“If this be so,” the pharaoh said, “What else can be done? Should we force a peace which does not exist but in parchment? Should we forevermore live subjected to these acts of war, whilst our hands remain bound? Must we bear it whilst falsely proclaiming we are at peace? Let us renounce all trace of hypocrisy, and call things as they are: no longer peace, but war!”
“For once, I agree with a nephilin! No more hypocrisy!” Fugizlo declared. “Let us meet on the battlefield! There will we solve these conundrums! Thebel cannot bear to see the face of the League one day longer, if true peace is to come.”
“If war there be,” Inimois said, “let it be known that Ophir no longer sides with the Republic, but with the League. Mighty titans shall the ophalin be.”
Having come to an agreement of sorts, the pharaoh, princess, and isthmic councilors stormed out of the Council, leaving the pontiff alone with the iperborin and the distant murmur of the ocean. For the longest time—moments that seemed like years—Bilidio remained silent, eyes closed, scratching his long and increasingly gray beard. No other councilor dared utter a word. Yet the Council’s eyes were set on the pontiff. When he noticed they all had placed their hope in him, Bilidio sighed and rose once again from his seat:
“My dearest brethren: If the past years have not shown it abundantly, I suppose this last Council has proved it beyond a doubt. I am not suitable for this most honourable office you have placed upon my shoulders. My staff has seen naught but discord and dissension. My pontificate, and my pontificate alone, shall forevermore be marred with the end of this most secular Republic of the Peoples. If the union of the logizkal-loiffol was not broken before, today it was destroyed beyond any hope. I wield no authority over those who disagree with me, as you have well seen. I shall pass on my staff to a better shepherd, if he comes forth.”
It was Oiskal, councilor of Melchy-Zedek, who replied to him:
“My pontiff, let me speak in my own name; and if anyone so disagrees let him speak at a later time or interrupt me. If this task has become too heavy for you, then by all means abdicate. It befalls every single one of us to know the limits of his own strength. Even the great Faris-Romil did so, when his time came. But if you seek to resign because you presume yourself unworthy of this office, then let it be known—this is a false thought, a most vile temptation sowed upon your heart. Who amongst us could have done any different? Nay, not even Faris-Romil or Bizimonz themselves! Since the first schism till now, you have spoken words of truth. Are you to blame if others did not heed you? Should you bear the blame for their errors, when you have forewarned them of such errors, and did everything in your power to stave them off? Carry on, oh Bilidio, carry on! For not one amongst us could be a better pontiff and the times ahead require steady leadership.”
Not one amongst the other councilors interrupted him, though they had license to do so. No one envied Bilidio or the labours lying ahead. Slowly, their silent acquiescence gave way to applause… and then to thundering acclamation. Bilidio shook his head and sighed. As he exhaled, he said:
“Oh Council, know then my decision. The Republic—at least the parts of it still remaining under this most hallowed chamber’s aegis—shall not fight in the upcoming war. We shall not fight for Ophir, nor shall we fight for Brobnin. Our purpose is to put out the fires of war, not to fan the flames.”
New applause and new acclamation. His motion was unanimously approved. The pontiff proceeded:
“As for you, Oiskal, I wish to speak to you in private after the Council ends. I must entrust you with a most vital mission. When the time is ripe, you shall set it in motion. May Aigonz will that such time may never come…”
Chapter
28
War Reborn
Inimois did not return to Ophir that day. She spent a week at Nemrod at the pharaoh’s behest. If both nations were to join forces, they must needs join strategies as well. This was the first time Inimois felt the League’s warm embrace. No longer the nephilin look at her athwart, but acclaimed her whenever she would appear before them. For there had been word on the streets that the princess had stood up to the Council, saying: “Mighty titans shall the ophalin be.”
The nephilin were warriors again! With the ophalin—and therefore the prophecy—on their side, what would they fear? The pharaoh’s plan was made manifest for everyone to see! No longer would they question him! To the ends of the world would they follow him, and to the ends of their lives!
