Ironcraft

by Pedro Gabriel

  In the meantime, Inimois peered above the wall’s crenellations. She had ordered Amizdel to go up the rampart, bringing her on his shoulders:

  “Cease your mewling, oh mighty pharaoh! You have not displeased me, quite the contrary! It is my turn to repay your magnanimity! If it so pleases you, follow me from outside as I go around these walls! A secret of mine, my reward shall be!”

  Beneath her seat, the Captain of the Guard trembled. He knew what secret this was. If any doubts of it lingered, they would be quashed as she ordered him to travel the walls eastward:

  “What are you doing, my lady?” he said to her, both whispering and stammering.

  “Something I should have done a long time ago! March!”

  They went around the walls to the orient. Sanquivio from outside the walls. Amizdel through the ramparts. Inimois over the captain’s shoulders, so as to be seen above the battlements. They walked till the many faces of the Sphinx of the Lance could no longer see them.

  As for the pharaoh, he did not intend to let his eyes off his princess. Whether the sphinx was blind to her whereabouts or not, he would never be so blinded—so he swore. Unwillingly would he break this promise, for he would indeed become blind to her whereabouts. Not that he had averted his eyes, or gotten distracted, or even blinked. Rather, the princess and Amizdel both vanished from his sight. One step they were there, the next step they were not. Soon, though, he heard her voice once more:

  “Are you still there, my lord?”

  “Indeed, my lady! Here I stand!”

  “Do not move away, for your eyes have been taken by a spell! Be still!”

  He obeyed, and it was as if a veil lifted from his eyes. Suddenly, the princess was visible once again—and not only the princess, but an unknown tower and an unknown sphinx, with empty eyes and a shield by her right paw. Beneath the sphinx, at the ground level, there was a postern door. Shortly thereafter, this same door opened, and Amizdel emerged from it.

  “What sorcery be this, my lady?”

  “This is the Sphinx of the Shield. No one knew of its existence, besides me and the Crizian Guard. Through this most secret door we smuggled many provisions and evaded your father’s siege. Through this same door did Amizdel, my captain, leave Ophir without being seen, so as to aid the northerners during the battle of Gomer. The Sphinx keeps this door concealed by a magical shroud, unless I unlock it with these keys,” she said, as she chinked two golden keys together.

  “I do not understand, my lady. Why expose your stronghold’s weakness so?”

  “I exposed naught, my sweet lord, for I am as safe as I ever was. I trust you, and have shewn you my trust. Henceforth, you shall enter through this door, to avoid the Sphinx of the Lance’s piercing and unreasonable gaze. You shall be welcome inside my domains, and you shall eat at my table as my most esteemed guest. The war is long past, time of peace is upon us! We should conduct ourselves accordingly.”

  Amizdel was still beside her, his face more disgusted than ever, yet resigned by an unbreakable oath of obedience. It was to him that the princess’ attention turned next:

  “My, what a splendid idea I just had. Yea, my most esteemed guest must eat at my palace! A banquet, I say! We must arrange a feast for the pharaoh!” And looking back at Sanquivio, she proclaimed, “Your next recital must not be under the cold and moist ceiling of the stars, but sheltered under my own roof. Your song shall even echo with better acoustics, when sung at my throne room! You shall warm your throat with Thebel’s most excellent wine, and the finest delicacies shall give you strength to sing! When would you wish this feast to come to be, my lord? When will you grace me with the pleasure of eating by my side, sharing the same table as I?”

  “My lady… my heart is most moved by your gentle invite. I accept it, a thousand times will I accept it, for the pleasure would be all mine of eating by your side, and sharing your table. Not tonight, though, for I have no other song to offer you at the moment.”

  “You could sing songs already sung, my lord, and I would not mind.”

  “Please, my lady, I wish to contribute more than my song to your feast. Allow me some time to prepare, so that I may bring my own delicacies and drinks as well.”

  “You need not do so, for you have already contributed enough.”

  “I insist. Allow me to surprise you.”

  ***

  The banquet was held the following full moon, for the princess would not wait for the new moon to come again. Ararat’s silvery beams filtered through the palace’s stained glass and produced a ghostly atmosphere, as the moonlight danced with the lanterns flickering inside.

