The Grim Conspiracy

by C. Craig Coleman

  The crowd was electric, “Kill them all! Kill them all!”

  Ickletor felt the rage and hatred; the energy almost warmed him. He looked over the western wall of the city where Nebo, now nearly a hundred feet long, bathed in that energy. Tingtwang’s essence twisted and turned as a sun-bather adjusting his position to receive more of the sun’s rays. Nebo was absorbing the raw energy of hate and rage and fear.

  “Kill them all!” Ickletor responded and repeated. Over and over, he thrust a new sword in the air. “Kill them all!” He screamed to the frenzied mass jubilant before him.

  *

  Nebo flew off the next morning, fast and furious at the first light of dawn. He flew in a direct line to Tigmoor, stopping only occasionally to snack on a few peasants here or there. Tigmoorian or Octarian made no difference to him.

  *

  Alone on the watchtower of the Tigmoor’s northern gate, a fresh recruit soldier standing guard first saw the monstrous dark spot on the horizon.

  No, he thought, it can’t be. He leaned over the battlements staring, trying to get a clearer image. I mustn’t sound the alarm. It will be some bird, and I’ll be the laughing stock of the garrison. As he watched, the thing grew larger at such a rate it astounded him. It came on with incredible speed. Its wings, bat-like came into focus. He backed up terrified.

  If it’s the same dragon, that thing is twice the size it was when it attacked Prince Malladar, he thought.

  Fast approaching, Nebo’s blazing golden eyes seemed to flare at the shaking guard. The sentry turned and raced down the stairs two at a time to the officer in charge of the gate.

  “It’s back!” the guard yelled. “The dragon is almost on us, and it’s twice the size it was when it attacked Prince Malladar’s party!”

  The officer jumped up, flipping over the table where he had been eating.

  “Go straight to the palace and alert the king!”

  The young soldier raced off across the plaza.

  *

  The officer, his napkin still tucked in the neck of his uniform, rushed up the tower stairs. Winded, he stepped out onto the roof. Before he could step to the battlements, a billowing wall of flame engulfed the tower and gate. Everything and everyone inside was incinerated. The tower glowed reddish white. The only sounds or movements were the crackling of burning timbers and crashing of bits and pieces crumbling to the ground as it cooled.

  Nebo’s head curved back roaring with laughter that shook buildings as he soared up over the wall and circled over Tigmoor.

  Tigmoorians, shaken in their houses, rushed out into the streets. They stopped in their tracks staring up at the massive beast. Nebo flew over the city, feeding on the energy of fear. Sated, he shot streams of flames over the defenseless town. Here and there he’d dip down and snap up a charred citizen not so much as noticing the spears and arrows that bounced off his scales.

  In minutes, Tigmoor stood defenseless against the dragon. The winds from his massive wings spiraled like tornadoes across the city fanning the flames he’d set before him. He grew tired of the game and bored when there was no more resistance. Shaking his head and laughing once more, he turned back north to Octar.

  King Agmar and Prince Malladar came out on the palace balcony stunned by their recently rebuilt city in shambles, charred, and smoldering with fires all around left as the dragon’s calling card.

  “I must surrender the kingdom to Ickletor and Octar,” Agmar said. “We have no defense against such a monster. I must address the people… tell them to abandon their homes and only take what they can carry into the forests. We must forsake Tigmoor and the storehouses. Perhaps Ickletor and his rabble will be satisfied with the plunder and not pursue the people into exile.”

  Malladar looked at his father. “Is there no hope?”

  Agmar slumped and shaking his head, said, “None that I can see.”

  Malladar stood tall. “Don’t surrender, delay as long as you can, Father. Send the women and children into the hills, but keep enough of the soldiers here to give the city the appearance of still being occupied.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’ll ride east to Queton! I’ve heard King Jornak joke about the king there hating Octar but being fearful of attacking it. Perhaps I can persuade him to join with Tigmoor against Octar.”

  Agmar shook his head, “If they feared Octar before, they would not dare anger Ickletor with his dragon now.”

