Chapter IX:
Legion's Head
Silence in Japhrian Palace
Without hesitation, Volthamir nodded his head and swore, 'It shall be done.' With those words he turned and walked out of the hall. Silence reigned over the whole palace that night. No one spoke; no one even whispered. They just went about their business (which mainly entailed preparations for sleep) without even mentioning what had transpired. King Vulcan pulled his robes off, donned his night clothes and dropped like a log into his bed, snoring almost in an instant. The Queen sat alone in the throne room for almost an hour, but exhaustion eventually took hold of her and she retired to her chambers.
Leonara slipped away as soon as Volthamir had left the hall and bolted her door behind her. She did not know at all how to feel. She was ecstatic in one instant and horrified in the next. It seemed that she would be saved from her parents after all, but she was not wholly sure that this is how she wished to be saved. Before she closed her eyes, however, she had resolved that whatever came of it, she would submit to anything if it would remove her from the conflicted and crumbling dominion of her parents.
But as it happened, she was taken from under her parents' immediate control the very next day. As I have already described, she was brought in a small carriage under the eyes of but a few guards out of Japhrian to the the Temple of Agonistes, there to live among the sacred virgins. None but the royal family, Achil and his priests, and the sacred virgins themselves were informed of this move. And when people asked, they were simply told that she had taken ill and was now recovering in some warmer region of Weldera.
Return To Nolhern
Volthamir made straight for Nolhern, stopping only once or twice to allow his horse some rest. He ate very little and spoke to no one. He expected to reach the northern fort of Nolhern by the end of the month of Leonius. On the third day from his departure from Japhrian it began to rain, but as he passed under the dark canopy of the Heyan forest, the drops grew more gentle and eventually ceased altogether as he made his way along the darker portions of the forest road.
He made good time through Heyan as well, and passed through Ferwur on the twenty-first day of the month. He stopped by old Hashias' broken down old home and left a bag of dried meat and cheese, as well as a generous quantity of gold coins. This he did in deference for his master, for whom he felt a peculiar appreciation at that moment. 'He may be no better than any of the rest of them,' Volthamir whispered to himself. 'But in the least, if he does things for his own sake he will not pretend that he is doing good for another.'
Volthamir left behind the dark shroud of Heyan on the twenty-fifth morning of Leonius. The rain still came down in heavy sheets, turning the road into a running stream of muddy water. The guards of Nolhern greeted him at the gate happily, 'Hail! The Fell Wolf returns!' He nodded to them as he passed, but he stopped to speak to no man. He rode into the center of the town and dismounted just outside the barrack where Lord Havoc had been living of late. He left his reigns in the hands of one of the servants and walked to the door, his face still dripping from the rain.
He pounded on the door seven times and waited. Finally, an old servant woman opened the door and let him in, muttering under her breath about the mud and the noise. Volthamir ignored her and walked straight into the building, with the mud splashing from his boots as he stepped.
'Lord Havoc,' he called, 'Your prince has returned. And I have for us a new task!'
The Plan
'At last,' Lord Havoc began upon hearing the prince's tale. 'This will be your most dangerous task yet. We have much to consider; and I have much to reveal. But first,' Lord Havoc sniffed, 'go have a bath. I cannot even think straight with all this mud on your face and the smell of three days of rain on your clothes!'
Volthamir obeyed and soon after he returned the two men closeted themselves away in a small room with a single candle burning in the center of a little wooden table. There were maps and scrolls scattered about the room, which they would on occasion hold up to the light of the tiny flame. For nearly two days they remained hidden in this room, only going out now and again to replenish their strength and take in some fresh air.
'Do you understand what it is we are going to do, then?' Lord Havoc asked him. 'And you understand that in this endeavor, there can be no failure, nor can I be at your side. No one can be at your side, in fact. What you must do, you must do alone.'
'I understand,' Volthamir said in a resolute voice. 'I do not like the thought, but it is the only way. It is the only way, at least, to accomplish ALL of our intentions. It is one thing to slay the Feral King, but quite another thing to do it for our own sakes.'
