that it was the Sphinx’s magic which strengthened the archway so.

  In the meantime, the Crizian Guard had gone down the Ergon river inside their fortification, and gathered water in some cauldrons, which they boiled and poured over their assailants.

  Thus were the nephilin repelled, and they could not storm Ophir. But when Moruzio informed Skillotz, the king said:

  “If they will not die by the sword, they will die by hunger.”

  And the siege lasted for many moons.

  ***

  One night, while making the rounds through the palace, Amizdel heard a noise coming from the throne room. A burglar!—he thought. For who else would be wandering about the palace at that hour of the night? The captain crept inside, his sword unsheathed. His fears, though, proved to be unfounded. For he saw none other than the crizia herself, kneeling before the Amozia by candlelight. Ararat-moon also filtered her beams through the rosette, but her light was most faint.

  Inimois heard her captain’s footsteps inside the hall. Without turning her eyes from Amozia, she sobbed:

  “My prince tarries…”

  Amizdel did not reply. He did not know how to. He did not know if he should depart and leave the princess alone with her prayer. He did not know if he should comfort her. Or guide her back to her bed. Or kneel by her side and, with her, implore the prince for a swift return. Yet no answer was needed, only an ear for her questions:

  “Why does he tarry so? Can he not see my distress?”

  She got up and faced the giant. Her face was much lower than his, but the intensity of her gaze felt almost overwhelming to him:

  “If only I was as strong as a logizkal… How I wish I was a giant as you! As weak as I am, of what use am I to this city?”

  “Why… why do you say you are weak, my lady?”

  “Do you mock me? Look how puny I am! What challenge do I pose a giant, let alone a nation of them? Easier than I tread an ant underfoot, would the nephilin crush me.”

  “My lady, no stronger being Thebel has ever seen than Prince Livionz, your betrothed. He was not much taller than you are.”

  “Other magical strengths does my prince harbour. What of me?”

  “You also, my princess. Truly, you are one of the strongest creatures I have ever known. How could someone live amongst giants, if one were not so?”

  “Strong? How am I strong?”

  “I cannot explain…”

  “So you lie to console me.”

  “Not at all. But your strength is mysterious: The strength of a giant more resembles the brutish strength of a mammoth; yours is more akin to a sylph’s. Let it be known to you, my lady, that if something believable exists in Nod’s ludicrous prophecy, it is that the ophalin could easily topple the logizkal, their size notwithstanding.”

  The crizia was most upset with these words. She stomped her foot, and her stomp echoed through the hall, even as her foot was bare. Her eyes blazed through the darkness of that night, eclipsing the candle and the moon:

  “Do you believe such slander also? What kind of judgments are those upon my soul? My kind would never stoop down to such vile acts!”

  “I do believe so, my lady. The ophalin shall not topple the logizkal. However, that shall not be for want of strength, but for the inheritance of hear
ts as gentle as yours.”

  Inimois was slightly appeased, but her fears soon returned. She turned her gaze upon the Amozia once more, and said:

  “My prince tarries, and will not be moved by my plight. I must do my part till the day he comes.”

  “Yea, verily, that is what my forebears learned during the war against monsterdom.”

  She stayed silent a little longer, and Amizdel did not dare interrupt her thoughts. It was as if her mind and Amozia were engaged in silent conversation.

  “My guard must be better prepared for war. These leather coverings are no longer suited for this new warfare. If we are deprived of iron, as our foes are rich in it, then let us use what we have in abundance. Empty my coffers of tin and copper, and fashion armours out of bronze, as your helmets are. Plain must your cuirasses be, not proudly hewn as the nephilin’s. You shall also cover your forearms with bronze vambraces, and your legs with bronze greaves, in the same manner as our enemies. And you shall smelt a bronze armour for me also, equal to the ones worn by my warriors, altered only in size: not more, not less.”

  Amizdel bowed and did as the princess ordained. The crizia stayed a few more moments there, ere tiredness pulled her back to her quarters. She whispered a few more silent prayers, and returned to her bed.

  The captain returned to the throne hall an hour or so later. He heard whispers there, and unsheathed his sword once again. But this time, he found no one. No matter how much he scrutinized every corner, he could not find the source of the whisper. The sages do not seem to agree whether these were the crizia’s whispers, entrapped in the room, echoing throughout the night; or if the whispers issued from the Amozia, answering the princess’ plight in words no one could understand.

  ***

  A couple of days later, a few nephilin messengers came to the pharaoh’s presence, bearing news from the front lines. These were not the news Skillotz yearned for. Ophir’s walls had not yet bent to his will. Even more, a strange plague had taken hold of the war animals.