  Malladar straightened up, facing his father, “I won’t surrender without a fight. You know Ickletor will demand our lives no matter what the conditions he grants the citizens. Let us at least die fighting.”

  Beaming with pride, Agmar put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “We’ll ride out together. No matter the outcome, I will always be proud of you.”

  Toda had come up to speak to Malladar when he heard their discussion and stood back not wishing to interrupt their last bonding. The king and prince were absorbed in their conversation and didn’t see the priest racing out of the charred eastern gate and disappear into the forest where the king had nearly lost his life.

  “How long do we have before the Octarian army marches through the gate to pick our bones clean,” Malladar asked.

  The downcast chamberlain came out on the balcony. His nose wrinkled at the strong smoke rising from the smoldering city.

  “What are your orders, Your Majesty?”

  “Prepare an emergency proclamation. The women and children are to prepare to evacuate to the hills. The men must stay behind.”

  “Will you surrender the city, Majesty?”

  Agmar had a strange smile. “Not yet… no, not just yet.”

  *

  Triumphant, Nebo flew over Octar. He soared and laughed watching the bumbling generals trying to get some order among the ill-prepared army factions.

  Those incompetent idiots couldn’t storm a chicken house successfully, Tingtwang thought. Disgusted, he decided to sleep off the earlier attack when he noted Ickletor waving to get his attention. Petty man, he thought. He shook his head and flew away west of the city.

  Ickletor went into a rage at the insult.

  “Get back here you ungrateful lizard!”

  His screaming into the wind caused those still on the plaza to look up at him and wonder. He then noticed disgruntled soldiers began to stream back into the city abandoning their military encampments beyond the walls.

  “Chamberlain!” The man rushed up. “Round up the generals! Find out what’s going on. We march south at sunrise tomorrow to conquer Tigmoor. Those men must be orderly if we’re to be taken seriously by King Agmar. He must surrender the city on our arrival. We haven’t enough resources for a long, protracted campaign. Octar must seize the food and supplies amassed in Tigmoor’s granaries and warehouses.”

  The chamberlain rushed off under clouds that had gathered as Ickletor raged. It was midafternoon, and the sky grew dark as dusk. A large raindrop splashed in front of the king’s sandal, another hit his head, and then the bottom fell out. After its violent beginning with lightning and thunder, the rain fell all night gently, only stopping with the dawn. Octar awakened to the canals filled, the floating islands floated again, and fields had water standing between the rows of parched crops.

  The chamberlain shook Ickletor. He sat up in bed.

  “Is it time to march already?”

  “Majesty, half the generals, and most of the army have deserted in the night. The rains have filled the canals and reservoirs. The people dance in the streets.”

  Ickletor again rounded up the generals and civic leaders over the next week. He railed against Tigmoor renewing up the anger and resentment. He demanded the citizens march forward the focus then being on avenging King Jornak’s assassination.

  As he rekindled the hatred and fears, Nebo began to regain the strength that had diminished in the cheerful days after the rains. Ickletor managed to draw together enough of a ragtag army to pose a credible threat to Tigmoor but only if N
ebo flew before it.

  Finally, Ickletor in his finest cloak and headdress led his army south to Tigmoor. Nebo, weakened by the army’s flagging rage, flew quietly overhead.

  *

  King Agmar dispatched Tigmoor’s women and children to the hills. The last of them streamed out of the western gate southwest around Nokmoor Forest as the king ordered his trumpets sounded. The Tigmoorian army formed up beyond the ruined northern gate.

  “Let it never be said we didn’t do our best to save our city,” King Agmar said addressing his troops.

  With Agmar at its head, they marched forth to meet King Ickletor’s army and the nightmare dragon. Agmar entrenched his forces on a hilltop facing east only a few miles south of Octar and waited. When they clashed, Ickletor’s troops would have to attack uphill and into the sun.

  The fighting was fierce, but the Tigmoorians knew their homes and families were at stake. Forced to fight when they only wanted to return to their fields to save and replant crops, the Octarians fought halfheartedly. Before long, the Octarians’ spirits flagged and they retreated. Their rage diminished hour by hour as they withdrew.

