Chapter III:
The Wrath of the Monster
The Fields of Sinn
It was on a rainy morning, the first day of Messest to be precise, when the men of Harz first beheld the Monster of Vestron in open war. A great force had come from the Fiery Mountain to challenge the armies of Oblindin, who had lately established an outpost in the fortified village of Sinn. The village was a full march to the north of Oblindin, and they hoped to sack it swiftly and thereby establish a more secure border between the Merkata and the Vestri.
The army was commanded by Lord Ritin, an able commander and master swordsman. He had extensive experience fighting against the Ohhari in the Olger wood, and his reputation was well-known among the Vestri and Merkata alike. He came with soldiers from Meldomnon and Fhuhar under the banner of the Mountain of Fire, a simple red sphere on a background of black (ever practical, the Harz banners were meant to signify one thing: Power. And for this purpose was such an austere design settled upon). Altogether he led three thousand men, each armed with spears and swords, as well as a hundred mounted knights.
It was believed that there were only five-hundred Merkata altogether within the village. This was very nearly accurate. But it failed to take into account the valor of the Merkata heroes and, as this was their first encounter with him, the strength of the Vestron Monstrosity.
Skatlor remained in Oblindin, on orders from Queen Malia. But ready to fight alongside the monster were Agnoril, Pelon, Naran, Oanor and Janik. Had Ritin known that all these 'half-gods' were gathered in Sinn, he would never have attempted to take the village without a much greater force. The Harz did not quite give the strength of elven-blood the credit it deserved. They felt assured that in the vacuum created by Whately and Gedda's absence, they had little to fear from the Merkata.
Natham absolutely refused to so much as touch any weapon of the Merkata. Nor would he accept sword or shield from their armories, or hauberk from their smithies. 'I will not build upon another man's foundation,' he told Agnoril, who insisted he accept such gifts as the Merkata were willing to grant him. 'For if the house is built upon that which belongs to another, does not the house likewise belong to another?'
In the end, even threats of punishment were not effective. Natham, much to the horror of the Merkata, had no fear of man. He went into battle with nothing but his bare fists and the clothing he brought along with him from Whately's estate. Even his provisions he supplied himself out of his own expenses.
The Harz soldiers were strong and brave, and they were prepared to do whatever it would take to drive the Merkata back into the south. Janik and Pelon insisted they withdraw, and avoid bloodshed. But Agnoril refused. 'Tell me prince,' he said, addressing himself to Pelon, 'Do you really wish to have it said among the Merkata that the princelings of her people fled with their backs uncovered to their mother's arms at the first scent of battle?'
'This is a force too great for us, and too great for this village to withstand,' Pelon objected. 'It would be wise to save our strength for another day. If the Harz become convinced of our weakness, so be it. Let them grow arrogant and careless. Then we will sting them in their ignorance. But not today.'
'It must be today,' Natham said coldly from behind him. The other lords of the Merkata all turned to face him. 'Harz will only keep their captives alive so long as they have hope of forming a treaty. If they come to realize that you mean not to bargain, they will kill them without hesitation. You must turn the tables on them. Right now they fancy they have something that the Merkata wants: Your brilliant strategist and your most valiant prince. But we must show them that the lives of these two captives are worth more to themselves than to us. We must act with such fury and wrath that they will be afraid to touch the only things that might possibly turn aside our anger.'
The others looked at him in fear, none daring to say 'yea' or 'nay'. Agnoril at length broke out into a laugh.
'Truly you can be no companion of Old Whately's' he laughed. 'Whately spoke of mercy and strategy, but you speak as if you were a god? Am I right in assuming that you mean not only to withstand this assault, but to utterly vanquish it? And further, to march against the Mountain of Fire without delay?'
Natham said nothing, the fire and passion in his eyes gave sufficient answer.
To the north of Sinn there were rich farmlands and level grassy plains stretching as far as the eye could see. The harvest had just passed, and these lands now seemed barren and empty. The army of Ritin marched in tight lines from the north, with torches in their hands. 'They mean to burn the whole village to the ground,' Naran said in a quaking voice.
'They will not come within a league of this village,' Natham said calmly. Somehow, his own certainty seemed to pass over all those around him.
Agnoril sounded a great ram's horn and the gates of the village were opened. Four-hundred men departed; Agnoril, the sons of Malia, and Natham taking the lead. As they marched north, they quickened their pace, preparing themselves for the battle that lay ahead. Pelon and Janik seemed fearful. 'There will be five or more against each one of us,' Pelon said to his brother.
Agnoril overheard and laughed, 'That almost makes it an even match!'
'They have horsemen,' Janik said coldly.
'Leave the horsemen to me,' Natham said. A chill went up even Agnoril's spine when he heard this. They were all still unsure whether he meant these sorts of boasts in jest, self-delusion, or in earnest.
Natham broke away from the host and charged into the line of Harz soldiers with such speed that he might have been mistaken for a horseman himself. Agnoril made a great effort to keep up, but in the end he was not able to stay even within a stone's-throw of the Monster. Natham trampled six or seven men without even looking at them and then hurled himself into the midst of the enemy. In seconds he had fully armed himself, first with the torn limb of some sorry warrior, then with a short sword, then with a spear in one hand and a sword in the other. He tore through them like a cow through grass, mowing them down with iron teeth. Soon he had a broad sword in his left hand, which he swung about like it was made of wood, and a long horseman's spear in his right hand. By the time Agnoril and the princes arrived he had already slain thirty men. When the full might of the Merkata reached the Harz soldiers, he had killed fifty. Much to the horror of the Harz soldiers, he seemed invulnerable to their weapons. Otherwise lethal blows seemed to be unable to attach themselves to him. When he was attacked by groups of warriors it always seemed like he had just one more arm hidden somewhere beneath his cloak to fend off the blows. This gave rise to some of the more ridiculous accounts of his figure. Some of the wisest Harz historians give him more than six limbs. But as I indicated earlier, there is no need to postulate the existence of any more than four limbs.
Ritin, seeing what was happening, ordered his horsemen into the fray without delay. They came around to the rear of the Merkata and began making easy work of the slower and more cowardly among them. Natham turned with a roar and shouted to Agnoril. 'Sword of the Merkata!' he called, 'Destroy their captain! I will deal with the beasts.'
Agnoril, almost forgetting that it was he that was meant to command the Merkata, slew the soldiers against whom he fought and made his way toward the commander of the Harz soldiers. At his side was Naran and Oanor.
