There is no danger to your Lord, a voice whispered in his head.
‘You are the danger, Emperor,’ the commander snapped at the shadow. ‘How do we know we can trust you?’
‘You do not!’ The voice loudly echoed around the walls of the great hall.
The monshaads screeched piercingly at the intruding vamplin who dared to stir their Emperor’s wrath. Who was this minion of a vamplin to question their Emperor? They would deal with him.
Putrid stinking gasses suffocated the First Commander, but to no effect. Voices screamed deafeningly in his head. This was of no consequence to him. His willpower was infinite. These monshaads were no match for his strong will.
‘What you put in my mind is but a silent voice,’ he mocked them, unafraid. ‘You will have to do better than that, you quivering gasbags.’ Turning angrily he marched back to his Lord, convinced this was some trick to entice his Lord into danger. As he put one foot in front of the other, his legs became as heavy as lead weights. A dull ache spread throughout his body, as if his every limb had turned to stone. He cried out a loud agonising war cry readying himself for battle, but it only echoed in his mind. His voice was silent. His body would not move. Slowly he was elevated from the ground. His Lord ran into the hall yelling at the Emperor to put a stop to this treacherous behaviour, watching horrified at the spectacle of his First Commander spinning so fast that he became a blur. Blood droplets flew out of the revolving haze, creating a bright red shower spray.
‘You do not come to greet us as allies,’ Lord Fiendrac shouted at the monshaads, not wanting to offend the Emperor directly. ‘Instead you try to frighten us like children. Enough of this or I will leave my commander to his destiny and end this mockery by leaving our business unfinished.’
The spinning abruptly ceased and the commander fell with a loud thud to the floor. Other vamplin commanders ran to his aid. He laid unconscious, droplets of blood dripping from his eyes as if tears trickled down his horrified features.
‘He will live,’ the Emperor spoke at last, his low croaking voice seeming to fill the dank hall.
‘You look for battles where they do not exist,’ Lord Fiendrac said, cautiously approaching him. ‘I enter only at your calling. I trust all is well Emperor Morte-Bielz. We are, after all, on the same side when it comes to the world of Aarabassa. I come to hear you out.’
‘Lord Fiendrac, I would but agree on the side that you choose.’ The Emperor drifted towards the vamplin Lord.
‘To what is the urgency of your summons?’ Lord Fiendrac questioned.
After a short pause, a deep rasping voice hissed through the essence of the dense atmosphere. ‘It concerns me that your race is outgrowing its traditional food supply,’ the Emperor replied. ‘I am told that the Dumla Beetlings are not producing enough young to feed your ever swelling population. Your females must be enticing beauties to be producing such numbers, eh Lord Fiendrac?’
‘Aah, it is a conundrum I agree,’ the deep clear voice of the vamplin Lord replied. ‘One I am aspiring to resolve.’
‘Yesss,’ the Emperor interrupted abruptly. ‘This is the matter I wish to discuss.’
‘I cannot put a stop to the breeding habits of the vamplins but yet I cannot tolerate this dilemma.’ Lord Fiendrac became defensive of his position. ‘In some parts of my lands, I am told that my people are drinking the blood of their own hounds. If the strong must devour the weak then so be it, during this time of our starvation’
‘I do not condone this deed of cannibalism,’ the Emperor approved.
‘We do not see it as cannibalism Emperor. The vamplin hounds are not vamplin people and I must look to the future of my race and improve our lot’
‘Good,’ the Emperor sneered. ‘Good.
‘Why should you care if we feed or not?’ Lord Fiendrac wondered. ‘I am a strong ruler and the ultimate survival of my race is paramount in my priorities.’
‘I have another proposition Lord Fiendrac, with regards to the survival of your race.’ The Emperor now stood directly in front of the vamplin Lord, wavering in his green hazy shape as if he were not really there, but just a projection of an image. His eyes could not be seen, a shadowed hood appeared to cover where he might have a face.