So did Inimois spend her days, strategizing with the southern king and viziers. As for the nights, she spent them at the pharaoh’s chambers, clinging to his warmth as a babe does to her mother. There she was lulled and consoled by his kisses and caresses. The sages say in those nights were her betrothal vows broken and reforged.
One day, a solitary hippogriff was spotted aloft in Nemrod’s skies. The logizkal on its back hoisted the colours of Ophir. Moruzio bade the sentinels not to harm the rider, but to warn the pharaoh and princess. For the rider was none other than Amizdel, Captain of the Crizian Guard.
“My lady,” Amizdel greeted the princess. “I bear you terrible tidings. Ophir has been attacked!”
“Attacked? By whom?”
“Brobnin hordes! They came against us, not a squadron or two, but a whole full fleet of them! With their hippogriffs and bronze arms, yelling, ‘Traitor! Traitor!’ And I could hear Fugizlo rallying his troops: ‘Let us go and take Ophir! We will reclaim Amozia to ourselves, from the hands of the ungodly shall we pluck it! When Ophir’s throne and crown are at our mercy, Inimois shall have no choice but to renounce Pharaoh and his yoke! For, willingly or bewitched by foul arts, Inimois betrayed us. We will set the lady on the course of righteousness, so things will be as they once were!’ So he spake, and his army charged against us!”
“They sought to release me from my king’s yoke by placing their own yoke upon me?” Inimois said, most revolted. “Gladly would I have them slay me before subjecting myself to such effrontery! For then, earth and stars alike would be witnesses against them because of my unjustly spilt blood! But do not let my protests detain you! I beseech you, proceed! Is Ophir still free?”
“So it is, my lady. As they charged against us, we reminded them of Faris-Romil’s magic. But they replied most proudly: ‘We know of Faris-Romil’s magic. The Sphinx of the Lance awakens when ill-intentions are nearby! But Aigonz knows our intentions to be pure! Not Ophir’s destruction we seek, but Ophir’s salvation! We shall pass and no harm shall come to us!’”
“And then? What followed?”
“Foiled were their designs. As they flew over the walls, the Sphinx of the Lance awoke her sister. The Sphinx of the Sword gave chase to the invaders. She breathed her unquenchable fire and consumed all those who dared cross the walls. They perished, either burned or drowned in the lake, dragged by the weight of their bronze. The rest of their army withdrew back to the north, as they cursed the powers set against them, for they could not believe it to be Faris-Romil’s magic, but rather some kind of pharaonic sorcery.”
Inimois laughed to herself, but not for long. Soon, Moruzio rushed towards them with terrible news:
“My lord! My lady! You must return to the palace at once! A nephilin scout just returned from the west: A brobnin fleet heads towards us!”
“So it seems,” Amizdel surmised, “if they cannot conquer Ophir, nor take Amozia, they will attempt to abduct the princess. For Faris-Romil’s magic cannot protect her whilst she rests here.”
“Thus their own deceit becomes manifest,” Inimois concluded. “If they truly believed it was Pharaoh’s magic repelling them from Ophir, would they come against the pharaoh himself? The mind fools itself with its own fabrications!”
“There is no time for musings of this sort,” Sanquivio urged her. “Come and take refuge inside my palace. Let me command my forces and destroy them, my sweet lady! Hereby I swear you, as a solemn oath: Before this day sets, the threat upon your head shall be forever quelled!”
Amizdel h
eard these words and took the princess in his arms to the palace. As a mother, sighting bandits at the distance, swoops her child and brings her to safety, so did Amizdel carry Inimois. The pharaoh ordered the gates to close and not reopen till their foes were crushed.
Inimois and Amizdel remained alone. Inside the Pharaonic Palace they waited. Alone were they in the midst of an empty silence, as it haunted the throne room. A silence tinted with their own gasping, fearful breaths, mottled by echoes outside, of warriors yelling and trumpets blasting. A hellish sound it was, with its sighs of death and clattering metal. And one could not decide which was more terrible: the muffled noise outside or the bleak desolation within.
In the midst of this silence, another presence came forth. Behind the empty throne, as a subtle vapour, it congealed, and soon gained form. Within the vapour was a tenuous glimmer, similar to the flickering of a candle inside a dark mausoleum:
“Hail, oh glorious princess, splendid Inimois! Lauz-Ispariz tecum frens!”
