Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  Soon after, Skillotz crowned Virveniz as King of both Gomer and Kain-Phah. The capital of the isthmus had fallen, and the gates to the north were now open.

  ***

  During the night, a lonely hippogriff was seen soaring over Melchy-Zedek’s skies. The melchin sentinels fixed their gaze upon it, and saw it was flying aimlessly. When at last it landed, the sentinels could understand why: Its rider was too wounded to hold fast to the reins. Yet he was still conscious enough to ask:

  “Bring me to the pontiff… Out of mercy, bring me to the pontiff…”

  They brought him to the pontifical abode, and there tended to his wounds. Bilidio also came, for his guards awakened him. As he entered, he recognized the mysterious figure: It was Fugizlo, son of Ranskil.

  “Fugizlo, hail! I see you, and the sore state you are in. What misfortune befell you?”

  “Oh woe is us… woe is us… The nephilin broke into our skies and into our lands. Most foully did they betray us, and destroyed Kain-Phah, our capital… and my father, the councilor… they, also…”

  Fugizlo could not continue, for tears suffocated his throat. Bilidio was moved in his entrails and said to him:

  “I am very sorry for your father’s fate, and your land’s. Please, rest assured: Iperborea will provide you with any aid you need.”

  “Would you then,” Fugizlo murmured, without facing the pontiff, “help us reclaim Kain-Phah?”

  Bilidio shuddered. There was a long silence—though it seemed longer than it was.

  “Dear Fugizlo… would this be wise? It is one thing to battle in the skies, another to do battle on the ground. It is one thing to break Ophir’s siege, quite another to break into a city. Remember, as you said: Only by treason were they able to take Kain-Phah. But now, the city’s fortifications work against us. We will lose many lives if we attempt to reconquer.”

  Only then did Fugizlo face Bilidio. And his eyes were filled not only by pain, but anger as well:

  “Ah, I see,” he sneered. “‘Provide all the aid I need.’ Words are cheap. Typical, so typical of the melchin…”

  “My son, do not utter prideful words, for they could have been spoken by a nephilin. I made you a promise and my honour is bound to it! But we must find the best way to achieve our goal. Charging whilst driven by wrath will not serve any purpose, save to shed more blood and aggravate our predicament.”

  At dawn, the pontiff went to his balcony and released a carrier pelican. For his plan to succeed, he would need the assistance of a more skilled warrior and strategist.

  ***

  A moon or so later, Gomer’s skies were mottled with many speckled shadows. Early dawn, it was. The firmaments were still darkened by a light penumbra, so the gomin sentinels could not make sense of these shadows till they were very close. It was a squadron of hippogriffs, coming from the southern front. But what alarmed them were not the hippogriffs themselves, or their measly numbers, but what they carried on their backs.

  They were not logizkal who were riding the creatures. They were a shorter kind of rider—perhaps with the third of the length of a full giant. Their shape, though, was similar to the giants, with a head, two arms, and a torso. What they lacked in size, they compensated with numbers: Each hippogriff could carry seven or so of these riders on its loins. There was only one giant flying with them. But this giant yelled at the city, and everyone could recognize his strong voice:

  “Surrender, oh most dishonorable Gomer! For I am Amizdel, Captain of the Crizian Guard! And these who ride with me are the first ophalin, who have come to bring war to your doorstep, and are fated to triumph over you!”

  Amizdel? How could it be? How had he breached the nephilin siege to the south? It could not be! But it was! They recognized his voice, from the time when they went on pilgrimage to Ophir. And these smaller riders? They were of the same size and proportions as the crizia! Surely they could not be but ophalin!

  Panic overtook Gomer. At that moment, they rued the day they joined the League, for now they were up in arms against their prophesied executioners. Certainly, Amizdel could not be there if the siege had not been broken! Nay, not just broken… the nephilin to the south had been crushed. They had been massacred so cruelly, not one escaped to warn Gomer. And now they had reached Gomer itself.

  Virveniz was dragged out of his bed. In turn, he dragged as many warriors as he could find onto the saddles of their hippogriffs. There were no arms he could spare. If these were the ophalin, they should strike with all their might if they expected to be victorious! So, he rallied almost all of Gomer and they all flew against this most deadly foe—though the morale amongst the gomin was low as the depths of the sea.

