Destiny

by Pedro Urvi

  “If it was because of the medallion they’d also be looking to kill Aliana, Asti and the other two bearers. But they’ve only come for me. Why, Haradin? Why me?”

  “That, young Norriel, whether you believe it or not, I don’t know. But I’m convinced that it’s of supreme importance. What I do know, and I think you do too, Komir, is that you’re a Chosen, with a profoundly important destiny. And that destiny might be the cause of your pain and sorrow. In some way I also think it’s linked to that Ilenian medallion which hangs at your neck. It can’t be a coincidence. In fact, I’m convinced it isn’t.”

  “And if it is?”

  “That’s what we must find out, before it’s too late: not only for you, but for all Tremia.”

  Blood Conquest

  Isuzeni smiled as he gazed at the spectacle of death and destruction which extended across the rolling plain. From the top of the hill, accompanied by two of his acolytes and surrounded by the hundred Moyuki who protected him, he admired the power of his Mistress’s army. Thousands of enemies lay dead on the plain, countless rivulets of warm blood came down from mounds of bodies, feeding a red river of death.

  The weak in spirit looked away, since the spectacle upset their stomachs. So much blood had been shed that day that the mud was the color of wine. Huge black-feathered, white-necked vultures hovered in circles above the human remains, in hope of a banquet such as they had not enjoyed in those lands for a long time.

  “The city is ours, my Lord,” General Kowasi said, bowing deeply before the High Priest.

  Isuzeni looked at the general of the first army, three of whose captains were accompanying him. They all wore the same full layered armor, black as night, with on their chests the white breastplate with a red triangle: the emblem of the first army.

  “Call back your troops and send in the Moyuki, they can finish off anybody still breathing. I don’t want prisoners, we mustn’t show any pity towards the enemies of the Empress.”

  “So it shall be done, my Lord,” General Kowasi said, bowing. He turned and went away down towards the river.

  Isuzeni looked at the conquered city below. It burned with the great flames of war. The cloak of corpses which stretched before it was nothing but the prelude to the desolation which had come to this kingdom.

  Erenalia, capital of the proud, and until a few days ago flourishing, Kingdom of Erenal.

  How foolish her king had been not to surrender the city and kingdom to the power of the Dark Lady. Dasleo would pay very dearly for his folly.

  “General of the second army,” Isuzeni called, with his eyes fixed on the black smoke from the high part of the city which was rising to the evening sky.

  General Orasi presented himself and awaited his orders with a deep bow. “Here, my Lord.”

  Isuzeni looked at the blue breastplate with the red triangle, emblem of the second army.

  “This fire mustn’t reach the Great Library of Bintantium. The knowledge amassed there is immense. A treasure rivaled by very few, and one I’ve had my eyes on for a long time. I want it for myself, General. Have your men make sure of it. If the Library or its contents suffer any damage, you’ll be impaled alive above the wall.”

  “The Great Library will remain intact, my Lord,” the General said, his back rigid, and left at speed.

  “Narmos, come here,” Isuzeni called his acolyte.

  “I am here, Master. How may I serve you?”

  “The Master Archivists of the Order of Knowledge, what’s become of them?”

  “Some have perished, my Lord. But most have fled and taken refuge in the Thousand Lakes.”

  “I’m not pleased to hear that, although of course it was to be expected. Those scholars are as valuable as the knowledge stored in the Great Library. I want to gather them all together, their minds, their knowledge, and put them to my service. Knowledge is the seed of success in life, learning the most precious good. Whoever possesses those things will be capable of dominating kingdoms. Find them and bring them to me.”

  Narmos nodded.

  “Cenem has gone after them, Master; he’s sure to bring them back. He took a party of Moyuki with him.”

  “That might be so, but I’m not so sure he’ll manage. The Thousand Lakes are a labyrinth where it’s all too easy to get lost, and the scholars will have prepared a clear escape plan. I need my maps. Go get them.”