Natham, meanwhile, turned back toward the horses and charged toward them with the speed and fury of a war horse himself. The first horse he saw he shoved off its feet as though it were a dead reed. The horse and rider tumbled to the ground with a clang of metal and a whinny of terror. The next horse that came near him he grabbed by the throat and dragged to the ground as though he was wrestling a fox or a goat. Two came against him with lances pointed at his neck. He turned one aside with his broad sword and caught the other in his hand. He dropped the sword and gave one of the horses such a blow that it fell to the earth instantly slain. Another rider came at him in full charge, but the Monster caught his spear and pulled the rider from the saddle, flinging him,
clattering and spiraling, into the host of Merkata warriors, who quickly dispatched him.
Very soon after the battle began, archers were sent to slay the Monster and make safe the battlefield. But almost as soon they gave up their endeavors. The Monster seemed to see the arrows coming even before they were fired. He dodged those that he could, the others either glanced off his thick skin or stuck into him like a thorn in a dragon's tail.
A horn was blown signaling a retreat. The Merkata had won. The horsemen turned to flee. Natham grabbed two of them by the back legs and brought them crashing down to the ground. He charged after the rest like a lion chasing down a baby deer. One by one the horsemen fell as he overtook them.
By this time Agnoril had made his way to Ritin. The commander of Harz drew his sword and threatened his opponent, 'I trust you are wise enough to know who I am?'
'I don't have the slightest idea,' Agnoril said insincerely, 'But I imagine you must know who I am.'
'I am Lord Ritin!' the Harz Noble said in a shaking voice, never in all his days had he seen such carnage. 'I will not be slain by the likes of you!'
Their duel was over almost as soon as it began. Ritin swung his sword skillfully and aggressively at Agnoril, but Agnoril proved to be too clever a swordsman for even this famous lord among swordsmen. Ritin's headless body fell to the ground with a thud, sending his soldiers fleeing in terror before the Merkata. Agnoril looked around at the battlefield. Nearly three hundred and fifty of the Merkata remained unharmed. 'It really is quite even now,' he laughed. He blew his horn and commanded his men to charge. 'Hunt them down! Hunt every last devil!' he shouted to his men. 'Let none escape alive!'
'Nay!' shouted Naran, 'Let one, let one escape alive.'
Agnoril turned and looked at the young man. 'You may make a brilliant strategist yet!' he laughed. 'Indeed, let one escape to bring the legend of the Lords of Merkata and the Monster of Vestron before the ears of the courts of Thasbond. For such a tale he will likely enough lose his own head.'
'Nay, let him bring more than a legend,' Naran said. 'Let us capture a man alive and send him to Thasbond with our demands.'
They searched among the wounded men of Harz for a man that they deemed able to survive the return journey to the Mountain of Fire. They outfitted him with a horse and provisions and then sent him off with a sealed letter in his pocket, the head of Ritin in a bag tied to his saddle, and the fear of Natham in his eyes. The letter read as follows:
'To the Lords of Harz, to the Lord Vullcarin who reigns and the Lords Holthnon of Meldomnon and Lord Narig of Nanhur:
'Heed the words of Natham, hero of the Rugna wastes, and hear the words of the Merkata Lords with whom he fights. Your attempt upon the village of Sinn has come to naught. Ritin has fallen, his swordsmanship and wisdom has come to ruin. Send your scouts and your huntsmen to the southeast and behold what has become of your force. See what we have done to them.
'Word will no doubt reach you of the strength of the one who is called Natham, though none will have heard that name until this day. Heed our words, Harz Nobles, for if our captives are not released in one month's time, then the full might of the Merkata and the Monster of Vestron will be set against your cities, your farmlands and the walls of Thasbond itself.
'You knew the abilities of your Lord Ritin better than we, yet he was brought to the Gate of Death by the swift sword of Lord Agnoril, commander of the armies of the Lady Malia. His sword will slay many lords ere this year is ended. Unless you release to us Gedda, the noble son of the Lady, and Whately, who is beloved by all the Merkata.
'Do not take these words to be empty bellowing and haughty threats. The power that has long slept in the wastes has awoken, and with it marches a terror that will not be appeased until it is satisfied either by your obedience or by your blood.'
'Choose this day which of these will be your price!'
A month passed, and Harz, to their eternal regret, made no reply. History teaches us that the Monster himself secretly sent many more letters to Thasbond as well as to Meldomnon and Nanhur, pleading with them to condescend to the demands of the Merkata. A record of his correspondence with the lords of Vestron would be of great moral value to all those who study the philosophy of war. But such things neither fit the scope, nor the scale of my present work. It should be borne in mind, however, that the result of these letters is that in almost every case, the enemies of the Merkata were forewarned of their danger. This was a circumstance that, in the end, saved many thousands of Vestri men and women who would have otherwise been trampled by the Merkata warriors in their blind raging conquest of the central part of Vestron.
The Flames of Hersa
Agnoril, on Natham's suggestion, sent messengers to Oblindin immediately with news of their victory, as well as with requests for a much larger army. In the letter he sent to the Queen he reportedly wrote, 'I had not known war until I saw the Monster on the fields of Sinn.'
There were two goals now before the Merkata: To take control of the port of Hersa, the city in which Whately and Gedda had been betrayed, and to take control of the lake country of Hele. The Poison River, (so called for its sulfurous smell) flowed southwest from Fhuhar and emptied into a large lake, known to the Vestri as Hele. All the surrounding land was called by this name as well. These two points, Lake Hele and Hersa, were critically important to Harz. The fresh, though odorous, waters of Hele fed their most fertile farmlands and was for that reason of no little importance. Likewise, Hersa was one of the more important centers of commerce aside from Nunhar.
Agnoril insisted that they had not the manpower to occupy both Hersa and Hele. But Natham shook his head. 'We will not occupy both,' he said sternly. 'Hersa will be burnt to the ground, in vengeance for the treachery of Harz. We will then only need men enough for the Lake country. If the Merkata can manage that, we will be but a march away from Thasbond itself.
Pelon, Janik, Naran and Oanor objected to this plan, but Agnoril was more than satisfied. 'Hersa can be rebuilt,' he said, 'But we cannot manage Hele in the west and Hersa in the east without splitting our strength in half. Nor can we leave one untouched while we focus our efforts on the other. We must take one and turn the other into a wasteland.'
Of the destruction of Hersa very little needs to be said. It was a bold move on the part of the Merkata, depending chiefly upon stealth and speed. This was the first battle in which Skatlor and Natham fought together. Though Skatlor still resented the beast for humiliating him, he was forced to grin with pride as he watched the Monster tear apart his enemies like they were cloth dolls. 'Even the noble blood of the Lady of the Merkata must bow in reverence to such power,' he whispered to himself.