Their plan, as Lord Havoc explained it, was this:
'Seams have formed in Amla. There is a line between the men of Ramlos and their southern brethren in Amlaman. There is another line between the frontiers and the eastern lands. Each seam is ready to split, and the whole kingdom will then be shredded.
'But it will be our task to remove the old thread and fasten these lands together once more. This time with a true thread, sown in with skill. But many things must first come to pass. You have told me your desire. You want the girl; the Songbird of Japhrian as she is called, for her lovely and enchanting voice. But far from granting your request, your uncle has in effect sentenced you to a sure and painful death. For in all of history there have been very few men who have seen a Feral king with their own eyes and lived. And to my knowledge no mortal man has ever taken the head off of one. But the head of fell Legion shall be yours, of this I have little doubt.
'I will see to it that the anger of your half-brethren in the west breaks out and spreads rebellion throughout the frontier. In your absence I will return to Vulcan's side, the old fool probably still trusts me. And if not, he still fears me too much to disobey.
'To the west I will send Lord Vars and Lord Kellin, to kill your brothers and to be killed by them, if fortune smiles upon us. In this way the old guard of Amla will pass, and your half-rivals with them. Whatever remains in the west of your kin we will have to deal with at another time. But Lord Kellin and Lord Vars have enough strength left, I guess, to quell a petty and disorganized revolt.
'I needn't remind you of our goal: Desire, and the means thereto, which is Power. But we seek not the power to keep our own, nor do we desire power enough to merely gain what we want. We are after the power to preserve against all foes whatsoever objects we choose to take for ourselves. For this we will need the might of Dadron and the secret of their Naming Stone.
'For this reason you must not fail in your task. You must not only slay Legion. You must become Legion, that the rule of the goblins might legitimately pass to you. When the army of Legion is under our control we will turn them away from Heyan and Ramlos forever. For we have a more important use for them.
'The chief obstacle to taking Dadron is not its indubitable walls of stone, it is the support of the Woodsmen of the north. Those iron-boned men called the Norasians. The legacy of the hero Galvahir still stands guard in Falsis. The strength of his sons has daunted nearly every assailant that has tried to take the mighty fortress since the fall of the elves. And even in the day of its fall, it was the might of the Norasians alone that saved the city itself from complete destruction.
'We must break the arm of the son of Galvahir. But this we cannot do in open war; for though we might win the victory, the cost would be more than we could recoup. Only a ruse, such as I have long held in preparation, can beat these proud men of the woods into dust.
'But for this I must have command of the goblins. No army of men will be able to draw the sons of Galvahir from their log cabins and into a trap, for they are as clever as they are strong. But what we are going to do, they could never even imagine. When you have made yourself a hobgoblin, and taken control of the brutes of the Daunrys, you will bring them to me at Parodann. For there I am already preparing roads and caravans to bear the goblins over the mountains to fight against the Norasians. And
I have received pledges from the jealous Chieftans of Norasia that if the sons of Galvahir fall, no man of that dark wood will march to Dadron's aid.
'And what of Daevaron in the east? They will surely march to the aid of their great citadel, will they not? Nay! They will have their own troubles, for I have not been idle, nor have I neglected to consider the eastern lands. Marin will take care of them for us.'
At those words Volthamir's eyes opened wide. 'Marin? Lord Havoc, you have done a great deal of preparation already! What else have you planned? And when, in the course of our mission will you disclose it? I cannot help but feel that my own part in your scheme involves never returning from the Daunrys; lying slain and despoiled in the snow while goblins feast on my carcass. You have been betraying this land for years already!'
'And if I have, then what of it? And you are right to be concerned for your own skin. After all, we are both wolves. Both of us are too well acquainted with the utility of deception to ever trust another man again, including and especially one another.
'Yes, I have made plans with Lady Marin in Olgrost. And she will bend her full might against Daevaron, and meet us at the great citadel. What she hopes to gain from this conspiracy, I cannot pretend to know. But her envy of the mighty fortress of the elves is ancient and unbreakable.'
'What of the island? What of Kollun? Are they not on friendly terms with Daevaron and Dadron?' Volthamir asked.