  The sages say there will never be a banquet such as that till the day the swallows return. The crizians served Ophir’s softest bread, still warm from the oven, and many sorts of cakes. Roasted lambs, swans, and doves, as well. To drink, Thebel’s most excellent wine, pressed out of the fattest grapes, carefully picked by the Kárys riverbanks. There was also ambrosia, the sweetest drink ever made by mortal hands, of a recipe which was known only to the Gilded City’s merchants, lost since the Great Calamity.

  From Nemrod, many typical southern dishes were served, like gryphon’s legs fried in boar lard, mammoth loins grilled in coal, or stew of assorted game. And many barrels of ale were brought and broken during the banquet. For dessert, the guests were presented with many exotic, unknown fruits plucked from the Forbidden Lands.

  The banquet went from dusk to midnight and beyond. Inimois’ chair was more elevated than the giants by her side, so she could eat from the same table. For some reason, though, the princess could not enjoy the festivities. Whenever her arm would extend to reach out to some nephilin delicacy, her chest would retract her. Within her chest, the pontiff’s voice murmured its advice. Not even the pharaoh’s new song freed her from this bondage.

  When Sanquivio’s ode was finished, and he sat at the table by the princess’ right side, he noted her indecision:

  “Is my lady feeling well? You have barely touched the food!”

  “What… oh, yes, yes I am quite well. Only a slight indisposition, nothing else. What a shame that this would happen at this most joyous occasion…”

  “A slight indisposition of the stomach… or perhaps the past stubbornly carrying on living in the present? Even if the past lives not, it may yet haunt you as a ghost: A spectre of mistrust, driving you away from all proofs of trust I have given you…”

  She wished to answer him. But how? Her answer could not refute him, for he spake the truth. Oh, what could she do? How could she mend this offense against Sanquivio, without losing his affection? She did not know. As if taken by a convulsion, she jumped down from her chair, as she ran to hide from everyone’s sight.

  Sanquivio went after her. He found her sitting on the ground, leaning against a wall where the shadows of the night met with the shadows cast by her palace, where no moonlight could reach. She was in utter disarray: her eyes washing away the tinctures with which she had adorned her lids, her wild hair disheveled by her enraged hands, her knees tucked inside her arms, her sobbing dissolving with the murmur of the lakeside down below.

  The pharaoh approached. She did not dare lift her gaze to him. If she did, she would have seen his smile, even amidst all the darkness around her. He sat by her side, and she felt his warmth next to her. He gave her a fruit that, for him, was no greater than a berry, but for her was the size of her fist:

  “My subjects at Bera found these fruits as they scouted the Forbidden Lands. Its flavour intrigued and amused me, so I decided to share it with you. Whether this indisposition be an upset stomach or ghosts from the past, this fruit might do you well.”

  She extended her arm towards the fruit, and forced herself not to retract it. As she received it inside her palm, she inquired:

  “What fruit is this?”

  “We call them ‘pomegranates.’ They are no ordinary fruit: If you peel them, you will find no pulp, but some succulent seeds. If you are fearful, you need not eat the whol
e fruit, only a handful of its contents,” he said, and got some more pomegranates from inside his lion mantle. Bringing them to his mouth, he chewed them loudly.

  So reassured by her king’s actions, the princess took half a dozen pomegranate seeds and swallowed them whole. Time would not be wasted in tasting or chewing; she wished to end this once and for all. If it be poisoned, let it swiftly bring an end to this misery, she thought.

  Much to her surprise and relief, her fears were unfounded: She ate and did not die. Rather, she felt more alive than ever. As her misgivings faded, she was overtaken by a yearning appetite.

  “You are right, my lord!” she said, as she jumped back on her feet, her cheeks warmed, her face unburdened. “Why do I torment myself so, hurting my heart and yours? Come now, and feast with me! Your pomegranates composed my stomach and cast away many a ghost!”

  Inimois was still speaking when she sat at the table. There she ate her fill of titan bounty. The rest of her night was spent drinking nephilin beer, and dancing under southern war songs, till she fell asleep, intoxicated by her beloved’s lulling kiss.