  Amizdel stayed behind, but the ophalin riders kept flying forward, towards Gomer. Virveniz ordered his archers to shoot at will. A rain of darts befell the ophalin, and they fell without as much as raising a shield or waving an arm. It was as easy as hitting dolls. The gomin hearts began to lighten. Maybe they could still win! They drew their pikes and prepared for close range combat. Only then did they understand why vanquishing ophalin was as easy as hitting dolls… for it was dolls they were hitting! Those were not ophalin, but effigies made out of sackcloth!

  Virveniz turned around and saw a mighty army flying towards Gomer, but from the north—the opposite side they were in. Thebel’s skies had never seen such an army before: It seemed like all of Iperborea had come to wage war against the small town of Gomer.

  This mighty iperborin army had indeed been spotted at the border. But Kain-Phah’s gomin occupiers thought they were there to retake the capital, so they entrenched themselves and braced for battle. How amazed were they when this imposing army flew right by their side, as if Kain-Phah was of no importance! Then the northerners were between Kain-Phah and Gomer, so warning the gomin was no longer possible.

  Gomer was at the north’s mercy. All its warriors had been mustered to repel the fake ophalin charge! Gomer was almost completely unguarded! Even if that were not so, holding on to Gomer would already be a hard battle, for they would be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the iperborin army.

  In a few hours, all was finished. Gomer had returned to the Republic’s hands. And a message was sent to the gomin occupying Kain-Phah:

  “We have taken Gomer, your hometown. Your treachery notwithstanding, we seek not your blood. Abandon Kain-Phah, and we shall show you mercy.”

  ***

  The gomin accepted these terms. They left Kain-Phah and surrendered to the north. The League’s flag was lowered, and the Republic’s flag hoisted in its stead. The gomin returned to Gomer and, along with Virveniz and the rest of its nobles, knelt before the northerners asking for forgiveness.

  Then, something happened. Something terrible, which has been recorded in the annals of history and shall never be forgotten. While the gomin were unarmed and surrounded, the kainphain drew their swords and began to slay them one by one, starting with Virveniz.

  “Where is the mercy you promised us?” the gomin cried, as they saw the shadow of death falling upon them.

  “What have you done? What madness took over your limbs?” Amizdel intervened, as he tried to halt the kainphain. “Hark their words! They cry for mercy! Where is the mercy we have promised them?”

  Fugizlo, who had been the one to slit Virveniz’s throat, went up to Amizdel and replied to him:

  “Where is the mercy we have promised them? It is in the same place where their own mercy lies, for they had no mercy for the kainphain when they betrayed us! But if you promised them mercy, that is on you. I have promised no mercy, so I break no vow.”

  “You may taint your own honour, but not mine!” Amizdel cried as he drew his sword. “To me, oh faithful from the north! Save your brethren from mortal danger, for they are enemies of yours no longer! As it is, they are logizkal, as you are!”

  But Fugizlo clashed his blade against Amizdel’s, breaking his impetuosity:

  “Am I wrong, or do you seek to avert shedding of blood by sh
edding our own blood? Are we not logizkal as well? Are you willing to fight to the death to put a stop to the death of these traitors? Will you kill your allies, so as not to kill your enemies?”

  Amizdel looked and saw all the kainphain swords pointed against him. Some even caressed their gomin prisoners’ neck with their blades, taking them hostage. The Crizian Captain darted his eyes left and right, but saw no solution. There was not even a sliver of indulgence in the eyes of the kainphain, only bloodthirsty rage.

  Releasing a deep sigh, Amizdel sheathed his sword. With a gesture of his arm, he incited the northern army to do the same. Then, he declared:

  “I see not what else I can do, but this.” He removed his feathered helm, and knelt to the ground, his head lowered, as the gomin prisoners were. “I beg you, in the most holy name of Aigonz, whom you serve as well: Spare these wretched souls! It is true they are guilty, but slaughter them not, lest you become guilty in the same measure.”