'There is no such thing as friendship among nations, my prince, nor perhaps among men. We have nothing to fear from the democracy of Kollun. It is the unique privilege of such nations that they can never act fast enough to make any difference, nor can they act with undivided strength. And even when they do act, it is only a matter of time before the whims of the people whirl them about in the other direction, thereby undoing what had previously been done. No, I do not fear anything from that tiny island.
'When the arm of Galvahir has been broken, then it will be time for you to strike. In that hour we will return to Japhrian together. Then we will tie up every loose end. When all is under the dominion of the son of Voltan, as it should have been from the beginning, then we will begin to coil ourselves for our final strike: Our assault on Dadron.'
Volthamir's task was not a pleasant one. He left Nolhern after two weeks and rode his horse east to the plains of Golbfein, where he and Lord Havoc had won so mighty a victory against Legion's army. There he dismounted and sent his horse back to Nolhern riderless. He marched alone into the hills. He stripped away his armor and buried his belongings near the roots of a mighty pine tree. He cut his long dark hair with the edge of a sharp dagger. He then picked up dirt from the ground and rubbed it on his face. He covered himself with dirt and mud until no clean patch of skin remained. He then shed his clothes and donned a rough deerskin tunic and tattered cloth pants. The only thing he carried with him was his sword, Screthidos, which Lord Havoc had given him after the battle of Golbfein. This he wrapped in leather and bound with twine, slinging it over his back.
When all these strange preparations were done he took one last look at the peaceful fields of Ramlos and then darted off into the wilderness. He disappeared from Ramlos for nearly two years.
Arus and Legion
Arus the crow knew precisely where to find the Feral King. He took to wing the same day that Volthamir left and flew all the way to the secret vale where the goblins lived in their caves and pits. He lighted on a branch near the foul lord's head and tapped his beak against the wood. The goblins ignored him, believing him to be just an ordinary bird.
But Legion noticed him at once.
Legion was tall for a goblin, even for a hobgoblin. He stood as tall as any average man, with broad shoulders and thick muscles. On his back was tied a broad sword with many notches in it. His hair was like thick brown wool, but splattered here and there with darkened streaks. It was clumped together into thick bunches, almost like curls, but wild and unruly. His eyes were gray and wild, never seeming to fix themselves on any one thing.
'Hail, king of orcs!' Arus said in a schrill voice. 'I see that you are yet strong and healthy.'
'Who speaks to us so boldly?' the Feral King demanded, 'There are few now who dare come within a hundred leagues of us.'
'Us?' Arus croaked, 'Do you speak for the goblins, or are there more than one of you within that pitiful creature?'
'There are quite a number of us,' Legion responded, his eyes still unmoving. 'We have found rest within this vessel, and warmth. Ah warmth! We had nearly forgotten it. We have wandered through many frozen and barren lands to find this place.'
'I see. Then Lord Havoc was wise in naming you. For he has called you Legion, which is to say, "many". Isn't it strange that he should know you better than I, who can go anywhere I please at perfect liberty? But that is not why I have come. Tell me, master goblin, have you truly found this goblin's breast to be a satisfactory habitation?' Arus laughed.
'Here we are enveloped in a flood of hot red blood, we are fed daily with mutton or goat, or deer. If there is nothing else, we feed ourselves goblin. The thick hides and pelts we steal from the dark forest keep us warm during the night, and we have command over these vast hosts of villainous creatures. Did you not see the armies that are at our command? And the she-goblins! We can assure you, there is nothing among humanity like the privileges of a goblin lord!'
'I can quite imagine,' Arus said. He then cocked his head to the side as if to examine the hobgoblin further. 'Yet, would it not be more comfortable to find some weak minded son of mankind in which to dwell?'
'Humans are weak!' Legion protested, suddenly his eyes turned to Arus and his brow furrowed. 'They trust in cunning, but they are never cunning enough to escape the numbers of their enemies. But we know all the ways of escape. We take what we want or we perish. There is no ceremony or glory, but we have that happiness that ever eludes mankind.'
'But supposing the opportunity arose, and this bag of goblin mesh was overcome, would you yet hold onto this hobgoblin's tattered corpse? Or would you abandon it for the victor?'
