by Jake Yaniak
Night came and the Merkata lit bright fires and kept watch, lest the Vestri come upon them under the cover of darkness. In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had appeared in the air above, Whately gathered his captains and spoke to them of the city.
'We have taught them the might of the hidden tribe; the Merkata strike fear in the hearts of these men once more. Thus far things have gone well. But we cannot leave matters as they are for long. Despite our hunters, it is inevitable that the Nobles of Harz will come to know the plight of their southern city. If we have not breached the walls ere then, we must flee, proving again that the Merkata have not the strength to stand against their ancient conquerors.'
All their eyes were fixed upon their commander, awaiting his council. Finally, after surveying the men in the room, he spoke again. 'We must act, by nightfall we must be within the city; by this time tomorrow morning we must put every living thing within the city under our yoke.'
But how shall we accomplish this?' a bold young captain asked him. His name was Agnoril. He stood taller than any of the others. He was as well known among the Merkata for his bravery as he was for his lineage. He was descended from Oannes himself, and he carried within him the blood of the Matron. 'We have not the strength to batter down their walls. And as you have said, we have not the time to wait for them to starve.'
'You speak wisely, master Agnoril,' Whately affirmed, 'Yet we must take their city tonight despite all this. There is a well in Oblindin, as is well known. And as it may be imagined, such a well must have its origin without the city. To the north among the hills there is a cave, unknown to the Vestri, whose little imaginations have never compelled them to seek the source of their waters. In that cave there is a passage from the northern hills into the well itself. A brave man might lead a small band into the very heart of Oblindin.'
'I will do it,' Agnoril said boldly and without hesitation. 'Who will accompany me?'
'We will all come with you,' said another voice. It was Skatlor, son of the Matron with his six brothers beside him. 'We will open the gates from within and make an end of these usurpers.'
'Then so let it be,' Whately said approving. If the sons of the Matron cannot open the gates, then there are none who can.'
Whately directed the men to the place where they would find the cave. It was small, scarcely large enough for a man to fit through. Indeed, Gedda had to break away some of the rocks before he could fit his broad shoulders through. Once inside, all light was gone. The sun rose up over the plains outside, but not a single ray could pierce the dark cavern into which they had plunged themselves. They followed the sound of the running stream into the dark, Agnoril taking the lead. Torches were of no use here, for the air was too wet and with every turn it seemed a gust of cold air would puff out their lights. Little by little they made their way to the edge of the water and followed it into the heart of the earth. How many hours they walked along its side or waded through shallow places under low rock ceilings they could not tell. But after they had finally come to fear that this way would lead them to death rather than victory, the cavern opened up and they saw the gleam of starlight on a swirling pool of cold water. The dim light of the stars seemed brighter than ever after their trek through the cold dark cavern. They had spent the whole of the daylight hours in that dark cavern. They had come to the very bottom of the well of Oblindin, where all the fortunes of the Harz frontier were bound up.
There they waited until it was clear that there was no one above. Then, silently and with great care they began their ascent. Skatlor took the lead, seeming almost eager to begin the battle, though Agnoril had warned him not to so much as swat a fly before they had opened the gates. 'There would be no honor in our deaths if we did not our utmost to open the gate and win the city for the Merkata. We must be silent, lest the whole city fall upon us before we even reach the street.'
There was usually a guard posted at the side of the well during the night, to guard the water by which the whole city was sustained. But on this night, when they were surrounded by foes, it seemed to them to be less important to keep watch over the waters. The guards that normally watched the well were far away, watching the dancing flames of the Merkata Clan in their camps with a great fear in their hearts.
Silently under the starlight a single shadow slipped over the rim of the well and slid away into the darkness, leaving a trail of droplets in his train. This shadow was followed one by one until the whole group had passed out of the dark tunnel and into the city of Oblindin.
An hour later, the lights of the Merkata clan puffed out like a candle in a gale, leaving all the plain in darkness. There was a murmur among the Vestri, and there was a great deal of confusion and shouting. Not a thing could be seen or heard from their foes. It seemed almost as though they had vanished into the night like the smoke of their extinguished fires. Some within the city even said as much, and cheered at the flight of their enemies.
After another hour the eastern gatehouse was overrun by the sons of the Matron, lead by the sharp sword of Agnoril and the cruel spear of Skatlor. The broad axe of Gedda struck against the heavy chains that suspended the gate and sent it free falling onto the road beneath. Horns blew and the Vestri shouted in warning, but it was all too late. In the darkness, Whately and his men had moved to the eastern gate with a stealth that only the Merkata could have managed. They were ready to charge forth from the shadows the moment the sons of Malia opened the gate.
As Whately entered the city he saluted Agnoril. 'Well met, brave Merkata!' he shouted.
'Well met, master Whately,' Agnoril responded proudly.
'Let us make this swift,' Whately said as he looked around. 'Spare whom you may, take the lord of the city alive if you can.'