That night the Merkata camped by the sea among the rocks on the southern side of the burning port. They kept fires only for warmth, for the city itself burned so bright that they could have read a letter or a scroll without so much as squinting their eyes. Natham, as was his custom, removed himself from the others and rested atop a small grass-covered hill to the west of the camp. He lay down and looked up into the heavens. There, between wisps and pillars of smoke he could see the wheeling heavens above him and the distant astral gods of whom his master so often spoke.
'It isn't really fair is it,' a voice said from beside him in the dark. Duri was laying next to him with his hands folded behind his head.
'You are still here?' Natham said, 'I would have thought you would have run back to Oblindin after the battle at Sinn.'
'I've grown used to war and death,' he said in a whisper. 'Sometimes I even wish I could be slain in battle, just to feel something again. I have no memory of feeling, you know.'
'I don't know,' Natham said.
'I think you understand more than you let on,' Duri insisted. 'What are you? You do not even know yourself do you? You have no idea where you came from. And neither do I. In that sense we are the same. For all I know, I have always been a 'ghost'. I cannot say with any certainty that I have ever really 'felt' anything.'
&
nbsp; 'And for all I know,' Natham responded, 'I have always been a beast.'
'That's what I mean,' Duri said, 'It isn't very fair. Why should I be stuck in this wretched country with all these ridiculous outcasts for so many ages while some seem to be able to just live their lives in quietness, and DIE in quietness too. Why do I have to skulk around in the shadows for all eternity?'
'You are asking for fair?'
'Yes,' Duri said confidently, 'I would like to see a little justice in this world.'
'Justice,' began Natham, 'Justice is not something anyone should ask for. When I was younger I too used to ask for justice. "Why am I like this?" I would ask. "It isn't fair!" I would insist. But Lord Whately would always warn me, "Do not ask for Justice unless you really mean to have it."'
'That's peculiar,' Duri laughed, 'The Lady of the Merkata talks about Justice as though it were the greatest of all blessings!'
'And so it seems to be, my master would say. Justice is, to most men, the highest of all purposes. To act justly, to do justice, to restore justice; these are all things the world pursues. But it pursues them blindly. When I demand to have justice done, why should I think that it would bring me to a better condition? Why do I not consider the possibility that it would only make all the world uglier for the sake of justice. Do I want the world to be fair? That would be to desire an uglier world, so as to make things even. How do I know that Justice would bring me glory, beauty and wealth? And not that Justice would destroy those things from the world entirely? It is only the man who thinks he is worthy of honor that can demand justice, and such a man is, as my master puts it, 'more often than not much more delusional than righteous.'
'I had never considered it like that,' Duri said. 'But still, it seems a shame to have to live all my life, if it is proper to call it a 'life', in this shadowed world of the unloving, while so many others have it better.'
'Who has it better?' Natham asked, turning his head to look at the boy. 'That is precisely the point I have been trying to make. Who are we to judge what we deserve and what others deserve. And who are we to judge whether we have been treated unfairly? Doesn't a farmer have to toil ere his crop is harvested? When the world is ended, Duri, when all has crumbled to dust and shadow, and when justice is still undone, then complain to me of injustice. But until that day we cannot but pretend to have an idea of whether life is unfair or not.'
Duri said nothing. He just sat silently looking into the stars until Natham closed his eyes to sleep. Then he rose and darted off into the darkness, southward toward Oblindin.
Lake Hele
Later that same month the full strength of the Merkata was gathered together to march against the Lake country of Hele. There were three fortified cities on the southern shore of Hele: Jilal, Niha and Olbae. These the Merkata lay siege to all at once on the second day of Morest. They left only enough troops to keep them shut in behind their walls, and to prevent them from coming to aid the northern cities of Hele, which were their true targets. If the cities of Polin and Legelz could be taken, then their southern allies would have no choice but to surrender. Three days after the siege against the southern cities began, the armies of Legelz and Polin met the Merkata along the eastern shore of Hele.
Again, speed was the prime concern for Agnoril and his men. They only had a few days to secure the cities before reinforcements would be sent from Harz. To delay this, Oanor and his brother Faruk were sent with two hundred skilled men to haunt the northern marches of Hele, lest any messengers be sent to Thasbond from the Lake Country. The combined might of Agnoril, Skatlor and Natham was too much for the armies of Legelz and Polin. They were driven to a full retreat within three hours. Messengers were sent to Thasbond, of course; and, of course, no messengers ever arrived there; Oanor was too skilled a huntsman to allow anyone to escape.
I mentioned how Natham entered his first battle absolutely unarmed. But now he was armed more richly than any king of men. He wore a deep blue cape on his shoulders, torn from the neck of a Harz Noble named Kiniz. He wore the sword of Lord Ritin's bodyguard strapped across his back. In his right hand he carried an enormous spear that he had taken while he fought in Hersa (It was a spear made to skewer whales and other sea monsters in the dark ocean waters far to the east of Vestron). He carried in his left hand the largest shield that he could find among the carcasses on the field of Sinn. On his head he wore the helmet of a Harz horse-lord and his arms and legs were guarded by chain armor fashioned from the best hauberks of the Harz warriors. He was an absolute terror to behold; and he was death to his foes on the battlefield.
The Merkata followed close behind the retreating warriors, fighting them right up to the very walls of Legelz. Here the sympathies of the men within the city were sorely put to the test. Should they open their gates to save their comrades, and thereby risk the city itself? Or should they leave their companions to their doom outside the city walls? In the end their sympathies got the best of them and they foolishly attempted to rescue the doomed warriors. They sent out fresh cavalry and soldiers to try and make a way of escape for the weary warriors outside. The Merkata pounced upon this opportunity at once. Agnoril, now mounted on a sandy colored horse such as only the Merkata breed, charged in with Natham and the lords of the Merkata close behind him. In their train came all the best of the Merkata warriors.
They forced their way into the city. Agnoril and his men set fire to the barracks of Legelz and slew all the Nobles and rulers of the city. Natham was challenged by the brave, though foolish commander of the city's guard; a man named Tyinos. He accepted the challenge, which, as my readers can very well imagine, did not last very long. The sight of Natham more than anything else drove the remaining warriors to throw down their weapons and beg Agnoril for mercy.
By nightfall all the warriors of the city were either slain or in bonds.
That night, on the borderlands, Oanor's skill was put to the test. But in the end he managed to slay every soul that attempted to pass between the Lake Country and the Mountain of Fire. They would still have another day or two before any challenge arrived from Thasbond.
The next morning, Agnoril and the princes gathered together in council along with the monster Natham.