  Ickletor’s burning hatred for King Agmar and Prince Malladar grew the more he saw his adversary advancing.

  “Nebo!” Ickletor screamed. “Nebo! Burn the rabble army!”

  Nebo who had stood back watching the battle, shook his head. It seemed to Ickletor the dragon was rebelling at the critical hour.

  “Nebo! Burn them! Burn them all!”

  Nebo lay down with his head on his crossed front paws.

  There’s not enough energy radiating from hate and fear, Ickletor thought. That’s why he’s failing. The soldiers’ have spent their rage. The priest-king rushed out of his tent and attempted to whip up the men’s anger and bloodlust.

  “What is wrong with you? Will you not avenge your beloved King Jornak? Don’t you know if the Tigmoorians win it’s your homes they will burn! It’s your crops and lands they will seize. You will be their slaves, those of you that live. Will you not defend your wives and children?”

  The soldiers mumbled; the grumbling intensified. “We want to go home!” Someone shouted from the assembled ranks.

  “Will you not defend those homes?” Ickletor bellowed. “Have I led an army of women into battle? King Jornak would be so ashamed of you. One more push and we can drive King Agmar and his pitiful army back. One more push and they will surrender!”

  The hostility began to grow again at the suggestion his men were weak women. The hatred had become so prevalent it came easily with the change of victims. Now the men began to hate Ickletor for luring them into the battle. They’d forgotten the lack of food. But as their anger and hatred grew, as they grumbled, Nebo regained his strength. The dragon stood. He took to the sky and circled overhead. Ickletor had energized his army, and they pressed forward lining up for a major offensive.

  *

  “What’s that noise?” Malladar asked Agmar as they were rearranging their weary troops to take the coming charge. Both men looked back.

  “That’s quite a dust cloud,” Agmar said his tone indifferent.

  Malladar turned to see better, “What would create such a dust cloud? There was rain here only two nights ago.”

  “Dust won’t save us, Malladar.”

  Malladar looked at his father, “No and a dust cloud doesn’t make the sound of marching men and war drums!”

  Agmar spun around, “Ickletor has surrounded us! We can’t even retreat. All these men will be slaughtered or sacrificed to a skull and stone.” He slumped, his war club slowly descending at his side.

  “Father!” Malladar said. He grinned at the king. “Doesn’t that look a lot like Toda leading the army?”

  King Agmar’s face pinched, “I should have known once an Octarian always an Octarian! Treachery when we are most vulnerable.” He spat.

  Malladar took his father’s shoulder and turned him to face back again.

  “I don’t know the flags of the kingdoms, but that’s not Octar’s standard flying at the head of that army behind Toda!”

  King Agmar grabbed his son’s shoulder shaking him, “By heaven, that’s the standard of the kings of Queton!”

  *

  Ickletor urged his army forward. “Attack! Attack before they regroup! You have the advantage of advancing downhill now.”

  The Octarian troops marched down the slope to attack the Tigmoorians. They halted when they saw Queton’s army form up along the two sides of the Tigmoorian center. Now they were unquestionably outnumbered and by fresh troops.

  “Nebo!” Ickletor screamed. “Burn them now, Nebo!”

  *

  Toda and the king of Queton joined King Agmar and Prince Malladar at the head of the combined southern army.

  “So much hate,” Malladar said. He shook his head. “Ickletor has become nothing but hate and fear. He’s spread it like a plague across his army and the whole kingdom.”

  “That’s it!” Toda shouted. He threw up his hands and spun around to Malladar, “Hate and fear! That’s what Ickletor has grown that lizard on, hate and fear.”

  “Impossible, Agmar said, “What are you talking about? Hate and fear are but extreme negative emotions. He can’t grow anything on emotions but more of the same.”

  Toda grabbed Malladar’ shoulders, “The sky-rock, he’s used the sky-rock and a spell in that book to harness hate and fear. It’s the negative energy they release that feeds the dragon! That’s why Ickletor is always inciting hate and fear.”

