Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  “A plague, you say?” asked Skillotz, sitting up on his throne.

  “So it is. The mammoths, at first. Now, the gryphons succumbed as well. The plagued animals become unruly, and no longer respond to our reins or our whips. From their mouths hang thick threads of foam. Their eyes are streaked with blood. The mammoths lose patches of fur, and the gryphons molt, as if taken by some mange. And…”

  “Which of my gryphons were struck by this ailment?”

  “My lord, there is Haughty, and Stormwing. Skywrath and Nodious as well. Even… Nephilbane…”

  Skillotz wept bitterly, for those were the mightiest gryphons of his stables:

  “I hear you, and curse your words! If ever gryphons flew swiftly, these did! Scores of hippogriffs they overtook with their claws, and their wings spilt much blood amongst our foes! Now, they spill their own feathers on the ground, and there is naught I can do about it! How many years of laborious and thorough breeding are now lost! Must we start anew, with gryphons of a lesser lineage?”

  “My father,” Sanquivio intervened. “Why not seek Malvizio’s aid? He knows powerful arts of healing! He rests at Birshah, as vizier.”

  “You speak well, my dear son! I hear you!” And turning to the messengers, the king proclaimed, “Did you not hear as well? Go to Birshah and fetch Malvizio, wise in the arts of healing, so that he may find a cure for this plague. You may use my royal gryphons for this task, so as to promptly fulfill it.”

  As he commanded, the heralds left. The king rose from his throne and ran after them. There was nothing left in his throne room but restlessness. The pharaoh would not return to his affairs till he had seen the messengers disappearing in the distance. And the more Skillotz ran after the messengers, the more the messengers hastened.

  They went to the royal stables and saddled a few healthy gryphons. The creatures soared into the heavens, with their riders pointing their beaks south, towards Birshah. As for the king, he kept watch as they departed, and thus saw what befell shortly thereafter. Yea, the messengers departed, but not in the way he hoped. A few leagues into their flight, the gryphons rebelled against their riders, taken by the madness. The messengers fell to their doom, and the animals fled to unknown skies.

  “Oh most cruel fate!” the pharaoh lamented, as he knelt and rent his garments and pulled his hairs until his crown fell from his head. “We cannot send for Malvizio! For lo! The plague is most contagious. Even healthy steeds become ill by merely sharing stables with the others. If before, these most excellent gryphons brought me victory, they now endanger future victories, for I may well lose all my war animals on account of them.” And he ordered his stable servants, “Go forth and slaughter all who are sick! Pity none! As for the healthy ones, bring them outside and keep them under your watch. Any who shows the slightest sign of the disease is to be slain as well.”

  The servants set out to perform their most gruesome task, but could not complete it. For soon other stables were taken by a wild commotion. The mammoths had also been infected, and broke free from their chains, and stampeded throughout Lamech wreaking much havoc on their way. During the chaos, some of the sickly gryphons managed to escape their executioners’ grip and flew south, deep into the Forbidden Lands.

  As time passed, these accursed gryphons suffered a dismal metamorphosis. They molted away all their feathers; their bare skin sweated a thick liquid, which crystallized and formed scales over all their body. Behind their beaks, the gryphons grew teeth; and these teeth bulged more and more, and became sharp, and their beaks nearly disappeared. The tufts of hair above their eyebrows and at the tip of their tails also solidified, becoming bony, so that they now resembled horns and arrow tails.

  This was how, out of these corrupted gryphons, the terrible race of dragons emerged. To this day, they torment Negev.

  The mammoths also changed: They lost all their fur; their tusks and their trunk rotted and fell away. They, too, sweated a thick liquid, which condensed around their iron armours and formed plaques. And a pair of teeth grew out of their foreheads, as horns.

  So was the race of behemoths born, but they did not run to the Forbidden Lands. Rather, they stayed on the far north, where they graze still to this day. Woe betide those who draw near them, for they will surely be trampled!