'Polin,' Agnoril started, 'yet remains to be dealt with. And until it is taken we cannot hope to withstand the armies of Thasbond, even with the might of Natham on our side. For the moment the armies of Fhuhar, Nolfu and Esfu descend upon us, Polin will undoubtedly unleash its strength. The southern cities will be ours the moment their northern allies are taken, but until then we must keep them under siege. What shall we do, my friends and brothers? I think we must lay siege to Polin this very night, and burn her to the ground if she resists us for more than two days. We cannot long withstand the armies of Thasbond without dealing with the threat of Polin.'
'We ought to have foreseen this,' Janik murmured. 'Too much faith have we placed in this Monster. We should have taken our time and gone step by step, taking only what we have the strength to defend.'
'You speak like a fool, Janik,' Agnoril snapped. 'Natham has not led us astray, nor has he disappointed us in any way. We did foresee this circumstance. But what is to be done about it we have not yet decided. But it was decided, and decided in fact by your mother the Queen Malia, that this course of action was the best. Now, what of Polin? What do you suggest we do?'
'I am neither a Monster nor a Strategist. And neither our strategist nor our monster are Merkata. I haven't the slightest idea what we can do!' he crossed his arms and shook his head as he spoke. 'It seems to me that our beast has led us into a trap.'
'A trap?' laughed Naran. 'Janik, we have slain more Harz and Vestri in these past few years than ever we have managed in all the ages of Vestron combined. This is not due to some new power among the Merkata, but rather to the power of Natham and the wisdom of Whately. You speak like a fool, brother. We have not yet cause to doubt these two.'
'Then let us hear the Monster's plan,' Janik scoffed.
&nb
sp; Natham, who had been silent until this moment, rose from his chair and spoke. 'We are not going to touch Polin,' Natham said coolly. 'It would take too long to lay siege to the city, and they will not make the mistake of Legelz by opening their gates for us.'
Janik burst out in nervous laughter. 'Do you answer to Harz?'
Natham rose from his seat, towering above the others, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the window and casting the lords of the Merkata into shade.
'Silence Janik,' Agnoril commanded. 'No one ought to be charged with such treachery, not even in jest.'
'What are we to do then,' Janik whined, 'Are we to follow this creature off the edge of the earth itself?'
'If he has never steered us wrong,' Agnoril snapped, pounding his fist against the table,' then we will follow him to that end as well.'
'Let us hear what the Monster has to tell us,' Naran insisted.
'We will split our force into two,' Natham began, 'The lesser part will abandon the Lake country entirely and make their way to the eastern lands, to the very gates of Meldomnon, or as close as they can manage. It is in the east that our strength is surest.'
'Then we are to abandon all that we have just fought and bled for?' Janik asked incredulously.
'No,' Natham replied, 'For what we have accomplished here cannot be undone by our departure. The strength of Legelz is shattered, and ere we depart we will make its powerlessness complete. Tear down the walls and shatter the gates!'
At this command, Agnoril nodded to Naran, who immediately undertook this responsibility. Natham continued, 'I give to the Merkata two things: A future and a hope. Those who go to the east will retain all that we have gained through conquest in these past few years. They will be the future, regardless of the outcome of this campaign. But you also have hope. A chance to strike off the very head of the Harz Nobles and end their tyranny forever.'
At those words, every eye lit up and the heart within every man's breast leaped. Even Janik seemed to be sincerely interested.
'The greater part of the Merkata will make its way to the north, and march against Thasbond from the northwest.'
A look of shock and horror came across every man's face. Agnoril spoke first, 'Do you jest?' he said with a trembling voice, 'Do you mean to mock me, who has defended you thus far? How can we ever hope to accomplish such a fete?'
'Thasbond to this hour does not know that we are within a day's march of their gates,' Natham explained. 'The moment this news comes to their ears they will send their army to Polin and to Legelz. We will not be here to meet their army - we will, in fact, be behind them. The Harz, for all their daring, have never fully explored the hidden passes of the Mountain of Fire. There are places - noxious hellish caves that they fear to even think about. We will enter their city through those passes and come into their stronghold through the caves. By the time the Harz army realizes that we are no longer in Hele, and all their Lake country is empty of enemies, the sons of Merkata will have their swords to the throats of their women and children. Then we will see how fierce the dread Harz Nobles truly are. Will they besiege their own homeland and burn their own houses to the ground?'
Agnoril's face was white as a ghost's. 'How many ages have the Merkata walked this earth? And we have heard naught of these caves and passes! Tell me, Natham,' he said somberly, 'On what authority do you speak concerning these caves? What makes you believe such an endeavor is even possible?'
Natham sighed and then slowly explained, 'What reason have I to believe that it is the Harz who hold my master captive and not the Merkata? What could possibly lead me to believe that any such city as Harz exists. On what grounds can I ascertain the validity of your Queen's claim to be its rightful ruler? All of these things are founded upon the same foundation: The words of men. It is on no worse a foundation that this strategy is laid.'
In fact, the strategy belonged entirely to Duri. The night after the fall of Legelz, he came to Natham with such an excitement that he could barely speak. When he did speak, his words came out so fast that they nearly overtook themselves and began new sentences before the original sentences had come to their point.
Eventually, however, he was able to calm down long enough to explain where he had been and what he had seen.
'I walked through darkened paths, where mortals fear to tread,' he began, 'and I have seen the future of the Merkata.'
'What do you mean?' Natham said curiously.
'For years uncountable I have watched these pathetic creatures fight their hopeless war against the Harz invaders. Never in all that time has there been any hope of victory. There has only been their own foolhardy fanaticism. But you and your master have altered things. Somehow, the stars seem to shine differently upon the Merkata. If ever there was and if ever there will be hope for the Merkata, then it must be now, during this very campaign.'
'What do you propose?'
'There are secret paths in the Mountain of Fire. Some of them are ancient, some of them have been blocked up over the years. But there are others that are new, and some that have not yet been discovered by the men of Thasbond. The path is treacherous, but passible. The air is noxious, but breathable. The battle will be difficult, but it is winnable. The hordes of Thasbond will be emptied in a few days time to come to the rescue of Polin. The Merkata can strike Thasbond from the northwest, through the tunnels of fire and death.'
Natham was quiet for some time as he considered this, staring thoughtfully at the maps and charts of Thasbond he had been given. At length he turned again and spoke loudly and piercingly, 'Tell me little sprite,' he demanded, 'Are you certain about these paths?'
'I have walked them myself,' Duri said in a sincere voice, 'There is a way into Thasbond from the North, and I will lead you and the Merkata there myself.'