  ***

  Upon his return to Nemrod, Sanquivio locked himself inside his throne room, alone. The slag glass filtered the hall’s dim light. There Pharaoh’s eyes rested, but not his mind.

  His repose would not last. Ere long, the captain of his hosts stormed through the hall, demanding an audience:

  “Hail, oh pharaoh. Let honour and glory fall on your head,” Moruzio announced, with martial deference. His heart, though, had no deference at all. As for Sanquivio, he kept his eyelids ajar, as he massaged his temples with his fingers:

  “Hail, Moruzio. Is it urgent? I have much to ponder at the moment…”

  “I apologize, my lord, but I cannot wait much longer.”

  “Speak. The pharaoh listens.”

  “My hosts grow restless. The soldiers’ complaints grow day by day. They have been turned—so they protest—from proud soldiers to lowly servants, cooks, and musicians for our enemies! Do you know not how your actions demoralize our troops? We need to act, otherwise a mutiny may arise!”

  Sanquivio sighed. With much effort did he struggle to keep his eyes open, as if he would listen with his eyes. Yet he seemed unperturbed by these insurrection threats. Moruzio was most troubled with the pharaoh’s apathy:

  “The banquet at Ophir is not a unique incident, my lord. Since you have been crowned, all your actions have been to either wage war against your former allies, or to forge alliances with your former enemies. Every day you prostrate Nephil’s glory before Ophir, when scores of our own have fallen to bring Ophir down. Have you forgotten Nod’s prophecy, that the ophalin would destroy the logizkal race? The soldiers have not forgotten!”

  “And neither have I.”

  So Moruzio heard. These words, however, did not come out of Sanquivio’s mouth. They came from a disembodied voice, a voice floating amidst the throne room’s walls. A voice Moruzio thought to have forgotten, even as he had sworn to remember the prophecies uttered by that very same voice:

  “Nod? Are you there, oh sylphid?”

  The star made herself visible. Moruzio knelt before her, but Sanquivio did not even move:

  “Yea, I am here,” she replied. “I have forgotten not the prophecy, and I hereby vouch for it. Yet thou shouldst know: Everything Sanquivio did, he so did according to a plan known to both of us.”

  “A… plan…?” Moruzio stammered.

  “Indeed.” Now the one who answered was the pharaoh. “As were my predecessor’s fall, and my coronation. Everything I have done has been orchestrated by Nod since the time I was born. If you believed her when she augured the prophecy, would you not believe her when she drew up this strategy?”

  “Why, yes of course. But… what plan be this? If it tarries too much to be fulfilled, a revolution will hinder it! Your own subjects may overthrow you, as you did your father! How will your plan succeed, then? You should tell me what you are plotting, and your subjects as well…”

  “My role is not to explain myself to you, but to lead you. As captain, it befalls you to keep discipline and order within the ranks. So let it be done.” Sanquivio’s tone was slowly giving way to some impatience; Nod found the need to intervene:

  “The less people know of this plan, the better. In secret it must remain. If it is sprung to light before the time is ripe, the prey will not be caught.”

  The pharaoh was now too restless to return to his repose, the only thing he desired. He rose and came down from the throne. Moruzio was most frightened. At that moment, he expected a severe punishment for his impertinence, perhaps even to meet his end. The more Sanquivio grew near, the more the poor captain thought so, for the king kept caressing Lauz-Ispariz’s pommel with his right hand. But when Moruzio was within his reach, Sanquivio placed his left arm around the captain’s shoulders—even as his right hand rested still on his sword. His voice remained calm as an icy sunset:

  “If there be no other way, I shall tell you. But let it remain just amongst us, as Nod explained. I do this only out of respect for your exploits, so that you may trust me and never question me again. This is all I need, for I know you shall keep a tight leash on any rebels, as long as you trust me.”

  “My lord, I hear you. Speak, your humble servant listens.”