'That is not at all likely,' the goblin laughed. 'Have you seen these mighty arms? And these broad shoulders? Have you seen my blood-rusted blade, notched upon the necks of so many brave warriors? I am not vulnerable to the affronts of mankind. Let them drive the petty goblins from Golbfein and Heyan; they will never drive us from the rocks of Daunrys! Not while there are goblins like myself to drink their blood and hew their limbs.'
Legion's eyes flashed with passion and his chest heaved as he spoke. The other goblins looked at him with suspicion, but could not make any sense of his babbling. To them this whole speech seemed like mere gurgling or gibberish, as did all spoken language.
'You are indeed powerful,' Arus affirmed, 'But there are none so powerful that they cannot afford to take council with the prudent, or take league with the mighty. And that is why I have come to you. If I am anything, it is prudent; that is, by experience I have learned much. And I come to you now to warn you that the doom of your own flesh is near at hand-'
At this the goblin roared and pounded his chest with his fist. 'Wretch!' he cried as he lunged for the bird. But Arus was too swift and flew to a higher branch and again tapped his beak on the wood.
'I cannot change what has been decreed by the gods,' Arus said with a snicker. But there is one coming to you who will slay your body and pour your blood out upon these very rocks. The blood will run cold and all your meals of deer and mutton will break forth and rot in the hateful sunlight. This is fate, do not be angry with me for it! But I have come to warn you, goblin master,' Arus said in a bold and clear voice. 'This hero, this god among men that will come to slay you; he is like a piece of ripe fruit, heavy and ready to fall to the earth. My council to you, Legion, is to pick the fruit ere it falls to the earth and bursts apart. You cannot slay this man, but you can find in him a new and a better dwelling. For his destiny lies behind palace walls with daughters of men attending him on every side. She-goblins! Bah! Yo
u are settling for lesser things! When the cold steel separates this brute's ugly head from its body, you must seize the chance and enter the sword of your slayer, and through the sword, enter into the hand and body.'
Legion seemed to calm down after the bird had finished his speech. 'We will consider it,' he said calmly, his eyes now seeming to focus on the bird. 'But that such a thing will ever come to pass we cannot easily believe. But if it does, we will be prepared. But tell me, dark bird, if it is truly the decree of the gods, and we are doomed to such an end, how do you come by this knowledge?'
Arus laughed and took to wing, leaving the frustrated goblin lord in a sullen and fearful state. He circled about in the air and peered down upon the goblin camp one last time. As he passed overhead he could see Legion roaring as he pummeled some unfortunate little goblin that had by chance stood nearby.
Legion's Head
I do not have the stomach to recount to you all that transpired during the time of Volthamir's absence. What knowledge of those days I possess is derived from questionable sources and superstitious tales. So I will content myself with a brief outline of those parts of the story that are most certain.
First, it is clear that Volthamir left behind society and human company to live among the goblins of the Daunrys mountains. A human can certainly tell when a goblin is at hand, but so long as the human refrains from speech and hygiene, the goblin will more than likely pass him by as one of his own kind.
Presumably Volthamir would have spent his first several months acquainting himself with the ways of the goblins. As I have explained in another place, goblins are motivated by envy and emulation. So the prince of Amlaman's first task was to copy the grunts, groans, and other peculiarities of goblin behavior.
Once sufficiently accepted among them and once he was fully familiarized with their habits, he could then begin to spy out the powerful goblins, those creatures that men refer to as orcs. And in turn, from watching these orcs he would be led to the Feral King himself.
From there his task was simple, yet full of danger. He must challenge and defeat the hobgoblin, thereby gaining the dominance among the orcs. He must not only defeat Legion; he must also defeat any other orcs that might wish to challenge him. Change in leadership among goblins is not a smooth or easy affair.
While we cannot know exactly how Volthamir accomplished his purpose, and while there is no way to fathom the darkness in which he lived for that whole period; there is one thing of which we may be certain:
On the fifteenth day of Messest, on the very day that he turned twenty-eight years old, a tattered cloth bundle arrived at the door of Japhrian. It bore the seal of the prince and thereby passed by the guards without notice or investigation.