'Why should I trust you,' Natham asked.
'Why shouldn't you?' Duri retorted. 'Why should I mislead the Merkata with whom I have endured so many long years.
'What have you to gain from helping them?'
'What have I to lose? Besides, I have grown quite weary of their failure. Why would I contribute to my own boredom by making them fall?'
'You spirits are notoriously inconsiderate of the value of human lives. How can I be sure that this is no trick for your own amusement?'
Duri smiled, 'Value of human lives? You mortals are overly considerate of them. Besides, I have told you already that I find you and your master to be absolutely fascinating creatures. If I act for my own mere pleasure, then I would preserve you two alive for as long as I possibly can. I am very interested in seeing just how much you can accomplish.'
Natham was silent for some time. Finally he spoke, 'Very well, Duri. We will take your advice. You have watched these lands longer than any other, save the Lady Malia herself. You carry the fate of the Merkata in your little fist. Do not abuse this power, for there are ways in which the mortal can smite the immortal.'
At those words Duri's eyes rolled to gaze upon the lump on Natham's shoulder. He shook his head. 'You will not regret putting your trust in me.'
The God of the Woods
Duri fled from Legelz with the speed of a shooting star. He made his way north along the Poison River until he struck a broad westward road. This he followed under the open moonlight without fear, for no living eyes could behold him and no mortal foe could harm him.
The land to the west of the Mountain of Fire was considered blessed. The rich soil grew vegetables and grain in abundance. Farmland stretched out farther than the eyes could see. Endless fields of grain, delectable gardens and orchards uncountable alike grew right up to the road itself. But none of this was discernible to Duri as he passed. Those lands were yet bound by winter's death spell, and looked as pale and dead as the wastes of Rugna. But Duri would have passed passed these lands without a care in any season, for he had no memory of the taste of food nor of the sensation of hunger.
He followed this road for many leagues until he came at last to the city of Olgalver.
The gates of the city were shut fast and the watchmen were awake. Duri did not hesitate for an instant; he scaled the gate like a gust of wind and ran along the main road straight to the other side of the city. He leaped over the western wall and disappeared into the woodlands beyond. Altogether he had run more than one hundred and fifty leagues since midnight, yet his immortal feet were not tired.
There are none among the Nanthor, the Harz or even the Merkata who know the paths whereon that spirit tread that night. He fled from the light of the moon into the Forest of Olger where no moon shines.
He came to a village of outcasts, descendants of the Ohhari, who ruled over nearly all of Vestron in ancient times. He came to a long house of log and mud and entered through an open window. Before him there was an old man, sleeping in a chair with his head slumped over his chest. Standing beside him was a pale spirit, old looking himself, but full of immortal light.
The older spirit addressed Duri with a slight grin.
'Master Duri,' he said, 'long has it been since you have passed under the leaves of this forest. Indeed, long has it been since you have asked me for any help.'
'There may come a day, Old Man,' Duri answered with a laugh, 'when you will need the help of others. But until that day you ought to thank the starry gods that you have always been the one with power to save in his open palm, and never the beggar with clenched pleading fists.'
'Just words,' the Old Man of the Woods sighed. 'What do you want of me?'
'Nothing great,' Duri said, 'I need safe passage for two men, outcasts from the Merkata.'
'That I cannot do,' The Old Man said resolutely. 'We do not deal with those impostors.'
'They are not Merkata themselves,' Duri said with a laugh. 'Do you think I am so foolish as to ask you for safe passage for the only sort of creature the Ohhari hate more than the Harz?'
'You are wrong there, Duri. For we abhor the Vestri, those blood-rebels and cowards, far more than either the Nanthor invaders or the desert wandering Merkata.'
'Have it as you will,' Duri laughed, 'But you must let these two men pass. They have fought long and hard against the Harz, and they have made more progress against your ancient foe than the pitiful Ohhari could ever dream of making. By this very hour three days hence the Merkata will be fighting in the streets of Thasbond itself.'
The Old Man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stared at Duri in disbelief. Duri grinned and then burst into laughter.
'Does that anger you, Boscus?' he said in a haughty tone. 'Your rag-clad huntsman have only managed to hide in the deep places of the Olger Forest. But the Merkata have managed to set fire to Hersa and to level Legelz, and strike fear into the hearts of Polin and all the cities of Hele.'
Boscus remained silent. Duri again taunted him, 'What say your star-signs now? Is it almost the hour of the Ohhari's revenge?'
'What is written in the stars cannot be altered by the deeds of mankind. Laugh as much as you desire, little sprite - the Ohhari will come to the Mountain of Fire again. Though a thousand more years must pass, nay though a thousand thousands of years pass, the Ohhari people will once more come to their own kingdom. It is written in the stars, beyond the grasp of the Merkata and their witch.'
'I hope for your sake that you are right,' Duri said. 'It would be dreadfully disappointing if you spent all these ages of the world with these beggars for naught.'
'Do not fear for me, little Duri. The stars do not lie.'
'Ah, they do not,' Duri laughed. 'But even us spirits can misunderstand.'
'Fair enough,' Boscus nodded. 'But tell me, Duri, why should we let these Merkata hirelings pass through our lands? Moreover, why should such valiant men as you have described have need of the Ohhari's help?'
'I am asking because these two will soon be leaving the Merkata. You and I know well enough that the power that rules the Merkata will suffer no master. If they do not die in the fray, they will be driven from the Merkata by force.'
'Are the Merkata so petty as to persecute their own heroes?'
Duri shook his head, 'You know the Lady as well as I.'
'You are wrong there,' Boscus said with a sadness in his voice, 'I know her better, though you have known her more.'
'Then tell me about her,' Duri pleaded.
'I am sorry, young one, I swore long ago that I would never recount such a sorrowful tale until the world is ended and everything is put to order.'
The Mountain of Fire
Janik was sent back to Oblindin that very morning 'to keep the Queen safe'. Naran spent the whole day ordering the destruction of the defenses of Legelz. He absolutely obliterated the front and rear gates, tore down the wall in several places, and confiscated every last weapon he could gather.
The captives of Legelz were sent east with Janik, toward Oblindin. They, at least, would not trouble the Merkata again. Whatever remained of Legelz after their departure was doused with oil and set on fire.
Pelon was sent to help his brother Oanor hunt down messengers and scouts, as well as to keep the army informed of their enemy's movements. Thus it came to pass that when the armies of the Merkata had been gone from Legelz for one day, the armies of Harz darted southwest along the Poison river toward Lake Hele. There they found only the burnt husk of Legelz and the terrified and battered men of Polin locked behind their iron gates.