'My lord?' Agnoril quested. 'The Matron's command was to put the whole city to the edge of the sword. I have not journeyed through the darkness all these hours to bind prisoners and manage refugees.'
'The Matron's words,' Whately corrected him, 'were that she cared not what came of the people, whether they lived or whether they were put to the edge of the sword. I know your eagerness to please her, and to win honor among your fellows. But do not take her indifference as a recommendation. If the Matron should choose not to care if these people be slain, it means not that they ought to be so slaughtered. Indeed, there is a reason that it is I whom the Matron has entrusted with all these men. Spare them, young Agnoril, and we shall see whether there is anything to be gained by mercy.'
By the time the bright red sun rose above the waves and passed over the land to light up the streets of Oblindin, the army of the Merkata was in full possession of the city. As Whately had commanded, the people were spared and the lord of the city was bound and imprisoned. Anyone that deigned to wield a sword against the Merkata, however, was mercilessly slain. Agnoril and Skatlor were more than eager to oblige such bravery with the cold iron of their weapons.
Thus the Merkata, by the cunning of Whately, were brought out of the dust of ancient legends to make war against the powers of Fhuhar. Their challenge did not go unanswered for long. Ere three weeks had passed they were surrounded by an army nearly double their own in number. But they had not been lazy during that time. They fortified the city and brought in more warriors and weapons from the south. They also dug a larger tunnel from the well to the northern hills, from which they planned to flank the invaders and crush them against the walls of Oblindin.
When night fell on the fourth day of the siege, Skatlor, Gedda and the swordsmen Janik and Pelon were led through the new tunnels by Agnoril to the rocky hills on the north side of Oblindin. There in the shadows of the rocks they waited until some eight hundred of the Merkata's bravest warriors had emerged from the cavern wet, grumpy, and ready to shed blood.
When they had dried all their belongings, and when the sun sank away to the west, they began their assault. They came against their besiegers from the very hole by which they overthrew the city in the first place. They ran like madmen throug
h the narrow pathways of the northern hills and came at last to the rearguard of the Harz soldiers. Cries and trumpets rang out in the darkness, but there was nothing to be done. The mad sons of the Matron ran through the camp setting the tents ablaze and cutting down any that dared to resist them.
Agnoril and Skatlor raced through the enemy lines, slaying as they ran. They would kill, then glance at the other. If it seemed to Agnoril that Skatlor killed a greater warrior than he, a greater warrior he would seek out himself. And if it seemed to Skatlor that Agnoril killed faster than he, he would spur himself on to greater havoc with curses and violent thrusts with his spear.
Finally they came to be surrounded by Harz soldiers, each bearing a long spear or a sharp, straight blade. 'Perhaps we have been overzealous,' Agnoril panted as the two came to stand back to back.
'There is no such thing as too much zeal in war,' Skatlor replied, shaking his head while he wiped the sweat from his brow. 'The truth is there is rarely enough zeal. But at least we cannot be charged with such an error tonight.'
'Still, it might be better for all if we ceased this vainglorious competition and worked together for the glory of the Merkata.'
'You work for the Merkata,' Skatlor laughed, 'I will work for Skatlor!'
With those words they charged into the endless hordes of confused and terrified Harz warriors. Skatlor skewered three men in one thrust of his mighty spear. As he pulled his weapon free they fell one atop another in the darkness. Agnoril cut his way through the enemies, one after another, until he gave up on counting them. Trumpets blared from within the city and the gates flew open, revealing line after line of Merkata horsemen and foot soldiers. The trap was sprung, and all that remained was for the Merktata to crush their enemies under their hooves and boots.
Those who could manage it fled into the hills and made their way back to Harz, sulking and exhausted. Whately remained atop the city's walls, peering out into the darkness. Though it was still very dark, he could discern enough to see that things had gone well.
He turned and spoke to young Naran, who stood beside him upon the wall, 'Oblindin is ours; after all these ages it belongs to the Merkata once again. And all the armies of Harz cannot take it away.'
Work was begun at once upon erecting a greater wall around the city. To Whately's great satisfaction, the Vestri captives proved to be hardy and could make greater progress on the construction than even the desert-hardened Merkata. He told Agnoril, 'You see now, my son, how we would have had to carry bricks in one hand and swords in the other, if we had slain all of these people in the battle. But now we can stand guard as they labor, without fear of assault.'
'I still feel that it is a simple matter of justice, my lord,' Agnoril said as he looked upon the laborers with disdain. 'So many of our people were slain in the ancient days by the Harz whom these devils obey. They marched in war against us and spared none. Why should we do otherwise?'
'If you cannot find it in your heart to forgive men who did nothing to your ancestors, for sins done by their ancestors but not to yourself, then at least find it in your heart to spare them for your own purposes. Justice? You wish for justice?' Whately shook his head, 'Justice is truly the greatest goal, for which every human being should always strive. Yet,' he paused and looked at the ground, 'be careful what you ask for. Justice, like many great things, may prove to be more than we bargained for when we first sought it out.'