Inimois recognized this presence. How could she not, if Inimois had not met any other sylphic presence since the day she was born?
Nod. It was Nod. The sylphid floated towards the princess. Amizdel sheathed the sword he had drawn when he first heard the voice. There was nothing his mortal flesh or his bronze blade could do to hinder the sylphid’s approach.
“Oh, my lady Inimois,” Nod said, as she embraced the princess. “Rest thou assured of my deepest sympathy! How much do I pity thy sorrowful state! Fret not: For as long as I remain hither, those scoundrels shall not lay a finger on thee. Nay, thou shall not be like a bird inside their reed cage. My sylphic power will not allow it!” Nod smiled. “Yet I believe the pharaoh’s might to be enough to vanquish those villains!”
Outside, the battle had begun. Arrows rained from the brobnin flying above the city. But the nephilin shields and armour formed an iron wall the darts could not pierce. As the isthmus folk descended, they sought the plaza by the palace’s gate. But their push would be halted by the nephilin phalanx, as they stuck long javelins outside of their shield barrier and stabbed the hippogriffs' bellies. And the javelins had longer shafts than the isthmic spears, so the brobnin could not prevail.
A head-on assault on the palace was doomed to fail. If the brobnin wanted to set foot in Nemrod, they would have to do so at the periphery and take the city by ground. So they did, and the isthmic hordes clashed their swords with the titans.
But the nephilin were not constrained to the ground. Moruzio led a squadron of his gryphon riders and fell on the invaders. Now the brobnin faced the pharaoh’s hosts, both from the front and above. Bronze could not withstand the iron’s might.
Fugizlo was wounded and would certainly have perished, had his troops not carried him out of the fray. When they heard this, the isthmic folk lost their faith and retreated. But Moruzio would have none of it:
“The battle is won, but let not your fire be quenched just as yet! Remind yourself, oh Nemrod, they attacked you while peace reigned! They will have no peace, save one erected upon our dead bodies! So why should we give them peace, as they cowardly flee? Should we allow them to escape, so their treachery may ambush us tomorrow? Nay, I shall not allow it, and neither should you, my comrades! To me, Nephil, to me! Let us give them chase! Bring them death, as they wished upon us!”
The nephilin heard these words, and not one of them let his will grow cold. They rushed to their stables and readied their gryphons. Sanquivio came to them and ordered:
“Do not be so quick, gallant titans! Temper your boiling blood with this thought: Harder it is to storm a city than to defend it.”
“My lord, should we let them escape?”
“Not at all. Today we will smite them, for I have so solemnly sworn. But the blow must be decisive. The time has come to avail Malvizio’s new weapon.”
Moruzio smiled. Yea, he knew what weapon it was. For many moons, Malvizio, the priest, had brewed a concoction of sorts: In iron cauldrons was it boiled, and spilt into oddly shaped earthenware vessels. For an equal amount of moons, Moruzio had trained his soldiers to handle these vessels. Giants and gryphons were instructed on how best to pour liquid on their foes. They did not use the true potion during their instruction, though. Rather, they trained with hollow pots, since the brew was deemed too treacherous. But now, the time had come.
Moruzio took a most secret key and bade his warriors open an as-yet unopened armoury. There they would find the vessels with the strange moisture. The liquid was pitch black, but pitch it was not. It was less thick, and most corrosive to the nostrils. The logizkal carried the vessels outside, and placed inside some wicks embedded in olive oil. Only then, did they fly to the isthmus.
Kain-Phah’s sentinels saw them arrive, but did not engage them. They had learned from their mistakes. The nephilin were now the ones at a disadvantage. No brobnin took a hippogriff to meet the League’s gryphons in battle; they waited for the nephilin to come down, bows and spears ready to receive them.
The nephilin, though, did not descend. They hovered over the city, far out of an arrow’s range, but below the great winds coursing on high. There they lit up some torches with flint, and with the torches lit up the wicks. Then they let the earthenware pots fall upon Kain-Phah and shatter on the ground, scattering its burning contents.