Unthinkingly, as he often seemed to act of late, the king opened this bundle in full sight of his wife and servants. In horror at the sight he let it fall with a thud on the thick carpet. The cloth fell aside as the gift rolled from its covering into full sight of every eye in the room.
There before their horror stricken eyes lay, thick curly hair, filthy from many decades of exposure, severed and blackened rotted flesh about the neck with a shattered bone protruding, the eyes were white and empty, the tongue swollen and hardened, the skin wreaking and green with death - the head of Legion.
Unexpectedly Alone
In the center of Heyan there is a small clearing some sixty leagues to the northeast of Ferwur. In this triangular clearing there is a small log cabin, built along the bank of a tiny stream of clear water. Here lived Volthamir, prince of Amlaman in the days following his exile among the goblins. On the last day of the frozen month of Morest he led the goblin army to Lord Havoc, who then took control of them. Much to his surprise, the goblins obeyed him without protest. He seemed to wield over them some strange power. Perhaps it was in the way that he commanded them, or in the strange signs he made to them with his strong arms. Whatever it was, it had the effect of transforming them from a rabble of discontented brutes to an army of obedient servants.
Lord Havoc's task was now to lead them into the mountains, bring all the wild tribes of goblins under his yoke, and then finally to turn all this might against the unsuspecting army of Galvahir. But Volthamir's part was finished for now. 'Go and rest, regain your strength in the living woods of Heyan. You know that land well now. You must find some place where men will neither know you nor bother you. There you must remain until my return.'
'Have a care, Lord Havoc,' the prince said to his old master.
'I always will,' he replied. 'But I do not believe there is much for me to fear among the Norasians. They are strong and fierce, but it would take men of iron bones and souls of fire to overcome so superior a force.'
'Still, much is uncertain in war. No man comes into this life with any promise or oath from the gods, though some may believe it to be so.'
Lord Havoc laughed, 'That is true, and I suspect that my long experience has taught me this more certainly than yours has instructed you. And remember, my prince, we do not strive for justice; we do not strive for that nurse-maid's fiction; that compromise. We strive for injustice, and for the objects of our own desires. We are natural men! And I have enough natural cunning to give myself such assurance as a promise from the gods could not have granted me.'
'And what assurance is this?'
'There are always petty brigands and small minded jackals hidden among the noblemen of any nation. They play the part of high-blooded gentry, but they will turn their nose at the smell of gold, and turn their faces toward any pretty thing that they think they can grab a hold of. There is very little that you cannot extort from such men with a little gold and a beautiful woman!'
With those words the two parted. Volthamir watched for a while as the goblins marched up into the mountains in a long and disorganized train of heartless warriors. Volthamir shook his head and mounted his horse. The beast seemed delighted to see his former master again. 'Easy Ghoras,' the prince said as he patted the horse's neck. 'If ever I leave you again, it will not be to live among such as these. Though I have indeed come to pity them. Eight months is too long for any man to live among the goblins, I cannot imagine the sort of misery must accompany the misfortune of being a goblin yourself.'
After that day Volthamir passed without notice into the forest of Heyan and found his way along familiar roads to the old cabin that I had mentioned earlier. There he lived for more than a year without so much as setting foot outside of Heyan. His habitation was so remote and he kept himself so distant from the other woodsmen that he passed all this time without notice. Now and again he would trade pelts for gold or for some other thing of value, but he never went to any place where there was even a remote chance that he might be recognized. This year of solitude, alas, would be the best year of his entire life; better than all that had hitherto passed by, and better than all those that would pass thereafter, as we shall in due time discover.
His retreat from society ended abruptly on the fourth morning of Paschest in the thirtieth year of this millennium. On this day, unexpectedly, Arus the crow descended upon the clearing, bearing in his talon the broken shaft of a Norasian arrow. It had now been a very long while since any word had been sent from Lord Havoc, and instead of a new message he received this strange omen.
'By this I take it that your master is dead,' Volthamir said with a downcast face. 'This will make it easier I imagine,' he said as he held out his hand to the bird. 'Come friend, it is time for us to do that which we have long intended.'