  ***

  The plague did not cease, but worsened. Soon there were more than animals suffering from the illness: Some of the pharaoh’s soldiers caught the fever as well. Their skin filled with warts, their teeth grew crooked, their spines hunched. Worse yet, these unfortunate folk would be overtaken by sudden and irrepressible bouts of wrath, so that they would attack anyone who would draw nigh.

  “Those are the same symptoms as the gryphon’s plague!” the nephilin would wail, as they saw their brethren go mad with the same blood-streaked eyes and the same foamy mouth as the animals. And they wailed even more, as the warriors who got sick were amongst the army’s elite. The more they had distinguished themselves in battle, the more prone they seemed to contract the disease.

  If there was no explanation for the gryphon’s plague, so too no explanation was there for the giant’s plague. And just like there was no treatment for the one, the same was true for the other. Thus they had to be slain, before their ravages could infect the rest of the army. The pharaoh received this proposal and placed his seal upon it: He could not forgo all his army, and the future of the logizkal race, for a handful of soldiers, no matter how gallant.

  For all of Lamech, there was a hunt for the pestiferous. But the more were slain, the more pestiferous there were to slay. And the pharaoh despaired, as he saw his victory seeping through his mighty fingers.

  “‘Tis certainly sabotage from Aigonz, for we are interfering with his designs, my lord!” Nod consoled him, embracing him with her tepid arms.

  “But we cannot bear it! Or else, where will we find gryphons and soldiers to do battle against Ophir? Oh, sylphid! We, beings of flesh, cannot fly to Birshah to fetch Malvizio, but you certainly can! Go! I beseech you, fly with your invisible wings, and under your wings bring Malvizio to me, and with most haste!”

  She bowed, and went away. A half a day later, Malvizio could be seen over Lamech’s skies, flying on his own gryphon, with Nod by his left side. When he arrived, he was told of all that had happened, and all of the symptoms, and how quickly the ailment had spread. Malvizio heard it all most attentively, while pondering on his beard. As the king finished, the elder gave his sentence:

  “The way of contagion seems obvious to me, my lord! Blood! It is blood! This be the reason why the pestiferous are the ones who slew the most in battle; and why the more you kill, the more you have in your midst! Do not slay any more of your own, but lock them in iron cages! Thus will you isolate them from the others, and you may harness them for some other purpose.”

  So the pharaoh decreed. The sick logizkal were captured, bound, and imprisoned in the same stables left empty by the infected gryphons. As for the plague, it slowly subsided, and it seemed like Lamech had been saved from the threat.

  But Malvizio had said the pestiferous could still serve a purpose. Skillotz went to him and asked his meaning. The old giant explained:

  “The corrupted ones still have in their hearts the will to battle. Restraint is what they lack. Bring them bound and caged to the north, and release them near the towns of the Republic. Let the plague spread there, for surely the northerners will try to stop their rabid ravages by shedding their blood. By doing so, the disease will spread north.”

  The pharaoh was most pleased with this idea, and ordered his armies to give it form. On this matter, however, his plan failed. No northerner was taken by the illness, even as they vanquished the pestiferous to save their own lives. Many northerners were killed by their violent attacks, though.

  And when a plagued logizkal marauded a city of the Republic, the northerners would hear his guttural howls. “Oog ooooog!” the pestiferous would snarl. “Ugh!” would sigh those who would be attacked by them. So
the northerners gave these corrupted giants the name of Ogres.

  But the plague abated, and Skillotz reinforced his devastated ranks with soldiers from other parts of Nephil. The siege could resume. A few more weeks passed, but Ophir remained steadfast and unbreached.

  Chapter

  20

  Fratricide

  When the princess asked her guard to arm themselves with bronze armour, she also asked them to send courier swans to the north, advising the iperborin to likewise proceed. And so they did. From that time onward, bronze covered the northerners as much as iron did the southerners. But the first to receive this message were the isthmus folk, since the isthmus separated the north from the south.

  The isthmus of Brobnin was flanked by several logizkal settlements, under the aegis of the isthmic capital, the great city of Kain-Phah. One of those settlements was a small town, much to the south of the isthmus, but still within the boundaries of the Republic.