The Merkata were nowhere to be found.
'Likely they fled back to their dunes to hide,' was the fateful conclusion of Lord Ghelhurn. He ordered his men to lodge at Polin and to send scouts south to learn where the Merkata had gone. It would never have entered into their minds that at that very hour their enemy was closer to their own houses than they were.
The Merkata marched due north through the night and then turned abruptly to the southeast. Even Skatlor had a hard time keeping up with Natham. But whenever the army would start to fall behind, he would remind them of how their brother Janik would become the master of the army of the Merkata should they fail to take Thasbond ere its army returned. The thought of the weak-hearted Janik becoming the lord of the hosts of the Merkata seemed to inspire fresh determination to their weary feet. They learned from Oanor that the army had set up in Polin and was searching for them in the south and in the east.
Natham led them into the mountains from the northwest. It seemed to Agnoril as though he made every decision on a whim and that he had no real fixed idea of his destination. This, of course, was very nearly true. He did not have the faintest notion of where the caverns could be found. At every step he was following Duri, though no other living man could see him.
The terrain changed abruptly as they approached the foothills of Fhuhar. Life itself seemed to end. First the animals fled away, then the trees, and finally the grass came to an end. All that survived in this barren waste were thorns and weeds, and as they approached the mountain these grew thinner and thinner as well until there was nothing but hot dead earth and smoking rocks.
'Are you so certain you want this land back?' Natham asked as they trudged along the pathless wastes.
'Just keep your eyes on our road,' Skatlor grumbled, 'and let us worry about our ancient home. It is not for its beauty that we desire the mountain. The Mountain of Fire gives life to Vestron itself; he who controls the Mountain controls Vestron.'
'For some reason,' Natham responded, 'I do not believe that anybody controls Fhuhar.'
In silence the army continued until the first hints of morning began to lighten the sky. But before the sun appeared they found themselves being led down a path into a deep crevice in the side of the mountain. The heat was almost unbearable at first, but once they had walked a few hours in the crack they found that they had grown accustomed to it. 'We had better get used to the heat,' Agnoril said as he followed Natham. 'This is more than we have had to endure in the deserts, but even this will feel cool compared to the heat of Thasbond.'
The crevice descended lower and lower into the mountain until the light of the sun vanished awa
y. The whole army, some four thousand men altogether, now passed into absolute darkness. Though it seemed like they were in this state for league upon league, it was only about one fifth of a league that they had to travel without sight. The slow pace, the heat and the blindness made it seem that much further. Finally, a light appeared ahead. But it was not a way out of the crevice, but rather the fiery caves with which the crevice is connected. From sunlight to darkness to the light of molten lava and flame they passed in the space of three hours. The air was hot and thick with fumes, but as Duri promised, it was breathable.
The caves wound through the mountain's heart like a maze. In some places the path, if it is proper to call it a path, was so thin that no more than three men could fit abreast. Some places were so treacherous that Natham almost suspected Duri of leading them to their dooms. There were a few places where even Duri was confounded as to where to go (as some of the pathways had been blocked since he last walked the path). But in the end, Duri led them aright, and the army followed Natham through the paths toward the city of Thasbond. After some time they found that the path was widening and growing more level. They made much better progress here and even took a rest. Further ahead, great pillars of carved stone could dimly be seen in the firelight. 'This must be the Temple of Fire,' Skatlor remarked. Those pillars are no work of the Harz.'
'Indeed,' Agnoril affirmed. 'This is Merkata territory. I would guess we have passed under the city and are now on the northeastern side of the Upperlands.'
'Yet,' Skatlor said with a puzzled look on his face, 'these characters are such as I have never seen in the writings of the Merkata.'
'Time changes all things,' Agnoril said, hiding his own bewilderment, 'even letters I suppose.'
The men were silent for several minutes, as they continued along the path. Skatlor broke the silence and asked, 'What is your plan, Monster?'
'This path goes to the old burial places of the Merkata,' Natham replied, 'though now it is the haunt of beggars and peasants. We will wait for midnight here. Then a few of you will enter the city and see what can be done.'
When the appointed time arrived, Skatlor and Agnoril disguised themselves in peasant's rags and headed up the path toward the city. The path became very narrow and ended in a large stone archway under which no more than four men could walk abreast. 'We must be swift,' Skatlor said. 'It would not take much for this doorway to be blocked, and our entire army entombed.'
They hurried southward along an ancient road. They followed the road until they came across a small peasant village. 'It is true then,' Skatlor said, 'This area is not well attended by the Nobles.'
'Indeed, perhaps they fear the Fire Temple,' Agnoril suggested.
'No matter,' Skatlor shook his head, 'We must tend to our business. The armies of Thasbond are gone, but they are certain to have retained the Noble Guardians, those dread servants of the lords of Harz. Vullcarin will be there, and his devil brothers Rikin and Samor.'
'The three of them alone will put our warriors to the test,' Agnoril said quietly, 'We must make sure that they are dealt with swiftly.'
'Leave it to me and the Monster,' Skatlor said almost with glee.
'You would very much like that wouldn't you?'
'As would you, I imagine. Unless the old tactician has taught you more than strategy.'
'I can't imagine what you mean by that,' Agnoril said irritably.
'I think you do,' Skatlor grinned. 'These two, the master and the Monster, they are not very much like the Merkata. And you were – we all were – more like the Merkata before they came to rule over us.'
'Rule over us?'
'You doubt my estimate?' Skatlor looked his comrade in the eyes. 'For the sake of power my mother has traded power. She gave up control of the Merkata for the sake of power, but a power that the Merkata cannot control. Is it not the word of Whately, and lately the words of a brute that rule over the entire Clan?'
Agnoril nodded, 'But what is to be done?'
'I don't know,' Skatlor sighed. 'That is the problem. As it stands, we are without power. But I just want to remind you of who you are: You are Agnoril, Kinsman of Malia, Sword of the Merkata. Don't become the slave of an outsider and his beast of burden.'
'What do you wish to do, here on the edge of battle?'
'I wish to do nothing right now. I just want you to remember who we are, and who must rule the Merkata. For my part, I will never forget my own strength and purpose.'
'Nor will you forget your humiliation no doubt, Skatlor the Mighty, Spear of the Merkata,' Agnoril said with a voice of disdain.
'What will you have of me, Agnoril,' Skatlor protested, 'Should the Merkata throw off the fetters of the Harz Nobles to set the irons of Natham upon our necks?'
'You are too fearful, my friend, and jealous too,' Agnoril shook his head. 'But nonetheless I see only too clearly what you are saying. Whatever happens, the rule of the Merkata must never be taken from Our Lady.'