Arus hopped onto the his shoulder and a shadow fell across Volthamir's face, darkening his eyes and for a moment, blotting out the light of the sun altogether it seemed. All the malice and wisdom of the great bird seemed to flow into the Prince like a rushing wind. Then suddenly the crow fell from his arm and landed upon the ground with a thud. The feathers flew away in the morning wind and the flesh fell off of its body like ashes from a dead flame, dancing about in the wind. The shadow was gone, but the Prince's eyes stayed dark
as ebony. A strange power had passed into him, he felt, and a wisdom older than the forest itself. Instinctively, as though he knew its precise location even from so many leagues away, he turned his eyes toward Sten-Agoni. 'It will soon be time for me to return. But there are other matters to attend to ere that day comes.' With those words he drew his knife from its sheath and looked at it carefully. Shining in the noon light, the knife's ivory handle seemed to gleam like a star.
The Prayer of the Siren
Three months earlier, on the day of her birthday, Princess Leonara was met on her way to breakfast by the High Priest Achil's servant Farachie.
Farachie was a tall man with sharp features and very light brown hair. So tall he was that he almost looked ridiculous in the sacerdotal attire all the priest's servants were obliged to wear. 'The priest has summoned you,' he said with a bow. Leonara had learned that when the word, 'summoned' is employed, it is not an expression of invitation, nor of the priest's mere whim. To be summoned by Achil is be brought to him, by your own volition or by some other power.
She sighed and stormed passed him, pushing him aside as her feet stepped lightly down the stairs. He shook his head and followed her. Were it not for his long strides, Farachie would have been utterly left behind, scarcely in sight when she arrived at the priest's apartment. But as a result of the length of his steps (and considerable haste) Farachie managed to reach the door first and gently let her through. A bell was rung and the priest indicated that she should be brought up to his meeting room.
In the room sat several men: her father, whom she rarely saw of late, the High Priest, whom she saw too often, and a strange young man with bright clothing and a deep blue cape whom she had never seen before. The two younger men rose as she entered; Achil remained seated, both due to his age and his preeminence. The stranger was a handsome man. He sat much taller than the old priest, yet he slouched a little shorter than the king (which was more the result of custom than of nature). His hair was well kept, meticulously combed and set upon his shoulders. On his neck he wore a gold chain that hung out of his collar on top of his bright white shirt.
'My dear daughter,' Lord Vulcan said as she entered. He embraced her, and she reluctantly raised her arms to return the affection. Her eyes met the eyes of the stranger. The young man bowed low. 'Leonara, daughter of Vulcan thos Amlaman, I would very much like for you to meet young master Fanastos. He is a lord of the western lands, come to offer his services to the people of Agonistes in their time of need.'
Leonara stood still, just glaring at the people in the room. King Vulcan continued nervously rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Leonara could tell that he had not been sleeping much lately.
'You have heard of our troubles in the frontier lands, have you not?'
Leonara nodded.
'Lord Kellin was slain in Rivfern, his old gray head was taken off by those bastard sons of Voltan. The whole west might have been lost to us were it not for brave and loyal young men like Fanastos. He has this very morning sworn fealty to the god of Amlaman. There is to be a feast tonight, and young Fanastos will offer a sacrifice of forty bulls.'
Leonara was then led to a seat across from Fanastos and wine was poured for each of them. After the men had emptied their cups, Achil rose from his seat and spoke. 'Dear Leonara, the darkness is passing from this realm. The strange figures and omens of the older days have passed away. The terrors of the dark night have given way to a bright dawn. Lord Vars has slain all but the last two half-sons of Voltan. It is certain that a lasting peace is even now approaching our land. The goblins have abandoned the Daunrys, and the people of Heyan and Ramlos are safe again. What a time it is in which we live, that we might see better days and not worse, as so many had feared. It is a good season to plant, for the summer looks to be warm and full of life giving sunshine. It is a good season to begin anew-'
Leonara's face slowly turned away from the old man and looked at the face of Fanastos. He seemed to be full of energy and passion. 'A good man, no doubt,' she thought to herself. 'But such a one I neither deserve nor desire.' And then she started, as though waking from a dream. Suddenly she remembered Volthamir and his passionate request, or demand rather. Surely her father had not forgotten his deal with the prince. And then her mind was thrown into further turmoil as she could not decide whether she ever wanted Volthamir to return for her or not.