  Nebo’s circled descending with each loop focusing on the Tigmoorian troop center. Toda turned to King Agmar.

  “Order your troops to stand down and embrace the Octarians!”

  “This is madness,” Agmar said. “They’d be slaughtered.”

  Malladar’s eyes sparkled, “He’s right, Father!”

  The Octarians were about to engage the Tigmoorian army when they stopped, looked up, and started to withdraw. Nebo began to glow as a fire burned in his belly before blasting the enemy troops to ash. There was no time to think. King Agmar eyes swelled as he shouted to his generals.

  “Stand down! Drop your weapons! Go embrace the enemy soldiers!”

  The astonished generals glanced back at him before shouting his orders. The helpless army, hesitant at first, obeyed and rushed to greet those opposite them. Baffled, the Octarians began to lower their weapons. Nebo’s glow went out. He flew up to circle the armies again.

  The Octarians halted, puzzled at the sight of defenseless men walking towards them. They looked at each other. The Tigmoorians walked up and shook hands with or hugged the enemy soldiers. Thumps from weapons hitting the ground were the only sounds of that battle.

  Nebo fell from the sky smashing on the rocky slope near Ickletor. He’d lost a quarter of his mass. Ickletor, spitting with rage, ran to him.

  “Get up! What are you doing? Fly! Burn them all!”

  Nebo was shrinking before Ickletor’s eyes.

  “Tingtwang! What is happening?”

  “I’m dying, you fool. Look at the smiles on their faces. ”

  “But you’re a god; you are immortal.”

  “I gave up immortality when I merged with the iguana. It was the cost for me to have physical mass and freedom to travel and conquer the world in the light of day. The spell depends on my feeding on negative energy. You do know that. I grew on it. I now die without it.”

  *

  King Agmar stood on the hillside overlooking the two merging armies like the largest family reunion in living memory.

  “Men of Octar, we know of your plight. We will share our food and resources until you recover. We will provide you with new seeds. With the end to your drought, there’s still time to grow another crop for winter. We will prosper and grow together! Let us end this hatred and mistrust this day!”

  There was a general cheer across the battlefield. The sound hid Nebo’s last gasp. The dragon shrank as it faded. Ickletor just stood staring at it.


  55: Peace!

  The armies erupted into euphoria at the prospects of peace. Ickletor knew he no longer commanded the Octarian army. When he wandered back to his tent; none of his adjutants were there. Only a few slaves to attend to his personal needs remained.

  “Pack up; we return to the palace at once.”

  Only silent slaves followed Ickletor on the road back to Octar. No one cheered him as he approached the city gate. The remaining sentries and population stopped to stare at him as he made his way across the plaza to the royal pyramid. He stepped out of the litter and started up the steps to the palace.

  “You don’t live here anymore, High Priest!”

  Ickletor looked up to the palace platform’s edge above. Queen Kayla stood with a dashing Korkufin prince at her side. She stared down at him with her hands on her hips.

  “Your lodgings are across the plaza… for the time being. I’m launching an investigation into the death of my father and who put his guard up to the murder. Don’t leave the city without my permission.”

  Not a soul came to Ickletor’s aid. He took off his feathered crown and dropped in where he stood. Then he ambled across the plaza to the temple pyramid and disappeared down into its depths where shut himself up in his old office.

  Tingtwang is gone and Sestec too, he thought. I’ve nowhere to turn. Toda deserted me and joined the enemy. Even my Eva is gone. The generals and those fat, greedy merchants will turn on me now. They’ll demand my sacrifice for the hardships caused by the war preparations. The hatred for Tigmoor has turned to gratitude for Agmar’s aid.

  He rose alarmed. “The Book of the Underworld and The Eye of Dindak are still hidden in the palace!”

  He rushed back across the plaza and up to the palace. The guards denied him entrance.

  “I must have an audience with the queen. I’ve possessions here I must retrieve,” he told a guard.

  The man left and returned with three others.

  “The queen has granted you one hour to remove your possessions from the palace. After one hour, you are forbidden to enter here ever again.”