  While Narmos obeyed his orders, Isuzeni gazed out to the west. Great forests lined the horizon, and his mind was caught at once by the vision of the first masses of blue of the eternal lakes. The Thousand Lakes… That wonder of Nature represented a logistical problem for the Dark Lady’s armies, and he had to find a solution as soon as possible. Yuzumi, Supreme Empress, would not tolerate any delay. They had to move west, towards Rogdon, now. Isuzeni had to find a pass through that maze of forests and lakes. It had to be a pass wide enough for the black army to cross and reach Usik territory, on the edge of the endless forests. That presented another problem to solve: the wild men of jade and their unfathomable forests…

  Let’s face each problem separately, step by step, without fear or hesitation, using that gift the gods have blessed us with: intelligence, together with the patience of the one who knows how to wait to gather the fruits of the seed he planted, he said to himself to strengthen his resolve.

  The great game was entering its most crucial phase. Before the moves might have been critical, but now every act was vital.

  I will leave nothing to chance; she’s a bad traveling companion and might turn treacherous. The man who wishes to succeed in the art of war, as in any other aspect of life, must plan every step, leaving nothing to the capricious fates.

  Remembering this maxim, he relaxed. Everything was going according to the meticulously-worked-out plan. Progress was good; his strategy was working.

  “The maps, my Lord,” Narmos said, his arms loaded with half a dozen great rolls of parchment tied with leather strips.

  Isuzeni gave them a cursory glance. He knew them in detail, he had them tattooed in his mind, he had studied them thousands of times. He could recognize them without needing to unroll them: a whitish one for the North, a yellowish one for the South, two greenish ones for the West and another two bluish ones for the East. He had spent countless hours studying those maps, planning the moves of the great game which had now led them to that moment and place in time. He selected the second of the maps of the East and opened it before his eyes. He stared at the Thousand Lakes represented on it, with the craggy forests and wooded hills which surrounded them.

  “When will the scouts I sent out return?”

  “It would take normal men several days to come back, but since they’re White Tigers… they’ll be here by nightfall.”

  “Right, that’s good to know. I need to be sure the path I’ve traced out is perfectly viable. In any case, I’ll send a thousand men to secure the route. Foolish is the man who doesn’t foresee the next move and make sure of it. Let them be men of the third army. I trust General Yasomori.”

  “At your command, my Lord.”

  The rhythmic sound of drums thundering in the distance made the High Priest and his acolyte turn and look east. Isuzeni’s heart took delight in the advance of the Empress’s troops. Yuzumi was arriving at the head of three of her seven armies, and like an unstoppable swarm, thousands of black ants completely covered the green hills and made their way down towards the river. The black tide covered all, tinged with red from the standards and banners. Spellbound, Isuzeni contemplated the power of his Mistress, secretly coveting that power for himself —a wish which could never be revealed, one the mere thought of which put him at risk of losing his head. It was his impression that the black tide was devouring everything in its path, and as Isuzeni knew well, that was indeed the case.

  A little before nightfall they reached Isuzeni’s war camp. In the midst of the great black tide, he identified his Empress. She was borne on the shoulders of the fifty strongest men of Toyomi, in a magnificent gol
den palanquin. This was so big that it had room for a dozen slave-girls who attended to each and every one of the Empress’s needs. A regiment of a thousand Moyuki surrounded their mistress, advancing in close formation. They wore their dress-armor, black as night, polished like ceremonial steel. Fearful masks covered their faces, and fixed on their backs they carried banners which rose six feet high and fluttered in the wind, red as the death they presaged.

  The three armies camped east of the river. With the unequaled efficiency of an experienced, perfectly trained army, the war camps were set up with martial order and in no time: the Fifth army to the northeast, the Sixth to the southeast and the Seventh closing off the rear. Hundreds of small fires were lit a moment before the coming of twilight. Isuzeni walked across to Yuzumi’s tent, made of canvas as black as her soul, embroidered in red like the blood of those who got in her way. When he arrived he gazed back at the high part of the city, which was still burning. In the light of the flames he could make out the Moyuki finishing off the last survivors. He walked in to see his Empress.