'I know I can trust you in this matter,' Skatlor concluded.
Agnoril nodded silently.
The Fall of Thasbond
The sky was still fully dark when the two lords of the Merkata returned to the Temple of Fire. They were full of passion and confidence. 'We have seen the city,' Agnoril said with a gleam of zeal in his eyes, 'and it is ripe for the picking. But we must move quickly. The army of Thasbond went down to Lake Hele to annihilate the Merkata, but no Merkata were to be found there. We must strike off their head this very night, while their neck is yet outstretched.'
The army arranged itself into three groups; two smaller bands of five hundred a piece and one large company consisting of the remaining three thousand warriors. Naran was given command over one of the smaller companies. Ason, a lord of the Merkata, was given rule over the other. The main force would be led by Agnoril and Skatlor.
Thasbond was built, supposedly, upon the ruins of the ancient Merkata city Haraz-Fhuhar, from which the mountain and its current inhabitants draw their names. Whether by chance or by some miracle, the Mountain of Fire had never yet sent a river of lava down to the place where this ancient city was built. The Merkata were confident that it was because the god of the mountain loved the Merkata, and the Harz Nobles were confident that the Mountain loved the city of Thasbond. But whatever the reason, the people of the city generally felt secure despite the constant rumbles and thunderings of the mountain. The north side of the city was not fortified, as the razor sharp rocks and rivers of molten rock would allow no one, whether friend or foe approach the citadel from that direction. Their main defenses had always been in the southern portion of the city. The western portion of the city was also heavily guarded, though the ascent to that section was far too difficult a climb for any army to attempt. This area was almost empty, save for the peasants and outlaws who could not make a living in the citadel itself. There were small villages and towns scattered about, full of suffering and impoverished souls. From these men the Merkata had little to fear.
The smaller forces of Naran and Ason would be sent to face the remaining warriors in the south and western parts of the city respectively. But the main force would strike at the citadel itself, which lay at the very northernmost edge of Thasbond. This was the home and fortress of the Harz Nobles themselves, the land of the descendents of the Nanthor invaders who first conquered the Merkata and the Ohhari so many ages ago.
The clanging of sword against sword, the shattering of spears and shields and the piercing shriek of arrows in flight filled the dark streets of Thasbond with so much chaos that it would be impossible to report all that occurred in that night.
Lord Ason and his men found themselves facing a much larger force than they had anticipated. There were almost two-thousand warriors in the western part of the city who came out to answer their challenge. But in the end, at the expense of nearly half their number, Lord Ason's army took control of the western city.
Naran had it little easier in the southern section. At first his force was repelled
by the lines of Harz Knights that were stationed near the southern walls of the city. They struck out against the Merkata so hard and fast that they almost broke through their lines to charge the flank of the forces of Agnoril.
But Naran, by luck or by skill, or by fate alone, shot an arrow through the back of Lord Fhulan's helmet, dropping him to the dust and sending his knights into a blind rage. Tempting fate again he felled Lord Garish, with a well-aimed arrow through his right eye. Leaderless and enraged, the Harz Knights turned from the north and charged like wild men toward the shooter. They very nearly reached him too. But the Merkata closed in around them and made an end of their wrath. But not before a bold young Harz knight threw a spear through Naran's leg. He was carried off the field and the leadership passed to Lord Raso, a relative of Ason.
The chief part of the Merkata went north, to the Iron Palace of Thasbond, where the Lords of the Harz Nobles lived and ruled. But the Merkata were not prepared for what came out to face them. The Harz Nobles were for the most part, pure Nanthor. They towered over the rest of the Harz and the Vestri. To the Merkata they seemed like giants. The Lord of the Harz, Vullcarin was mounted on a horse that seemed larger than any the Merkata had ever seen before. Some later accounts say that the entire host of the Harz Nobles was mounted on dragons or elephants or some other such fierce and enormous beast. But all the early tales say 'large horse' or 'mighty steed' or some such variation.
But when the fighting began, he may as well have been riding the fiery sun itself. He smote the Merkata like a bull whips the buzzing flies with his tail. To the left and right of him they fell, and in front of him they fled away.
Were it not for the skill of Agnoril, the strength of Natham and the sheer bravado of Skatlor, the field would certainly have been lost and the Merkata would have been driven back into the Rugna desert to sulk and nurse their wounds. But their proximity to their goal would not allow them to give in to terror. Skatlor slew Lord Jeyin and Lord Haraba, and innumerable others of equal strength and skill. At long last, when he began to grow weary, he summoned all his strength and cast his spear through the neck of Lord Vullcarin's mighty horse. The horse shrieked and fell to the ground, bringing his rider to the dust with him.
Agnoril seized upon this opportunity at once. He rushed through the lines, dodging here, fighting there, slipping through a group of knights and finally coming to the winded Lord Vullcarin as he rose from the ground. But his brothers Rikin and Samor were already at his side.
Knowing it would be hopeless to face them alone he called out for the Lords of the Merkata. Skatlor, having regained his breath, came to his side at once. The Harz Nobles approached them with the confidence of gods. They walked slowly and firmly, without any sign of fear or hesitation. Their strength was unbelievable. Rikin pushed Agnoril back with each fierce blow with his sword. Even Skatlor could do nothing but hold his ground against the sword of Lord Samor.
All the while, Lord Vullcarin was regaining his composure. In a moment he too joined the fray. He drew his enormous blade and set his towering shield Admunth upon his left arm.
Agnoril braced himself for the inevitable as he found himself unable to break away from the relentless blows of Lord Rikin. He would have no way to guard the fatal strikes of the Lord of the Harz.
But no such blow fell. At that instant, Natham roared into the battle, casting Samor aside like an autumn leaf. Rikin he grabbed by the throat and pushed to the ground.
The Merkata Lords fell upon them at once and cut their throats, spilling their blood upon the stones of the city. Lord Vullcarin, seeing his kinsmen slain, and seeing the rage of the Merkata turned and ordered a retreat. In an instant the Harz Nobles began to pull themselves away from the battle and make their way back into the Palace.
Emboldened by the slaying of the great Lords of the Harz, Skatlor and Agnoril charged after them, now with the swords of the Harz lords flashing in their hands. The hosts of the Merkata followed suit, and soon they were charging through the Palace itself, tearing down curtains and smashing sculptures upon the floor with disdain. The Mountain of Fire was within their grasp.
Lord Vullcarin himself fled from the Monster of Vestron with a look of fear in his eyes. He knew the Palace well and was able to keep well ahead of Natham. In the carnage, he made his way to the throne room and sealed himself within it with his most faithful guardians.
