Inside the mist which engulfed the king, the sylphid nodded approvingly. But Sanquivio twisted his lips:
“But I am gambling too much. If I loiter, the nephilin shall rebel against me.” He turned to Nod. “And that is the reason why I wanted to keep these things hidden from you. For I know, in that day, you shall overthrow me as you did my father before me.”
“What harsh, cruel words dost thou utter, oh Sanquivio my lord? Could I betray my favourite, the mortal who entertaineth my dullest days?”
The sly smile belonged to him now. Sylphic eyes were not needed to read Nod’s heart. Sanquivio knew she would betray him, yea, without so much as a flicker of an eye. She read his heart and learned he knew this to be true. And she was most pleased with him, for Sanquivio knew the rules she had set, and yet was willing to play by those rules. Nay, she would betray him only as a last resort: It would be very hard to find another mortal who could serve her so well.
Chapter
27
The Last Council
In the days that followed, Sanquivio mused: What if, instead of him going to Ophir, Inimois came to him at Nemrod? The crizia herself setting foot in a city from the League? Moreover, the League’s very own capital? That would be unheard of! It would consolidate this new peace he was building!
Inimois would gladly agree, of that there could be no doubt. Whether out of love, or out of his control over her, he would bid her come and she would. The greatest hurdle lay with his own subjects: Would they riot at the sight of the princess? Would they resist the temptation, seeing her life ripe for the taking? But then again, if he succeeded, his triumph would be assured, and his goals hastened. Time was something he could not afford, after all. So, he pondered much, and acted diligently, though in secrecy.
The following new moon, Ophir would not hear Sanquivio’s serenade. This new song would be for Inimois’ ears only. That dusk, the princess appeared at Nemrod’s gates, escorted by Amizdel and some of her guards. Not that she wanted them to accompany her: The Crizian Guard was still mistrustful of Sanquivio, and she could not stand it. She protested much to come alone and Amizdel protested much to come along. Only Sanquivio broke this standstill, when he said it would not be proper for the princess to embark on such a journey without anyone vouching for her safe return. Her guards had shown an outstanding loyalty towards her—they would be an excellent choice. So advised by her lord, Inimois relented, but made her displeasure known to all.
This is how the princess arrived at Nemrod—with three guards flanking each of her sides, and Amizdel’s shoulders as her throne. This embarrassed her so, but she had no other choice. But had she sylphic eyes to read the nephilin’s souls when she passed, she would have known: Her shame should be the least of her concerns.
She distracted herself away from her humiliation by contemplating the newly founded city. Her mouth opened with amazement, and drank from the city’s grandiosity. She recognized the architecture as hers, since it had been inspired by Ophir’s. At the same time, this architecture seemed so altered, so reformed, so new to her as if she had never seen it. No more white limestone, but dark marble unearthed from Mizar’s deepest domains. No more stained glass, but slag glass, forming spirals and patterns so unique they were bound never to be repeated again. There were no more vines, or leaves, or any other celebration of life carved along the pillars, but rather a non-ornate linearity, perhaps inspired in Lamech’s former austerity. So it was that Nemrod’s architecture felt so the same and yet so different from Ophir’s, as if the same shape had been inspired by a diverse essence.
Eventually, she found herself before her beloved’s palace, the abode belonging to the prince of her heart. There was Pharaoh, at the door, to receive her. And how kingly he appeared before her eyes! How regal did he appear, bare of his iron armour, with his lion and lambskin’s mantle. On his head, the Razil crown, glittering in the sun. Even the haughty towers about him were dressed for the occasion, for they were covered with Nemrod’s red and sable standards.
The princess could not bear the shame any longer!
“Put me down at once!” she demanded Amizdel. Her feet felt the cobblestone’s lukewarmness, warmed up by the sun. And as she felt this granitic solidity beneath her, she ran towards Sanquivio, to hug his left calf. The king placed his left hand upon her head and caressed her mane. Afterwards, he extended his gigantic hand downward as she stretched her graceful hand upward. So did they hold hands whilst they strolled in the Pharaonic City. He would lead and she would admire.