  He found her standing in the middle of the tent, surrounded by a dozen fearsome bodyguards. The light of the oil lamps bathed her in a golden gleam, underlying her unequaled beauty, a beauty as lethal as death itself. She wore her sensual, close-fitting body armor, it was like a second skin, one of curved steel. But what most impressed the experienced High Priest once again was that arresting gleam in his Mistress’ jet-black eyes, which could only mean one thing: blood and power.

  “Isuzeni, bring him to me,” the Dark Lady ordered in her firm, velvet voice.

  “Yes, my Lady,” the High Priest replied. He snapped his fingers towards the entrance of the tent.

  A few moments later Narmos entered, carrying his conjuring axe in one hand and the skull of necromancy in the other. He was followed by two enormous Moyuki, between them dragging the semi-conscious King: Dasleo of Erenal.

  “So this is the great King Dasleo, patron of the arts, great benefactor of the Order of Knowledge. Wake him up!” ordered the Dark Lady.

  One of the Moyuki grabbed a pail of water from one of the servants and emptied it over the King. Dasleo came to his senses amid moans of pain. The two Moyuki raised him by his arms and the King remained hanging like a puppet. Isuzeni stared at him. This was a broken man, both in body and in spirit.

  “Did you ever believe, insignificant worm, that you could stand before me? Me?” the Empress accused him. The fury in her voice was unmistakable.

  King Dasleo tried to speak.

  “I… I had… no choice…”

  “How do you dare say such a thing? Did my heralds not deliver my proposal?”

  “I couldn’t… surrender the city… you’d have killed us all…”

  “You’ll never know that, you miserable little king of the mid-east. What I do want you to know before I finish with you is that by refusing you’ve condemned all your people, all your kin, to die. Your city is burning, there’s nobody left alive from your royal household, and your kingdom is nothing more than a memory.”

  “No… no… my family…” stammered the king between sobs.

  “Yes, I killed them all, your wife and your two sons, and let me assure you, they suffered. That’s the price to pay for those who dare to oppose me. You’ve delayed me four weeks, and time is something I don’t have now. For that I’ll make you pay for your impertinence in true agony. Nobody opposes my designs! Nobody!”

  The Dark Lady drew her red steel sword and taking a step toward Dasleo, made a sweeping stroke. Isuzeni watched the defeated king’s face. His eyes opened in a mixture of surprise and pain, his stomach split open and the man’s entrails spilled out onto the floor.

  “Pick them up and show them to him!” ordered the Dark Lady.

  The Moyuki did so.

  “Look upon them, proud King, they’re the last thing you’ll ever see.”

  Dasleo, his face distorted, looked at his guts and died amid convulsions, trying to mutter something unintelligible.

  “Take him away from my presence,” the Empress said disdainfully.

  Isuzeni watched the proud King of Erenal being carried out. In fact, he had stood up to the Empress’s troops and done it extraordinarily well. Undoubtedly he was a master of strategy, with a truly sublime knowledge of the art of war. But alas for him, the armies under Isuzeni outnumbered his by five to one, and the arcane arts of his acolytes had helped to sway the fight. Even so, Dasleo had caused great losses, and what was even worse, had delayed the advance of the main section of the army. This had infuriated the Dark Lady.

  “And the other false monarch?” demanded the Empress.

  Isuzeni glanced at Narmos and nodded. His acolyte left the tent, to return a moment later, followed by a Moyuki carrying something covered with a cloth in his hands. Isuzeni stepped toward the Moyuki and pulled aside the cloth, revealing the head of Caron, King of Zangria.

  “Just as you requested, my Lady: the head of the King of the Zangrians on a silver platter.”

  “Hah!” Yuzumi exclaimed, in what Isuzeni took to be laughter. “You’ve made my day, High Priest. I didn’t expect you to carry out my wishes so literally.”

  “I live to please you, my Lady.”

  “And today you have indeed pleased me. That fiend had the audacity to kill my heralds. I hope there’s nothing left standing in his capital.”