  But Fugizlo and his followers cackled a most eerie laugh:

  “We shall not spare them. There is naught you can do to stop it, unless you put us to the sword as well… which you will not! As for Aigonz, he is surely pleased that these sinners are about to receive their due punishment! Get up from your knees, Captain! Do not embarrass yourself so, on account of these animals!”

  “An embarrassment, indeed, for you are the ones acting as animals.” Amizdel wept, as he rose. “Hark then! I know the iperborin, of which I am one, have promised you all the aid you would request! You, Fugizlo, requested that Kain-Phah would be retaken, and so it has! Since I have fulfilled my promise, I wish not to extend it further, for you also have not fulfilled your promises towards these gomin. The war you fight is no longer the war we fight, for there is more to war than the side you fight in. From now on, let the isthmus fight as it pleases, and the north will do the same on its part.”

  Having said that, he turned his back on Fugizlo and Kain-Phah. And his heart ached as he did so, for he knew he had just signed the gomin’s death sentence. He and his followers went back to their hippogriffs, and flew back to their homes—Amizdel to Ophir, the rest to the north. As for the kainphain, they laughed, shrugged, and consummated the massacre.

  When he heard what had happened, Bilidio took Amizdel’s decision upon himself. Never again would iperborin and brobnin fight side by side. The nephilin too heard of what happened, and they swore to never again trust the Republic, or any of the Republic’s promises. Neither would they ever surrender to the Republic, for how could they trust that they would earn mercy if they did?

  As for Skillotz, he too heard of what happened, and was most distraught. Not because he pitied the gomin, or because he lamented losing the isthmus. What concerned him most was how Amizdel had managed to breach his siege, for the nephilin did not see him go out of Ophir, or return there after the battle of Gomer.

  Chapter

  21

  The Dark Beast

  As all these things were unfolding, a sort of wonder occurred. Moab awoke from his long mechanical slumber. His eye sockets and his empty mouth burned red, and he spewed black smoke from every orifice and every crevice. Skillotz was one of the first to come out of his quarters, since the idol’s feet rested at his doorstep.

  The king sent for Malvizio, the moabite religion’s High Priest, so he could give an interpretation for this sign. When he arrived, the elder was most amazed, since he had not invoked Moab, nor had he performed any rituals to awaken the idol. Skillotz was impatient, but the priest said he needed to study the whole affair. He locked himself up inside his library, and did not come out for many hours. In the meantime, Moab kept wobbling his head and expelling his fumes.

  Malvizio did indeed leave his haven, but cloaked by the dark of night. He needed not study, for he already knew the answer. But he did not wish to share it with Skillotz. More capable ears should listen. So Malvizio went to Prince Sanquivio’s quarters and requested a private audience. The prince granted it, but Malvizio would only have it on his own terms: at his own house, in Lamech’s periphery, outside the reach of the pharaoh’s prying ears. Sanquivio balked at this strange—one could say, treasonous—plea. But Nod had come behind the elder as a shadow, and persuaded the prince to follow him.

  So it happened: The prince went out into the dark of the night; he went into the dark of Malvizio’s house; he went down the dark of his basement. There, he found a familiar sight: The seven moabite gifts were still incarcerated there, and they were most rattled. They kept clattering at their cages and fuming dark vapours, similar to the ones issuing from Moab. Sanquivio shuddered:

  “Why have you brought me to this most dreary place at this time of night? Speak, so I may leave at once!”

  “Let us be brief, yea, my lord! But not for the comfort of your princely bones; rather, let brevity be for the good of our mission, so that we may fulfill it! I have found a way to break through Ophir’s walls and magic!”

  “Most excellent, Reverend Malvizio. Why have you awakened me with this news, and not my father?”

  “Because I need to convey this message to someone who will not ruin our purposes! That would be you, not pharaoh, my prince!”

  “Beware your words, old logizkal! Treason is punishable with death!”

  “Let us not get distracted with futile details, my lord! You know it to be true, as do I, and I know you know.”

  “Yea, verily, let us not get distracted with details! Tell me your plan at once!”