After some thought she spoke, 'He is dead then?'
'Who? Dead?' Achil muttered.
'My brother, the prince. He is dead?'
King Vulcan reached across the table and took her hand. She withdrew it swiftly, sliding her skinny fingers through his rough palms. 'My dear daughter,' he began, 'No word has been heard from him since he departed on his errand. I cannot imagine why he would tarry if he had been successful. I'm afraid we must assume the worst, for it has been such a long time.'
Leonara rose from her seat, tears were now flowing from her face. She could see in his eyes that he had not told her the entire truth. 'You are a devil,' she said to her father. 'You are the lord of folly, even as mother is the lady of cruelty. What a pair the two of you make! What perfect companions! One might have expected you two to have been much happier together than you are.' She looked at Fanastos, 'I'm sure the young warrior of the west has even heard the delightful stories about Lady Marel and her pathetic husband.'
Fanastos said nothing, but his mouth gaped open as he sat listening. Achil's face turned red as the sunset and he pounded the table. 'Wicked girl!' he cried out, 'How dare you humiliate the lord and king of Amlaman! How dare you!'
'I have not done anything of the sort,' she retorted, 'he has humiliated himself. Every time he chooses a path he chooses wrongly, it is not I who humiliates him.'
'That is enough, my lady,' Fanastos said with a gentle voice, 'there is no need for such anger. It is more difficult than you imagine to rule a land so vast as Amlaman.'
Leonara pushed her chair back and started out the door. Fanastos called after her and Achil hollered, but to no avail. She rushed away from the priest's apartment and made her way back toward the Nunnery. She was fully aware of her father's intentions. This young Fanastos, as marvelous a man as he might be, was meant to be her suitor. He had won some grand victory for Amlaman and as a reward for whatever services he had provided he was to be given the princess as a prize. But more than this, if the princess were married, there could no longer remain any obligation to give her over to the prince should he ever return.
This last thing was the primary source of her anger. It didn't really bother her that her parents were now trying to marry her off. Nor did it even bother her that their reasons were so base and treacherous. It barely even affected her that they seemed so clearly to be delighted at the idea that Volthamir had been killed (though she could easily tell that her father did not believe it to be so). What really infuriated her was the fact that they would do all of these things for these reasons while trying to pretend that their intentions were born of loftier motives.
'Gutless worms!' she shrieked as she thought about them. 'I hate them, I hate the devils!' When she came to the Nunnery she spat and passed it by, heading away from Daufina. She wandered for the rest of the day, all the while being pursued by the servant Farachie, who made certain to give her as much space as she desired.
At one point she turned toward him and spat, 'I hate you all! Every man, woman and child! I despise everything; Amlaman, Agonistes, Vulcan and Marel, Achil and the blessed whores of Sten Agoni! Not one of them is what they claim; they pretend to be the sun, but they are filled with nothing but shadow.'
She continued into the woods until she came to a small clearing. Day had given way to night and she shivered and shook with both anger and cold. Farachie very carefully approached her and when he was within reach he slid a thick fur cloak about her shoulders. She wrapped herself in it and looked up into the sky. Farachie backed away and sat down on a fallen log nearby. High above them the light of the great star the sages call Theodysus shon
e brightly upon them, illuminating the princess' face with silver light. She fell to her knees and wept for a long time. After almost two hours she lifted her face slowly from the earth and gazed up into the sky.
It seemed that a strange certainty came over her in that moment and she rose to her knees. All the ideas of Agonistes and his temple and the virgins and sacrifices vanished from her mind as she looked upon that ever constant sparkle in the sky. 'They at least are never changing.'
She sung and prayed to the stars:
Oh thou blessed and mighty astral lord,
Constant, brilliant and unfailing,
Thy heavenly craft in darkness moored
Look down and see me thus travailing,
Bring unto me that peace and grace,
That gentle rest and healing,
That flows out from your holy face,
No darkness there concealing,
I ask not for some lofty throne,
Or any dainty or pleasant thing besides,
'Tis all I beg as I lay prone,
To see that in which no evil hides
Farachie sat there silent until she finally fell into a deep sleep. He lifted her gently and carried her back toward the Nunnery.