‘I am honoured to accept advice from one so powerful, Emperor.’ The vamplin Lord did not want to sound too keen in allowing the monshaads to assist them with their present problem. He was however curious to what innovative idea the Emperor held. ‘Yet it seems since the Magic Wall isolated your own race to dwell only in the dark corners, there is little we or you can do in expanding upon the world of Aarabassa where food might be plentiful.’
‘I have seen the image of a new human Changeling.’ The Emperor did not expect this mere vamplin to understand his intricate plots and plans. ‘Her bloodline, if fused with the vamplins, will allow the vamplins to exist on the Light Side.’
‘How could this be? Anyway how could we bring about such an event?’ Lord Fiendrac was puzzled and intrigued at such an ambitious idea.
‘In your present status you cannot enter the Light Lands,’ the Emperor began. ‘The hot sun will burn your fair skin to black crumpled cinders. But, there is a way to ensure that your race is no longer vulnerable to the sun’s hot bright rays. Better still, you will desire to drink the blood of my arch enemy, the humans, this would surely be an advantage. What say you Lord?’
‘I say that if this were possible then we would have already done this thing. Even the Emperor cannot pass through the Wall, so how could a vamplin be expected to bite the pumping veins of the Changeling?’ Laughing at such nonsense the vamplin Lord felt sure the Emperor had gone mad.
‘Fiendrac,’ the Emperor quietly cut him off sharply. ‘You forget your place. You have not yet achieved leadership of half the world, as have I. Now you will listen and you will learn, you foolish creature.’ Anger was not a disposition the Emperor ever allowed of himself but as his plans were coming ever close to fruition, he could not permit this minion to be obstinate. If needs be, he would destroy this leader and chose another to marshal his armies.
‘I mean no disrespect to the Emperor of the Dark Lands,’ Lord Fiendrac did not wish to risk another incident. ‘We vamplins are not murderous creatures. We don’t even kill to feed.For centuries we have fed from the blood of the Dumla Beetle and occasionally, when desperate we will eat the Nomslugs for nourishment. Soon we go hunting for the blood of the giant white bear. This will feed strength into our bloodline. How could we seek to even capture the Changeling let alone pass through the Magic Wall?’
‘We have much to discuss Lord Fiendrac,’ the Emperor began to explain. ‘Retribution shall be your reward. You cannot presently feed upon the sweet human syrup but if I entice the Changeling to our wondrous lands, then you shall partake of her blood and it shall mingle with yours, through your own ceremony of the feasting. You shall see immediate changes to your advantage. Those who gain of this enchanted human blood will then be capable of digesting all human blood instead of weakened fluids of the simple Dumla Beetle. They will hold elements of her magic lineage, though I cannot predict how strong this will be. They will gain a tolerance of the sun’s heat so they can enter the Light Lands as warriors and feed upon its people.
‘Such an army could only benefit the annexing of the Light Side,’ Lord Fiendrac knew all too well that this plan was purely for the benefit of the monshaads, not the vamplins.
‘Nay, Lord Fiendrac,’ the Emperor rejected this statement. ‘We shall work together in this battle. I must admit that without your army, the defeat would be a slow process. You must remember that your race will evolve and grow in strength with a never-ending supply of new blood. Once the Wall is down your people can drink the blood of the Light Landers that will enable them some ability to exist in the light.’
A deep rumbled laugh echoed in the hall as the observing vamplins became greedily excited at the possible turn to their futures. The monshaad Lords hissed their unease at these crude vamp
lins, daring to make such a din in their Emperor’s presence.
‘Enough.’ Lord Fiendrac sensed the unease of the monshaads and silenced his own commanders.
‘Your ruthless plan is to be commended Emperor.’ Seeing the sense of such a radical change in their food source. ‘I must confer with my leaders but I do see that my people will benefit from this change. However, there is still the sore problem of the Magic Wall to penetrate and the Changeling to capture.’