  “You see, my lord! I have studied these seven creatures at length for decades now! I know why Moab gave them to us, and I know how to harness their power… When they are placed together, and appropriately provoked, they can form an eighth beast—a Dark Beast! This beast has enough power to overthrow Ophir’s magic! The Crizian Guard will be no match for our troops then!”

  For the second time that night, Sanquivio shuddered. Malvizio’s words, blended with those most nefarious vapours, conjured most foul recollections inside the prince’s head:

  “You need not tell me about the Dark Beast… I know it well. It was my first memory.”

  “Then you remember its power,” Malvizio said, without taking cognizance of the prince’s recoil. “We will surely emerge victorious! This is Moab’s will!”

  “But… why at this moment? Why not at that time when I was born? You should have told my father then! You could have shortened this war and spared many nephilin lives!”

  “See? This acumen of yours is precisely why I am talking to you about this matter, and not Skillotz your father. If it were him, his impatience would have spoiled all our thorough labours! At the time, the Dark Beast was not yet ready! Its strength was insufficient to breach Ophir’s defenses! But now… now it seems to have grown beyond belief!”

  “How so?”

  “I am not certain myself! Moab and his idiosyncrasies are still new to me, as they are to anyone. But Moab feasts on blood, that much I know. I theorize that, since Moab is a son of Thebel—even if a bastard son—he is linked to the earth, and anything it feeds on. At one time, the earth had not drunk enough blood, for not enough blood had been spilt. But now, after all these years of war, and most especially since what happened at Gomer and Kain-Phah, Moab is nourished enough to give birth to a stronger—much stronger—Dark Beast.”

  Malvizio so spake, and kept tilting his head to one side and the other to study Sanquivio’s features. And the more he studied, the less happy he became with what he saw. But Nod placed her arm upon Malvizio’s shoulder, and smiled at him. He knew that smile: It meant he should trust her. She flew towards the prince, and said to him:

  “I have read thy soul with these sylphic eyes of mine. Thou shouldst do as thine heart proposeth.”

  Sanquvio took a deep breath, and commanded Malvizio so:

  “Go and tell my father about this. Let the king decide.”

  He so said, and went his way. Malvizio shook his head in frustration:

  “Oh, my dearest sylphid, we are doomed
to repeat the past… This is yet another blunder as Kolinzio was…”

  Nod did not say a word. Rather, she followed Sanquivio with her gaze, even across the house walls and the distance.

  ***

  When Carmel-sun set the very next day, the dark vapours inside Moab had swollen so much that the idol could not contain them much longer. Either he would release that mass within, brewing frantically to be set free, or he would burst. Malvizio’s secret had also been set loose. That very morning, he had gone to the pharaoh’s presence and told him everything he had said to the prince the night before. And Sanquivio was there, as an assurance that the elder would not omit a single word.

  Now, as the sun was setting on that fateful day, Skillotz and all his court were before Moab, to see the wonder that would deliver Ophir into their hands. Malvizio prostrated himself before the statue of gold and iron, and performed the ritual Nod taught him. He brought forth the dagger, still magically dripping with Kolinzio’s blood, and sprinkled Moab’s feet with it. That was the last drop Moab could drink before vomiting what he contained within.

  The smoke issuing from the idol condensed, and clotted, and formed a strange, undefined mist above Lamech. Its span was bigger than the city itself. It hovered over the Warrior City, higher than its pointed roofs and obelisks, even above the king’s house or the very Colossus. It floated with the lightness and weight of a storm cloud. Of pure blackness was it formed: There was no light or gaze that could pierce through its opaqueness. Even so, one might say that its inner entrails did shine. For the Beast’s eyes and maws burned red, as if they were hollow and let through glimpses of flames within, like the dark walls of a furnace. The Beast’s head was like a charred skull, but its teeth were as sharp as a lion’s. Six horns came out of its forehead, smoke out of its nostrils, and tongues of fire out of its mouth. On each of the horns there was an iron diadem, similar to a ring fastened to a finger, with scarlet jewels all around it, as red as the Beast’s eyes. And six arms emerged from its deformed trunk, each armed with a different weapon, forged from the same dark matter as the Beast itself.