Their stroll would be cut short. Too short. From the skies rained wrathful cries.
They looked up and saw a squadron of flying creatures, bearing giants on their flanks, armed with scythes and spears. Amizdel drew his sword and yelled:
“Accursed nephilin! To me, oh sweet lady! They have betrayed you, they seek only to slay you!”
The captain rued his words soon enough. The riders were not nephilin. They rode not gryphons, but hippogriffs. They wore no iron, but bronze. Their colours were not the League’s sable and red, but Kain-Phah’s gold and purple. Amizdel saw this, and was most astonished, almost to the point of forgetting the heat of the battle around him. And Amizdel would have fallen—for a rider with a spear lunged towards him—if Sanquivio had not saved him, by breaking the spear’s shaft with Lauz-Ispariz’s might.
“Hasten yourselves! To the palace!” the pharaoh yelled, awakening the captain from his stupour. Moruzio also ran towards the fray, to shield king and guests with his axe. Sanquivio took Inimois in his strong hand and carried her next to his bosom: He had seen the assailants come flying towards her, seeking to capture her with nets and hooks. Moruzio and Amizdel followed the king, protecting his retreat. And a wall of nephilin archers closed in behind them, for even as they were shielding the princess they hated, the zeal for their king and city consumed them.
The palace’s gates clanged shut as Sanquivio, Inimois, and Amizdel entered. The wall’s stony embrace sheltered them from the attacks. Inimois could not perceive a thing outside, for the palace’s windows were quite opaque. Yet the warquake could be felt, and the clashing arms could be heard. The princess gasped for air as she leaned on Sanquivio. On his end, he tried to muffle all that cacophony away from the princess’ ears. But he could not drown the cries of all those who, outside, slayed and were slain.
Soon, those dreary sounds died out on their own. Powerless to reach Inimois, the marauders withdrew. Whatever their intent, they had failed. They flew away, under a hail of southern arrows. Inside the palace, there was only silence… till there was a knock at the gates.
“My lord, we have repelled the brobnin sally,” they heard Moruzio say, since he had stayed behind to lead the defense. “You are safe.”
Amizdel went out and confirmed Moruzio’s words. Soon the pharaoh followed, bringing Inimois to the light of day with him.
“Why would Kain-Phah attack Nemrod?” the princess asked, as she gazed upon the dead and wounded. “Is this not a time of peace?”
“I thought so as well, my lady,” Sanquivio said, letting a befuddled silence lingering before he continued. “But it seemed as if the brobnin were not merely attacking Nemrod. Rather, it seemed like it was upon you, my lady, that they preyed.”
A shiver went through her, head to toes. Her instincts turned to her guard’s captain, but he averted her gaze. She knew what that meant. Amizdel agreed with the pharaoh, though he refused to admit to it.
“Why?” she asked, more confused than ever. “Why would they do so?”
Sanquivio knelt before her, trying to level his eyes with the princess’:
“Kain-Phah was never favourable to peace. For them, peace could only come about through the nephilin’s utter annihilation. No doubt, they were most distressed, as the bonds between Ophir and Nephil bloomed. Before, only the Republic could boast of Ophir’s good graces.”
Sanquivio drew nearer, bending his spine even further so that his breath would cross Inimois’ nape. Then, he w
hispered in a way everyone could hear:
“Most unfortunately, the dark prophecy befalls upon your head as well. Yea, verily, that very same prophecy withered not. The brobnin fought on your side, oh princess, so that the ophalin, your offspring, would spare them one day on account of their service. But now they fear that the upcoming ophalin may side with the southerners and turn against the Republic. You can see now, my lady, not of out of love for you have they fought, but out of most wretched interest. Oh, my princess, my love, they will try to kill you, as my foolish father once did.”
As she heard these words, Inimois prostrated herself on the ground, clawing at her womb:
“Oh most accursed prophecy, which forever stole my peace! May I be barren, and the ophalin never come to be, so that infamy may eternally taint the names of those who persecute me! Oh, could I be a logizkal and find rest inside of Mathusal’s halls! But where shall I go? Where do the ophalin go when they reach the end of their lives? What has Aigonz preordained for me when my days are spent? So it is that everyone from the stars on high to the depths down below, and the giants as well, know their fate better than I!”