Oblindin was transformed into a citadel such as to rival the northern cities of Nanhur and Meldomnon. There were now two strong walls that guarded the city against invaders, and the waters of the stream were brought up to the ground to fill a large moat around the northern and eastern sides of the city.
On the last day of Leonius, for the first time in many ages of the world, the Matron of the Merkata Clan entered Oblindin. The streets of the original city, along with all its buildings and houses, were buried deep under the sand. But atop this, a new city was now in her possession; 'A new city for a new age,' she wept as she entered it. Whately was there to greet her, along with Agnoril and her many sons. 'Praise the Matron of the Merkata!' they cried out. 'A queen again!' the voice of Agnoril cried out, 'Malia reigns in Oblindin! Queen of the Merkata!'
She smiled and took the hand of Agnoril. He bowed low and kissed her slender fingers gently. 'I have heard many wonderful things concerning your deeds my dear Agnoril,' she smiled. 'The power of your arms is rivaled only by my own sons. Happy your father would be to see the man you have become.'
'My queen is too gracious,' he said, fawningly.
'The power,' she whispered as she passed under the gate and made her way toward the well. 'The power of this place is astounding.'
Then she walked away from them and drifted back to an ancient day in her mind. The streets were filled with the ancient sires of these children who now fought for her. And the well was housed in a great temple and the buckets that drew the precious liquid from the earth were guilt with gold.
Suddenly she returned to the present and stood for a long while staring at the bleak old stone well that now stood in the center of the city. The old temple was now in ruins, deep beneath the stones of the street. She sighed, a look of disappointment came upon her face. 'This is what they took from me, and happy I am to see it again. But I will not stop here. I will not stop until I have taken it all back. Every stone and every city is mine. Nanhur, Meldomnon, Harz and your fiery mountain: I curse you!'
Captured Alive
Under Whately's command, the armies of the Merkata seemed invulnerable. They took the cities of Ghohn and Miliki and made leagues (against the will of Agnoril) with all the remaining southern lands, until they controlled almost the entire southern portion of Vestron. But it would be quite distant from our purposes here to recount all of these battles in detail.
Despite his discontent with Whately's leadership, Agnoril's fame grew in equal proportion to his commander's. It was said that Whately was the Mind of the Merkata and Agnoril was the Sword.
Despite his own natural frailty, Whately's brilliant mind had won him great honors among the Merkata and great renown among the Harz Nobles. So it was that the rulers of the north took council against him.
A plot was devised: A letter, sent with the seal of the lord of Meldomnon, was delivered to Oblindin. It read thus:
'To Lord Whately,
'Since ancient times my forefathers have ruled over mighty Meldomnon with great wisdom. They fortified its walls, as you know well, with stones of unusual girth and weight, so that no weapon of war can pierce them. Our moat is as deep as the ocean, and our gates are such as will shatter every battering ram ere they buckle. But I say these things not in challenge, nor in threat. For as I am the heir of my father's wisdom as well as his might, I have not watched your progress against other lands without at the same time considering the defense of my own. You cannot destroy us, Master Whately, but we are sure that ere the end there will be more of our dear young maidens in tears than we are willing to see.
'We have ever been allied with the powers in Harz, but their rule is shaking under the weight of the desert Merkata. If you choose to war against them, the full might of Meldomnon will fall upon you. And our armies, as I am certain you are aware, do not show mercy to their enemies.
'But let us spare ourselves this dreadful bloodshed. I will send you a messenger in seven days. He will tell you what must be done. We mighty men of Meldomnon have long sought to cast off the fetters of the Mountain of Fire, yet there has never been any to challenge their strength.
I trust that this letter, and my servant Arthus will find you in good health,
Written by my own hand,
Lord Holthnen'
Seven days later, as it was foretold, Arthus, the servant of the lord of Meldomnon, arrived in Oblindin riding under a banner of peace. He was permitted to come before Whately and the Matron.
The messenger informed them that the lord of Meldomnon indeed desired to meet with the famous lord Whately. Yet due to h
is fear of Harz, he would only meet with him in the city of Hersa, which stood along the coast of Vestron.
Whately was reluctant, but the Matron commanded him to attend. 'We have here such an opportunity as we could not have imagined. An ally in Meldomnon! And think, my lord Whately,' she laughed, 'when we have demolished Harz we will have greater ease dealing with Meldomnon.'
Whately only said, 'My Queen, do not forget that a treacherous heart, such as is to be found in the lord Holthnen, will betray us as well, sooner or later. And I fear that it has already betrayed us, even ere our league is made.'
'Your cunning has made you too distrustful,' she laughed. For some time it had seemed to Whately that the force of his words were declining in her opinions.
'And my dear queen,' he responded, risking a little humor, 'your incomparable power has made you careless.'
She laughed, but it was not the laugh of the same woman that had once begged for his hand in marriage. The wars had turned many of her people into heroes, and she was the sort of woman who could only find it in her heart to be wooed by power.