Everything the scorching liquid touched was set ablaze, be it wood or cloth or even rock. Till this day no one knows Malvizio’s recipe for this most foul liquid, nor was any sorcerer able to replicate it. But legend says it was called Nephtar, which means “Nephil’s Fire”—or Nefire, how we say it today, and that is whence the word “nefarious” comes from.
Seeing their precious capitol afire, the isthmus folk forgot their enemies. The flames consumed all their attention, as they consumed everything else. They tried to put out the fire, but in vain. Water did not appease the blaze, but scattered it, inflaming it all the more. And many who went to fight the fire were consumed by it, for Nefire would also catch up on their garments and their flesh, and there would be no more salvation for them.
As for the nephilin, they did not try to land or conquer the city, lest they themselves be burned. They kept on high, pursuing those who would flee by air, or shooting arrows at those who would flee by land.
Thus did Kain-Phah perish, incinerated alive inside its own funeral pyre. The once great isthmic capital burned all day and all night. There were almost no survivors. Of the few who did, all swore to have seen the Dark Beast’s cruel shape coming out of the dark fumes consuming Kain-Phah.
When they knew what had happened, all other isthmic cities surrendered. They would not await for the pharaoh’s mercy, for he could shower that deadly fire on them at any time. The isthmic folk took all they could and sought refuge in Iperborea. The isthmus was left to the vultures. The Second Logizkal War had ended. The pharaoh had triumphed.
Chapter
29
Pharaoh Triumphant
The fall of the isthmus filled Inimois with great joy and Bilidio with great apprehension. The princess’ mirth could not be contained, for a vile threat had been driven from her doorstep. She threw a feast to celebrate this victory, and also bring glory to her beloved. Atop the Sym-Bolon, inside the Crizian Palace, was this banquet to be. No dignitary was left uninvited. From the League, the pharaoh and the viziers of the Five Cities. From the Republic, the pontiff and all councilors that had not raised arms against Ophir. Indeed, though the northerners remained neutral during the war, the princess still considered them friends. For old times’ sake, they would not refuse to partake on Inimois’ rejoicing—so she thought.
In the north, these invites were received with much dread. How should they proceed? If they refused to attend the banquet, the princess would take offense; if they feasted, how would this not disrespect the isthmus folk taking asylum in their midst? For it may be easier to remain neutral during a war than during a celebration.
So they decided thus: They would not attend, but would send
someone to represent them. This legate would be there on behalf of all the northern cities, all the judges, the Council, and the pontiff. They drew lots amongst themselves and the honour befell Oiskal, High Priest of Melchy-Zedek. He would go to Ophir, congratulate Inimois for her newly found peace, and take his leave, without feasting.
On the night arranged for the banquet, Ararat-moon hid her face. There was no room for her that evening, for she is the one who illuminates the dreams of those who slumber. But there would be no sleep that night. Nor were the other stars easily discernible. Their starlight had been dimmed by the torches at the palace’s patio and by the bonfires where the food was being grilled. No one missed the stars, though, for all their attention was on the banquet.
The food was prepared, and so were most of the guests. But the princess would not enter. She languished by her palace’s gatepost, delaying the commencement of the festivities.
“What is the matter, my lady?” Sanquivio said as he came to her. “Why do you linger outside, while mirth awaits your gracious presence inside?”
“Oh, my lord… All the guests have arrived, save for one. The Republic said that they would send a legate. Yet I see him not.”
“My lady, what more could be expected from the northerners? Do you not know they will not find joy as long as Ophir and Nephil remain bonded as one? Come! Come and feast with us, for we are your true friends! We rejoice with your joy! Do not sadden me with your sadness, then.”
“You are right. I should have known. Still, it pains my soul, for in the north I was raised, and I believed them to be my friends as well.”
Sanquivio stroke her curly hair. Gently, his strong hand tried to guide her back inside. The last moment she lingered, however, rewarded her patience. For lo! As she turned back one last time, Oiskal came up the spiral path around the Sym-Bolon mountain.
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