Sanquivio stroked her soft, disheveled hair. With a gentle, yet strong hand, did he pick her up from the ground:
“Go and take the princess back to Ophir!” he said to Amizdel. “Keep her under your wings, as the apple of your eye! As for me, I shall forthwith depart to Melchy-Zedek, for I must give account of all these things to Bilidio, the pontiff!”
Inimois would have none of it. Her wailing had boiled her blood inside her chest, till it arose at the surface of her cheeks:
“I am the Princess of Ophir! Not again shall I be imprisoned by walls! If my beloved should go to the pontiff, I shall go with him. Am I not the aggrieved party? My voice shall be heard at the Council!”
***
Sanquivio readied his mightiest gryphon, Kingspride, and mounted it. Inimois mounted the same steed and rode before the pharaoh, secured by his arms as they clutched the reins. The nephilin gave another gryphon to Amizdel, so that he would go before the king and princess as a herald to Melchy-Zedek. So it happened, when Sanquivio and Inimois arrived in the Blessed City, the pontiff was alerted. Messengers had already been sent to all corners of Thebel. The Council would be convened as soon as possible.
In less than three days, all councilors were gathered at the cothon palace. Inimois and Sanquivio were there as well, as Bilidio’s guests.
“Hail, oh venerable councilors, ispariz tecum frens!” the pontiff proclaimed from his tribune. “I invoked your presence most hastily, for there is a very grave and pressing matter upon our heads. Unbeknownst to me, our Republic broke our peace treaty with the League of Nephil. One of our armies attacked Nemrod, the nephilin capital. No provocation had been inflicted, nor declaration of war delivered. Yet our friend’s city was most cowardly struck.” Bilidio paused for breath for a moment. “Not content with this most heinous act, the assailants also tried to abduct our most beloved princess, who was visiting Nemrod at the time. This is unacceptable! It shames Iperborea’s honour! If any of our brethren knows anything about this matter, let him go forth and speak. I leave the tribune to your words.” And he descended to his chair, so as to better hear and judge.
For long moments, there was nothing for the pontiff to hear. No voice was heard, save that of the sea beyond the bay. Heavy moments these were, as a turtle dragging inside its shell—impatient moments, with Inimois’ fingers drumming on her crossed arms. The moments stretched out, further and further, till the princess’ heart could not bear the silence any longer:
“Is it possible that none of these eminent figures, the Republic’s very elite, could be aware of anything? I find it hard to believe so, or am I in the presence of the most blind, deaf, and dumb generation of giants to ever dwell these lands? But if that were the case, then it would not be silence what I would expect to hear! Nay, not silence, but cries of just indignation, because this was a most abominable act indeed! But lo! Not a word! So what is there for me to conclude that it is not ignorance which locks your tongues, but cowardice?! Yea, I see you! This outrage weighs in your consciences! You cannot justify your actions or redress my grievances! Nevertheless, if you cannot speak, then listen: Your devilries incurred Aigonz’s wrath, and my own as well!”
Thus provoked, as a horse pierced by the spurs, Fugizlo rose from his seat—for after his father’s death, he was anointed Kain-Phah’s councilor. And there was anger throbbing in his forehead, even as he tried to keep his anger away from his mouth:
“The princess hurls harsh words at those who, for years, fought to save her from those who wished her ill! Incomprehensible words between allies! And yet, if my lady would know what caused those actions she so blithely condemns, she would not be uttering insults, but kissing the feet of those who she reviles in this most hallowed chamber! Yea, verily, the brobnin were the ones behind this attack! But no ill intentions moved us, only noble purposes! For we were informed that the crizia had been captured and Sanquivio was forcing her to marry him! We had no knowledge of this being an official visit of state! Therefore, we must conclude that none of this would have happened if the princess would not subject herself to such perils without so much as warning her most cherished allies! What Inimois calls ‘abduction,’ we call ‘saving.’”