  “We burnt everything to the ground. It will still burn for days, and only ashes and rubble will still be there to be remembered.”

  “And the royal family?”

  “Put to the sword.”

  “All of them?”

  “All, without exception. As you commanded, my Lady.”

  “Ah! How much the news you bring pleases me. And tell me, you who are a master strategist and know the art of war better than anyone else, how is it that two kings of the mid-east, regents of prosperous and sovereign nations, didn’t unite to fight my armies?”

  “Because pride is stronger than reason, my Lady. The pride of kings, their ego, doesn’t allow intelligent men, even brilliant ones, to see what is so obvious that a mere beggar would understand it. Dasleo and Caron, their royal families, had hated each other for generations. Peace, an understanding in the face of a common enemy, was something inconceivable to their proud, foolish minds. And pride always leads to man’s ruin.”

  “You’re a wise man. Have you managed to save your precious Library, with all that knowledge accumulated in it? Will you be able to enjoy it?”

  “Yes, my Lady. The high part of the city is still burning, the cathedral was destroyed by uncontrolled fire, but the Great Library of Bintantium, in the lower part of the city, has been spared from the burning and I’ve ordered its protection.”

  The Dark Lady signaled to her guards, who took away the remains of both monarchs.

  “I am pleased, Isuzeni. Now prepare my army, is time to conquer Tremia”.

  A Midnight Meeting

  Deeply worried, Aliana stared at the patient lying in the bed. This man was on the brink of death. His wounds were too serious… He would not recover; even all her power and that of her Sister Healers could not keep him from the implacable death which was already hovering above the body. An almost funereal silence pervaded the lordly chamber, a silence which was far from bearing any hint of good news. The healers of the Order of Tirsar had spent days caring for the feverish patient, struggling tirelessly to maintain the fragile thread of life. It was a task which required a great deal of healing power and extreme care. The most experienced Sisters were taking turns; otherwise the white bearded old man with would die.

  Gerart had left her in the company of her Sisters several hours before, and she was noting the care with which they tended the patient. Seeing the Prince again had unleashed a whirlwind of feelings within her. Her pulse was galloping, her cheeks were hot, and as she had looked into the blue eyes beneath his blond hair all she had been able to do was take her leave of him with a nervous smile.

  One of h
er Sisters went by carrying a wash basin and ointments. She said with a smile: “I’m so happy to see you, Aliana, happy you’re safe and sound. You had us so worried!”

  Aliana smiled and stroked her arm. Another of the Healers, one Aliana knew very well as she had tutored her, came to her and hugged her impulsively. “How wonderful! I still can’t believe it!”

  Aliana smiled at Gena, her dear pupil. “I feel the Gift is strong in you, Gena. More so than I remembered. You’ve been working on it in my absence, haven’t you?”

  “Just like you taught me to, teacher,” Gena replied with a wide smile. “I’m so happy to see you! It’s a miracle!”

  “How happy we all are,” Mother Healer Sorundi added, walking into the room and kissing Aliana on both cheeks like a mother. “By Helaun, Founding Mother of our Order, how worried you had us all, and how pleased we are to have you among us once again. Worry was gnawing away at us and sadness was weighing down our spirits. How wonderful to have you back safe and sound!”

  “Thank you, Mother Healer. I’m very happy too to be among my Sisters after so long.” Aliana looked at her dear Sisters, so out of place in that sumptuous room of the Royal Palace, so devoted and generous, as always.

  “I never lost hope, my daughter, I always kept it alive. I clung to the thought that somehow you would survive, that you’d find your way back home. When Prince Gerart brought us Haradin and told me all about that tragic expedition to those distant lands I could hardly believe him. My Protectress daughters… all dead… my child Aliana lost… What a terrible thing to happen! It broke my heart. And then to see you come in through the door, together with Gerart: it was as if the heavens had opened and a wonderful sun dazzled me and healed my wounded heart. I was left speechless, my little one. I couldn’t believe it, you were coming back to us when we’d practically given you up for dead. I’m overwhelmed with happiness, my heart is overjoyed.”