Overheard
There were many spirits lurking about Daufina in those days. Most of them were petty devils, patrolling the land for their master Gheshtik. These curious sprites swarmed around the slumbering princess as she was carried away, though Farachie was quite unaware of it. Some of the bolder spirits entered into the princess' troubled dreams to peek and to pry and to play cruel tricks on her as she slept. But there was a stranger among them, a large spirit with a bright countenance, if it is proper to call it brightness. His appearance among them had the effect, at least, of brightness. They covered their eyes and fled away in terror, leaving the tall servant and his burden alone.
This last spirit was deeply curious about this girl. 'She bears within her veins regal blood. Of that much I am certain, or I am no god. Who is she, old man?' the spirit asked. Suddenly Old Man Sleep appeared, clad in a long gray cloak. 'You know the names of every mortal,' the spirit continued. 'For there is no creature as can close their eyes to rest without falling under your dominion. Surely you must know who this Siren is?'
'Lord Pelas,' the old man answered, 'you know not what that word means, or perhaps you have forgotten.' His wrinkled brow furrowed for an instant as he thought. 'Indeed, you must have forgotten. But perhaps you mean that she is like a Siren?'
'She is all the Siren that this world will ever see,' the spirit said. The old man looked at her closely and then nodded.
'Perhaps you are right after all,' he affirmed sleepily.
'Did you hear her prayer?'
'I did,' Sleep answered coldly. 'And it was a fine prayer at that. That is the sort of prayer I imagine they like to hear up there.'
'They?' Pelas said in a mocking voice. 'The Astral Lords went to sleep aeons ago; they have not troubled themselves with us since the dawning of the world. Why should we expect them to hear prayers?'
'Ah, but she prayed to Theodysus, the firstborn,' Old Man Sleep muttered.
'And what of it?' Pelas demanded. 'Men have been praying to Theodysus forever, yet he answers not.'
'Do not rail against the stars, my lord,' the old man retorted. You know not what you rail against. And further, how can you be so certain that he answers not, perhaps he merely answers 'nay'.'
'He answers me not,' Pelas said, seething with anger.
The old man shrugged. 'What is to be done about it? Even you gods cannot ascend to the high places and call the stars to account.'
'I will answer this Siren's prayer. I will turn her eyes to the east and bring her the salvation and the purity she so desires. But there are a great many things to consider ere I take any action.'
The old man sighed and started away, 'Have a care, Master Pelas,' he said in a fatherly tone, 'For I am older and, after a fashion, wiser. No one, not even you gods can see all ends and all causes. You know not the future, however clever you may be. You know not what will come of it all. Do not meddle in affairs that concern you not. Usurping a prayer? Such a thing has not been done under heaven since the days of the Dragon. But I imagine that you have forgotten that also.'
Lord Pelas looked up at the stars for a moment and then opened his mouth once more. He said, 'My eyes are keener, perhaps than you imagine, Old Master Sleep. They can pierce through iron and flesh, they can see more ends and causes than you realize. A peril descends on this place, and I must prepare a vessel to prevent it.' He looked once more at the old man, 'And I usurp nothing. Prayers have never swayed the Astral lords before; I meddle not. But when I have brought my salvation to this mountain, then I will be like the Starry gods themselves. And all the people of Amlaman will turn away from the darkness and serve the god of light.'
'A vessel you say?' Old Man Sleep said with great alarm.
'Can you not tell, Old Man, that she is the perfect vessel?' Pelas said, still looking up at the stars.
Old Man Sleep looked at Pelas with sorrowful eyes, but he held his tongue. 'It is not my place, nor is it within my power, to stay the hands of those who have fallen under my brother Folly's dominion,' he thought to himself.
'I feel it in every shadow here,' Pelas said in a whisper, 'There is a dark fear upon every creature and upon every spirit. The Devil god Agonistes is going to return to this mountain; he will be a god in Amlaman again. And so shall I. Yeah, and more than a god. For I am the cause of everything.'
End of Book II
Book III:
The Vestron Monster