  When they received the word from Ophir, the kainphain came to that town and demanded a tax for the war efforts. They took all the copper from the town, even the objects used in the sacred rites. And they also forced the townsfolk to go to nearby hills and mine for more copper and tin. They also collected vast amounts of gold, and some of these riches ended up lining the tax collector’s coffers. This became widely known, and enraged the townsfolk.

  Furthermore, the kainphain assigned them the least desirable missions, stationing them in the most vulnerable parts of the army. And vulnerable they were indeed, for as a frontier town they were also under constant attack by the League’s raids.

  And the name of this small town was Gomer.

  ***

  So it happened, as the war raged on, the bile of these townsfolk grew and grew—a bile slowly cooked in the heat of the battle. The gomin looked upon the nephilin and thought to themselves:

  “Behold how robust the nephilin be! How mightier than our feeble hippogriffs their gryphons be! They boast of an ethereal sylphid’s blessing, whilst the stars have forsaken us! Who may triumph over them? Who can resist them? Not Ophir, nor anyone!”

  Then, as fear of death overtook them, they veered into other thoughts, so as to convince their hearts of what they were already set to do:

  “What have the nephilin done that is so reprehensible? What was their crime? Did they not seek to protect our race from a threat? What have we to do with the ophalin, that we should spill our blood for them? Yet we do so, in the knowledge that the ophalin may be the ones to spill our blood one day. Nay, the nephilin are the righteous ones, for they are the ones spilling their blood for the logizkal—for us!—whilst all others demand we spill our blood for them. We were wrong in keeping ourselves under the Republic’s wings and not joining the League when we had the chance.”

  Their chance came. One day, the border skies raged with a skirmish between the isthmus folk and the League. As was customary, the gomin were given the most dangerous part: They were to lure the nephilin to lower altitudes, so as to make them more vulnerable to a kainphain plunge from above. This mission weighed on the gomin’s conscience, and tipped the scales against the Republic. The gomin warriors feigned to agree, but amongst themselves planned a different strategy.

  As was expected of them, the gomin rode their hippogriffs past the border, so as to break the League’s siege. And as was expected of the nephilin, they saw the gomin approaching from afar and went to meet them in battle. They exchanged some arrows, and the gomin pretended to retreat. The nephilin gave chase.

  Little by little, the gomin’s hippogriffs descended, steadily losing altitude. The nephilin’s gryphons followed them, though always at a higher position, from where they could shoot their arrows. Many gomin fell from the darts, but the survivors remained firm in their plan.

  So distracted were the nephilin with their pursuit that they did not see the kainphain hiding in the clouds, awaiting for the trap to be sprung. The gomin blew their horns. It was the sign! The kainphain hippogriffs fell on the unwary gryphons, catching them off-guard. A hailstorm of arrows fell on the nephilin, for the northerners had abandoned their slingshots and mastered archery as well.

  Bedlam broke out in the skies, but the nephilin’s iron withstood the initial clash. Now, the gomin were supposed to turn back and assist the kainphain.

  But the gomin sprung their own trap. They climbed the aerial currents till they were the ones higher than all others. For the first time, they were the ones in a privileged position. Only then did the others realize that the gomin were the ones in control of the battle’s fate.

  When the kainphain saw their isthmus brethren plunging in their direction, they rejoiced. Likewise did the nephilin fear. Soon, however, joy would give way to fear and fear to joy. Unlike what was expected, the gomin arrows were not hurled at their foes, but at their brethren.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” the kainphain captain yelled. At once they turned their hippogriffs’ snouts towards the north and fled. The nephilin could have taken advantage of this and given chase… but they did not. There were more important matters to attend to. Moruzio, who led the gryphon squadron, shouted to these strange new allies:

  “Hail, oh foes, or foes of our foes! In the heat of the battle, it is customary to give voice to our swords, and not to our words. Yet the heat of the battle granted us a mystery, which no sword can cut, only words. I beseech you: Explain yourselves before me, for my name is Moruzio and I command the nephilin hosts. Be warned: If this a ruse be, my axe shall be crueler to you than if you had come at me and fought honestly.”

  One of the gomin flew to him and answered him: Virveniz, the councilor of Gomer.