Though he had bought for himself some time, the end was inevitable. He found himself seated on his throne, staring at the battered throne room doors. There amidst the dusk and splintered wood he saw the Lords of the Merkata approaching. He rose from his seat and drew his sword.
'All is lost,' he said. 'There is nothing that I can hope to do to turn back the army of the Merkata Clan. Allow me this honor at least, that I might face your lord in single combat.'
Skatlor looked at Agnoril and nodded. Agnoril nervously turned to Natham. 'For Whately.'
Natham stepped to the front and drew his blade. The Lord of the Harz did not recoil. 'So this is your lord, then?' Vullcarin asked mockingly. He seemed to grasp the entire situation quite clearly, much to Skatlor's dismay. 'My laugh, my FINAL laugh,' Lord Vullcarin chuckled, will resound in your cowardly ears for all eternity.'
Skatlor almost made a charge at him, but the firm hand of Agnoril calmed his fury. 'Let his taunts be what they will. Together we are not a match for the Harz Lord.'
'For what cause do you, the famed and feared Monster of Vestron, follow these shameless bandits,' Lord Vullcarin asked as Natham approached.
'I fight for Lord Whately alone,' he answered, 'whom you have foolishly imprisoned. Have our words not reached your ears? Have you not heard of the battles in which the sons of the Harz were scattered and slaughtered like lambs.'
'Indeed, I heard all of that.'
'But too much trust you placed in your own strength,' Natham concluded. Lord Vullcarin lowered his eyes as if he were almost ashamed. 'Much blood may have been spared,' Natham continued, 'and more than likely this city would still be in your hands.'
With those words their bout began. Lord Vullcarin wasted no time. He stabbed straight at Natham's heart with his long sword. Natham turned it aside with his own blade and swung his own sword at the Noble's head. Lord Vullcarin ducked just in time and moved around to Natham's left side. He stabbed at his stomach, but Natham's shield was there to stop the blow. Lord Vullcarin unleashed a fury of blows, each faster and more deadly than the last. But none could get past Natham's shield.
At length, Natham swung his sword down hard on Lord Vullcarin's shield. The blade broke in half; the shield was unharmed. Lord Vullcarin siezed the moment and swung ferociously at the Monster. Natham turned aside and caught the Noble by the wrist and flung his giant body, armor and all, against the far wall. He crashed to the ground in a chorus of clanging armor. Natham rushed over and caught him by the back of the neck, lifting him from the ground.
Terror filled the eyes of even Skatlor and Agnoril at the sight of the mighty Nanthor lord swinging so helplessly in the Monster's grip. Then there was a moment of intense silence. Lord Vullcarin looked into Natham's eyes with fear. Skatlor and Agnoril looked on in amazement.
The silence was broken by the sound of sobbing. Natham turned his head and looked behind the throne. There he saw a small girl, weeping and clutching the back of the seat, watching with horror in her eyes as the Monster held the Harz Lord in his grasp.
Natham perceived at once that this young girl was the man's daughter. He lowered him to the ground and released his neck. 'Take your family, your countrymen, and all that you can carry upon your backs and leave this mountain forever. Do not hesitate and do not look back, for we will not spare any who defy us.'
'You will not give me my honor then?' the humbled Lord protested. 'Must I seek my death from one of these cowards then?' he said looking at Agnoril and Skatlor.
'They have no honor to give you,' Natham said as he sheathed his sword. 'Let the order be given,' Natham said boldly. 'Let all the
Harz and all the Vestri depart from this place in peace, provided they lay down all their weapons and swear never to return to Thasbond nor to set foot upon Fhuhar's fiery slopes again.'
Agnoril protested, 'The Lady would never approve of such wreckless mercy! She will have your head for this foolishness!'
Natham's eyes flashed with anger, 'I have no duty to your witch! I agreed only to fight until Whately was released, and even then I made no promise to fight with the Merkata. I only said I would fight against Harz. By your own words you have proclaimed me to be your Lord. If I am your lord, then let the order stand. But if I am not your lord, then do not pretend to bind me with duties to your Lady. Might I not, by Conqueror's Rights, make myself Lord of Thasbond in Vullcarin's place? Who would dare stop me? Do you not understand, Agnoril? All there is in this world is power. And do I not hold it in my hands? Can I not smash your heads together and make an end of the Merkata's Heroes? Who then would fight against me? Who would not flock to my side to be spared my fury? I do not doubt that I could summon to my side the armies of Meldomnon, Nanhur and Hele alike.'
Agnoril and Skatlor said nothing. They seemed to shrink as the monster approached them. In their minds they were certain that he was coming to made good his threat.
'Have you learned nothing at all in the time that the Lord Whately was among you?' Natham continued, now with almost a sorrowful tone in his voice. 'He fought for you not because he hated the Harz, but because he hated the suffering of the Merkata, who in years past had welcomed him. What welcome awaits him now? Will your queen renew her offer of love? Love? Your lady loves only power. But there is a strength that works without power, such as you have seen in the Lord Whately and such as you see before you now.'
The two lords of the Merkata stood in silence, not daring to speak a word. Natham laughed and turned to Lord Vullcarin and his terrified daughter. 'The Stars have betrayed you, Vullcarin. They have betrayed your brothers to their dooms and you to the loss of your kingdom. Now leave, and do not cross the Stars yourself by trying to regain this land. I call the Stars of Heaven to witness against you: In the day that you set foot upon this Mountain; in that very hour, the Judgment of the Astral gods shall fall upon you.'
'It shall be as you have spoken,' he said as he rose from the ground. 'Tell me your name. For in you I see more honor than in all the Merkata and Harz combined.'
'I am called Natham,' he answered.
'Are you not a god yourself?' Vullcarin asked with a bow.
'I do not want to be a god,' he said coldly.
Vullcarin turned and picked his shield off of the ground. 'This is Admunth. It was made of the last Adamant that ever was mined from this sacred mountain. In it is the very strength of Fhuhar himself. As you see, it has kept its bearer from all harm. I give it to you, for it ought not depart from the Lord of Thasbond, though I must depart from the lordship.'
'I do not want to be lord of Thasbond,' Natham answered.
'Nevertheless,' Vullcarin said as he put the shield in the monster's arms. 'I give it to you as a gift. It is worth more than my life, which you have already spared.'
With those words, Vullcarin was led away and brought south to the gates of the city. Again he was reminded of Natham's curse and the futility of attempting revenge. To this he agreed and on the second morning after the city was taken, he departed the Mountain of Fire forever and disappeared from the legends and histories of mankind along with his family and relatives.