‘Fear not Leader of the vamplins. This is all in hand.’ The disfigured shape of the Emperor’s body began to fade. The meeting was closed.
The vamplins followed their Lord who marched back out of the grim habitat. Outside, a gathering of mir had collected. At first sight the vamplins suspected an ambush. Yet the mir was a gentle creature. It was for their strength that the monshaads had use of them. The mir never communicated, not even with each other. They had not been given this ability. They stood solid like icy statues staring out at the icy oceans, awaiting instructions to move. Fiendrac knew they would be of no use as soldiers on the Light Side, they would simply melt.
He approached his prized basca and hauled himself up on to the leather hide strap to climb the broad back. Stroking the white feathers upon his beast’s back, he murmured words of comfort to his pet.
‘There my beauty, I am returned. Let us fly from these vile creatures and make our way to the safety of our homelands.’
Taking flight, the other bascas followed bearing the commanders and their hounds.
The mir showed no interest in the spectacular sight of the flying bascas creating an arrowhead formation, with their Leader at the front. The arrow was huge and pierced the skies as it moved forward with speed. Once in flight, the bascas were swift movers. As the mir stared into oblivion, the shape became a dark line over the oceans that glimmered in the silver moon’s shadow. Soon it was gone.
Chapter 23 Banish the Witch
In the remote little village of Lumberley, a mother lay exhausted after delivering what she believed to be a stillborn baby, unaware that the old midwife Rikka was an acolyte of the voracious monshaad Emperor. Rikka chanted the words that were to doom the tiny lifeline that the newborn clung to, while the unsuspecting family mourned their misfortune. Through Rikka’s spiritual coma, Emperor Morte-Bielz feasted upon the rare delicacy of an innocent babe’s soul.
‘Our village is cursed,’ cried the father as he jumped up from cradling his wife who lay on a bloodstained hay mattress. ‘This is the third child the village has lost. I’m taking my wife and children away, far away.’ He started to gather their belongings together hastily, giving instructions to the two children to gather food and their menial belongings.
‘Don’t be a fool Armad,’ croaked the old midwife. ‘It is not only your family that suffers these losses. Ye must learn to bear such burdens and work to raise more children.’
‘I did not ask your opinion, old woman. My family will move as soon as my wife is well. I have some sense in my head and this is not a place of safety for the young. My heart bleeds to see my wife suffer so.’
‘Bah, yer a cowardly husband to force yer family away from all that they know. Go then, one less family to care for is no loss to me.’
‘Your herbs have not served me or mine old witch. Perhaps you are the one who curses this village. It seems to me every birth you attend; only few survive. Can you account for that old hag?’
‘Do ye accuse me of witchcraft? I brew my potions to heal. Folks do not come to me if they do not want my wisdom. A curse on ye fer yer evil thoughts. Be gone on the morrow or suffer the wrath of my hand.’ Rikka pushed the father aside with a strength such a frail old woman should not possess. She did not fear this man, the other villagers would not listen to him, he suffers grief at his losses and his mind is boggled. She pushed the rye-thatched door open and stepped outside the grey stone dwelling. The villagers were gathering at the front of the house wondering why Armad and the midwife were shouting at each other. They had expected joy at the birth of another child for this family and for this village.
‘Rikka,’ shouted Milo the Blacksmith of the village, ‘is another baby lost?’
‘Armad is crazy,’ replied the old woman. ‘He threatens my very life with his grief.’
Armad appeared at the open door with fist raised in the air and fury in his puffy red eyes, staring at the increasing crowd of his neighbours.
‘This woman,’ spittle erupted from his lips as he announced angrily, ‘she is the reason for all our losses. Of this, I am certain. She chants strange words and says it is to ease the pain. My pain is not eased, it pounds at my heart. She is a witch, I tell you all.’