  “Moruzio, our captain! It is with utmost sincerity I call you by that title. You spake well, for we are foes of your foes; yet you did not speak well when you called us your foes! For lo! We are not foes, but allies! From this day onward, I pledge my allegiance to you, my captain and ours! From this day onward, if you so accept it, Gomer shall be a part of the League! In return, we ask that you protect us from the ophalin who threaten us, and the northerners who oppress us!”

  “I hear you, and your words are beautiful to my ears. Perhaps too beautiful to reassure my soul…”

  “If you doubt us still, come with us! Behold, our enemies flee! The battle is won, and there are no more foes before you! But we can show you further proof, if you will follow us!”

  “You shall show such proof to me only, for know that there is a sylphic prophecy on my head that no being made of flesh can ever take my life! Therefore, if you betray me, you shall fail! As for the rest of my host, they will follow us at a distance: If a trickery this be, they will know, and will slaughter you for your cunning! For you say there are no more foes before me, but they can come from elsewhere: from behind or above! Go forth and lead me, by Nod! I shall follow, with open eyes and a readied axe.”

  ***

  The gomin squadron flew north, with Moruzio following closely, and the rest of the nephilin army following from afar. They flew till they reached Kain-Phah, the main city guarding the isthmus. Virveniz then said:

  “Keep yourselves here, until the snare is set. Just as before, when our horns were the sign that sprung a trap on you, so now our horns will signal you the right time to attack. By the end of the day, Kain-Phah will be in your hands! And Gomer will be part of the League, and ruler of the isthmus.”

  “Go and do as you said. But my soldiers will charge upon my own signal, not yours.”

  The gomin drew near Kain-Phah, but not before changing the standard they brought with them: no longer the standard of Gomer, but the emblem of the city they were approaching. The sentinels atop Kain-Phah’s watchtower saw no iron armours, but bronze ones. They saw no gryphons, but hippogriffs. And they saw no standard of the League, but of their own. So, they saw no reason to raise the alarm—until the gomin landed and they could see who they were:

  “Are you not gomin? Did not some of our soldiers land here but a few moments ago, saying they were betray
ed by their Gomer allies? What is your purpose here, then?”

  “My friends,” Virveniz cried, kneeling and wallowing in the ground. “If the gomin betrayed you, they also betrayed me and these you see before you! There was a mutiny in our beloved village! Gomer risks falling to the League if you do not help us! So we rushed here, and drew your standard—which is ours as well, while Gomer is not retaken. Please, fetch Ranskil, your councilor, so we can relay these most unfortunate tidings to him!”

  They sent for Ranskil, and told him all that happened, and also what Virveniz had claimed. As Ranskil left his house, Virveniz came to him and prostrated on the ground, imploring his forgiveness on Gomer’s behalf. At first, Ranskil raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, but as Virveniz kept chasing his feet, the kainphain councilor finally extended his arm to help his comrade up. Virveniz accepted Ranskil’s arm and, back on his feet, threw himself to his fellow’s shoulders, embracing him with many tears and moans.

  At that moment, Ranskil let his guard down, and Virveniz felt his muscles relaxing. As he loosened his embrace, Virveniz looked his brother in the eye, distracting him from his hand. This hand went to Virveniz’s scabbard and pulled a dagger. Swift as the wind, Virveniz ran the blade through Ranskil’s jugular and ended his life. And before anyone could react, the other gomin blew their horns and drew their swords against the kainphain.

  Moruzio heard the horn blast and the screams. He flew closer. The kainphain sentinels were no longer surveying the skies, as their attention was fully taken by the attack in their midst. Moruzio could approach and verify that Gomer had told the truth. The captain of the nephilin raised Rubizioliz, signaling his troops that it was time to raise their arms against Kain-Phah. He then fell upon the city as the eagle upon the hare, and his soldiers went behind him.

  By the time Carmel-sun set in the horizon, Kain-Phah lay in Moruzio’s hands. Gomer’s and Nephil’s flags flew over Kain-Phah’s watchtower, and the surviving kainphain were given the choice to either submit or die.