  “Good. My father’s strategy was doomed to fail. Thousands of ours would perish in futile assaults. Years and years of toil and combat, and what did we gain? We breached Ophir’s outer walls. And what then? Years more to get our armies through the lake? Years more to get our armies to the Sym-Bolon summit? Years more to storm the palace? Remember Faris-Romil’s magic! Remember the Golden Sphinxes! Remember the collapse of the bridge and the countless casualties in our mighty legions! Would we triumph? Why would we push forward, when we can obtain the same result with much less sweat and blood?”

  Moruzio said nothing, as he absorbed every single word the pharaoh murmured to him. And he could swear he could hear Nod’s whispers as well, though more distant.

  “Therefore, it was most expedient we should change our strategy. Of course, given my predecessor’s stubbornness, such could only be achieved by removing the crown from his head. As for me, I have reached a different conclusion. What does the prophecy foretell?”

  “My lord, that the ophalin, the crizia’s offspring, would crush the logizkal race and conquer Thebel.”

  “You speak well. Knowing this, a choice I present you. How to avoid this most ill-fated destiny? Waste pawns storming an unassailable stronghold… or infiltrate it through cunning?”

  The captain did not answer. The question was not meant to be answered, but heeded. Moruzio pursed his lips together and nodded.

  “Remember, Moruzio,” the pharaoh proceeded. “The ophalin, our enemies, do not exist yet. They are the crizia’s descendants. But I stand by Inimois’ side now. How could she breed without me knowing? Nod instructed me on how the ophalin procreate: They do not do so as the giants do, but as animals. She is a female, and needs a male to mate. If I keep her heart captive, no one will approach her. Nay, truly, she will reject any suitor in my favour. The banquet the soldiers so despise was the crowning of our triumph. She ingested a fruit Nod gave me to subdue her. The seven Moabite gifts also served the same purpose: to weaken her will, and darken her intellect. She is no less of a slave now than the Enoch Bar-Iared once were. Ophir is conquered, and no one even knows it. Not a drop of nephilin blood has been spilt. Do you understand now?”

  The captain knelt once more, for his king’s strength overpowered him:

  “Yes, my lord, I have understood. I shall explain to the troops: I have spoken with you and you have given me a fair explanation, which I cannot disclose. I shall appease them, or punish them severely if they do not yield.”

  “Go and do as you said, my good captain. Your loyalty shall be well rewarded.”

  Moruzio obeyed and left, his thorny armour clanging as he crossed the doors. Behind him, silence reigned:
the same silence Sanquivio so much coveted. He would not relish it yet. The sylphid had not left. She remained visible, one eye peering at the door, another eye looking at the pharaoh:

  “Thou hast not told him the whole truth… am I not right, my lord?”

  “What purpose would it serve, if I already obtained what I sought?”

  “Indeed. However, thou canst not fool me as thou didst him. I can read thine heart. Therein lie more plans than the ones thou explaineth.” She slid towards him and shrouded him as the smoke of a bonfire. “I read thine heart, and I see no fear for my prophecies, or even any concern for the logizkal race. What can thy purpose be, then?”

  “Till now, naught has concerned you but the fulfillment of our joint plan. Why do you question my intentions?”

  “Mere… hum, curiosity. Ye carnal beings appear as quite strange to me… and therefore, fascinating.”

  “Fascinating? Perhaps not all. Many hearts seem boorish to your sylphic eyes, since they seem subjected to certain fixed laws. Fascinating you may find them, but only the hearts too strange for you to fully read them. The hearts you cannot decipher, yea, since they obey not those laws of mortalkind.”

  She did not answer him, save with a sly smile. He, however, realizing her vapours would not let go of his garments, said:

  “I see I can deny you not. So be it, and let Moruzio be accursed for forcing me to unmask my heart before you! You are right: I do not care for the logizkal race or the League. Truly, a thought came to me last night, though it had been brewing inside a secret corner of my mind for quite some time. I wish not to thwart Inimois’s offspring! I desire her to bear descendants! For lo! I am her love! How could she bear any offspring, but my own? If the forthcoming ophalin race crown her queen mother, will I not be a father, and a king? And if your prophecy comes true, and the ophalin oust the logizkal, then my dark fate I shall have evaded, the giants be damned! I shall be on the victor’s side! Pharaoh of the logizkal, or pharaoh of the ophalin, I shall be pharaoh for the ages to come!”