‘Ye are possessed of madness man,’ screeched Rikka as she backed down the wooden stairway, pushing her way through the throng of people gathering. ‘I have delivered children since before any ye were born to this world. I cannot stop nature stealing what it must take. Ye should be thanking me with rewards not rebuking me with yer evil words, ye cowardly beast!’ she shouted, walking away from the confused crowd.
‘I say Armad speaks the truth,’ shouted another male voice from the front of the crowd. Everyone turned their attention to him, eager to listen to his words and not paying much attention to the escaping Rikka. ‘My family has also suffered losses in the witches so called trusting hands. My son fell from a tree. We thought his injuries were not serious and then she attended him with her chanting spells. His life was taken from us. I think Armad is brave to speak what others dare not say aloud,’ Shainston the baker finished.
As the people at the back pushed to see the unfolding events of the front, Rikka had already managed to shuffle her way through the entanglement and make good her escape. She went unseen and made her way to the dry mud path that led out of the village. She must move quickly and cared not at her few possessions, she had lived through this ordeal many times before. Being found out by the villagers was always a possibility. She called upon her Master, for ease of flight.
Emperor Morte-Bielz endured the sensation of Rikka’s pleas. This acolyte had served him well. It would not benefit him to have her crooked body die at the hands of the angry mob. He imposed his will on another weakened mind within the crowd, to create a diversion.
‘Listen, listen,’ shouted the woman who had been an occasional helper to the old witch. ‘You must all go with great care. I have seen what that old hag can do and she will bring the darkest devils to eat all our souls. I say we cast her out and be done with her. She can do us no more harm if we are rid of her.’
The crowd murmured with a humming of unease.
‘We should do no less than hang the hag!’ shouted Armad in his rage.
‘No, no Armad. She has the devil within her I tell you. I dare not speak up before as I feared no one would believe me. Let us leave her to flee and then we can start making our families happy again. Trust me on this Armad. She will destroy us all if we hasten after her.’
‘The woman talks sense,’ a deep bellow from the blacksmith. ‘If it is true that she has been a curse upon our children, then we must let her go.We do not welcome the devil to seek his revenge on our village.’
‘Aye,’ many voices agreed.
‘Let us send word to the King of this event. Perhaps the King’s Guard can track the witch down and dispose of her as he sees fitting,’ another spoke.
‘Well, Armad?’ Milo asked. ‘You are the one who grieves, what is your wish?’
‘I wish to be with my wife just now. We will be gladly rid of the hag. I agree, we should inform the King and try to pick up our lives as once we lived. I do not wish any more lives to be lost to this evil curse,’ Armad replied with a feeling of relief that he could return to his family and put this bad memory behind him.
The Emperor listened as the village silently celebrated their ejection of Rikka. The time for punishing these beings was soon and he would ensure this particular village suffered slowly and painfully. For now, he had a new assignment for his mi
nion. He searched for her presence and reached out with his powers
Old woman, Morte-Bielz Mindtalked Rikka. Go to your son at the palace.
At your will my Master, Rikka obeyed and made her way to the road that would take her to the Royal City of Beldroth.
Chapter 24 Guardian Dragons
Aarabassa spins within two rotating moons. Within the Light Lands the sun moves around the entire horizon slowly, ending at the point it started. This measures one suncircle. The division of a suncircle is so named as to which quarter on the horizons line the sun is positioned. Each quarter equals two hundred moonwakes. A human birth date is celebrated within the quarter positioning, with no exact recording of exactly which moonwake one was born on. Each moonwake begins when the moons cross each other’s pathway at the summit of the mid-mountains. The silver moon that descends throughout the moonwake on the Light Side to disappear at the horizon is known as Dayloon, a time when the population of the Light Lands are active. The red moon, known as Nytloon, starts at the ocean horizon to ascend in the skies and disappear over the mid mountains as it crosses its partner Dayloon. This is the moonsleep period for the Light Lands, the period of rest and sleep. There are few climatic seasons in Aarabassa and if the rain season does not fall at the time expected for the crops, then magic methods aid the elements so the crops do not whither.
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