Fugizlo’s ire, though hidden, infected Inimois in turn:
“Must I apprise you of all my official acts as Princess of Ophir? Am I a sovereign or your subordinate?”
“Not at all, my lady,” Fugizlo replied, struggling with all his might to maintain a varnish of patience. “But forget not that the League was created with the sole purpose of destroying you!”
“Those times are long past,” the pharaoh intervened, not struggling too much to remain serene. “I thought we signed a peace treaty already. Unfortunately, the Republic never came to terms with this treaty. Never did it cease to see us as an enemy. Why would we disband the League, if we are forever threatened like this? The slightest misunderstanding leads to unwarranted and disproportional aggression.”
Bilidio rose from his chair. He, who had remained seated for so long, shocked them all by being the first to lose patience. The pharaoh had spoken well, and the pontiff hated that it was so:
“It is inadmissible that any of the Republic’s cities could behave in such manner! There was a peace treaty and its terms are to be respected! Kain-Phah has no right to dishonour the Republic’s name with these acts! Nay, the princess must not apprise Kain-Phah of what she does! Rather, it is Kain-Phah that must apprise this Council before attacking a city with which we have a signed truce! In the name of the Council and of the Republic, I hereby repudiate Kain-Phah’s actions and apologize to Inimois and Sanquivio!”
“Apprise the Council before…?” Fugizlo stammered. “The crizia was in grave peril! There was no time for…”
“I beg this hallowed chamber’s pardon,” Sanquivio interrupted. “There is some other matter of concern. You have said, oh most venerable councilor of the great city of Kain-Phah, you were informed that we captured the crizia. From whence have you gathered such information?”
Fugizlo did not reply. His silence was once again interrupted by the pharaoh:
“Would you have spies inside Nemrod, perchance?” Many years later, it would become known that the brobnin had indeed infiltrated spies within the League’s territory; but those spies were deceived or bribed to relay falsehoods which would incite war. Sanquivio knew it and placed these falsehoods at his disposal.
“Do you now see what we have to endure?” the king asked the pontiff, while Fugizlo insisted upon his silence. “Will peace ever be possible? Till when should we atone for the errors of our forebears? I thank you sincerely for your apologies to me, but do remind yourself I was not aggrieved alone. Many nephilin lay buried because of your arms!”
“Alas, I must concede it is so,” Bilidio said. “In the name of this Council and in the name of the Republic, I ask forgiven
ess of Nemrod. Rest assured I will do everything in my power to enforce the terms of our peace treaty.”
Only then did silence depart from Fugizlo’s mouth. Shame muzzled him until then, but anger now released his tongue:
“What indignity be this? You ask forgiveness in the name of the Republic? Is Kain-Phah not a part of the Republic? Kain-Phah asks no forgiveness, least of all to the wretched nephil race!”
And all the councilors from the isthmic settlements rose up and unanimously applauded Fugizlo: “Hear, hear!” they cheered.
“What is this? Am I not the pontiff?” Bilidio screamed.
“Indeed, and nothing more than a pontiff,” replied Fugizlo. “We are the councilors of the isthmus of Brobnin! We will speak for ourselves! We ask no forgiveness, for we acted in good faith! Furthermore, if the wretched nephilin committed no ill, then let our actions be on account of all the ills they are still to unleash upon Thebel! Or have you been so deceived by these false words of false peace, that you do not recognize the gambit behind them?”
“I hear you, brother,” another isthmic councilor replied. “May this great Council hear you also. Those who dwell further to the north than the isthmic folk can afford the luxury of being lulled by beautiful words of deceit, since they are not the ones who have to deal with the nephilin at their borders. But our people live with the threat at their doorstep. We are the victims who shield you, for our deaths will give you the sign that war has begun!”
Bilidio did not know what to answer. How could they not listen to themselves? How could they not hear in their words the echoes of those very same words uttered in Councils long past, when the south parted from the Republic? Was it not because of the ophalin threat at their border? The pontiff had heard this before—and knew schism followed these words.
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