Overlords

by Matthew M Pyke

  King Pallan placed his hand on Errit’s shoulder and smiled at him gently.

  Errit quieted down.

  “Reiluus, what is meant by ‘Kaiper’, then? The Denaveive used that word to describe or name the stone.”

  Reiluus turned in his seat a little to address King Pallan. “The shift in language over time.”

  “So, ‘Kaiper’ is the ‘Kave’rea’ in the phrase?”

  Reiluus bowed his head to him very slowly. “Precisely. It is a corruption, from the perspective of the original tongue, by a later language, as time passes.”

  “But is there a correlation between the two?”

  Reiluus shook his head at King Pallan. “No, other than the shift in tongue over time …”

  “Spoke of ‘translucence’.”

  Reiluus was about to answer; but Gileaind remarked, “Transparency, sire.” He looked at Reiluus. “Am I correct to say this?”

  Reiluus dipped his head to him.

  Gazing distantly at the shelf above the desk, King Pallan mumbled, “A four-sided transparent stone composed of triangles.” Coming to, he shook his head and commented in a near whisper, “Strange.”

  “Which raises the question, records keeper, where is the original tunnel drawing? Can you lead us to it?”

  Reiluus shook his head. “The ground shakings sealed off that section of the Archives; it is no longer accessible.”

  King Pallan glanced at the ceiling. Droplets of water were falling from it, intermittently. “Which reminds me—is this area safe?”

  Reiluus answered after returning the second piece of parchment to the pouch lying on the desk. “It should be. That is rainwater falling from the ceiling …”

  King Pallan studied the ceiling warily, as did Errit.

  Gileaind came right up to Reiluus and implored, “The Temple of Xydan—has it been searched? Have you and the other brothers found anything else inside the ruins that could indicate where the stone is now?”

  Reiluus seemed almost vexed by the question. After pausing to think, he soon revealed, “The temple was run by an order of monks called the Adherents of the Serpents of Wind. But that order has long been disbanded. Evidently, they managed the stone, along with other things. Nothing has turned up.”

  King Pallan turned to two soldiers beside him. “Search it at once.”

  The soldiers bowed to him and then immediately departed the cramped chamber for the ruins of the ancient temple.

  King Pallan challenged Reiluus. “Why has this been kept from me?”

  Reiluus gave his reply after a moment. “We only just uncovered the riddle of the stone an hour or so before you arrived. As day made its way back into the world …”

  King Pallan grumbled and paced, his arms folded.

  Gileaind scoffed, “Adherents of the Serpents of Wind.”

  Errit demanded, “What the blazes do we do now?”

  King Pallan stopped for an instant and shot back, “At least we know what the stone is—or was.”

  Another council member agreed, “Yes-yes-yes. The keeper of records, along with the other brothers, has uncovered the meaning of the stone. And where it once was. Possibly still is …”

  Reiluus commented, “It is doubtful the stone is still there.”

  King Pallan insisted, “It will be searched most thoroughly, my good archivist. If it is still there, my men will find it.”

  Reiluus nodded to him. “Forgive me, My King; a slip of the tongue.”

  King Pallan, after walking in circles, began exploring the room. Reiluus remained seated at the table against the wall opposite the doorway to the chamber, a kind of index room containing volumes on the historical record that indicated where a work was stored presently or if a book or parchment was missing and why. Two guards hung about the entrance to the dark room with swords at their sides.

  King Pallan’s eyes came across a large volume titled Diachronic Register of the Third Age. He lifted the heavy volume from the shelf bolted to the stone wall and opened it carefully; the inside was full of dust. Giving it a quick blow, he liberated a large cloud of dust. He began choking at once. So did Gileaind, who came near.

  “My Lord, the council has discussed the recent events and is eager to return to the castle to contemplate their import.” Gileaind coughed a few times. He squinted hard at King Pallan.

  In a coughing fit, King Pallan waved his hand back and forth, trying to free the air from the asphyxiating dust particles. He looked briefly at Reiluus after his coughing subsided. The scribe was hunched over his table, writing something, the candle occasionally flickering. Facing Gileaind again, he remarked, “That can wait. I desire to learn more about these Denaveive—what they actually are.” He inspected the volume briefly and said rather softly, “Or are not.”

  “But sire, surely we know enough to proceed with—”

  King Pallan placed his right index finger over his lips, grinning.

  Gileaind lowered his head dismissively.

  Still holding the dark green volume, which had a faded and worn binding, King Pallan commanded, “Records keeper, I desire to know more about the Denaveive. Have you any record of them?”

  Reiluus stopped writing at once and looked up. Turning on his stool, he said, “Perhaps, sire. There is mention of ‘watchers’ in several historical records. Whether or not these refer to the Denaveive seen above the castle grounds is another matter.”

  “Then it is something to confirm. I want to know about them.”

  “Yes, sire; at once.” Reiluus rose from his stool and adjusted his lantern.

  Gileaind came nearer to King Pallan and complained, “Sire, ought we not leave and begin the search for the stone? Delaying the search by searching the Archives for beings that none of us understand only postpones the remedy for the kingdom.”

  Errit joined in. “I agree with Gileaind, sire; we should begin at once to find the Kaiper Stone of Ayren.”

  King Pallan scanned the volume a while longer. “My good councilmen, who is to say that the stone isn’t still in the Temple of Xydan? Buried under rubble—in some hidden enclave of prehistory. And where will we begin our search? Hmm?” He looked at both.

  Gileaind and Errit glanced at each other.

  Returning his attention to the decrepit volume of linguistics, King Pallan remarked, “We will wait here for their report.”

  “And what if they do not find it? The stone.”

  King Pallan answered, “Then, Errit, we will begin a new search. In the meantime, I plan on finding out more about these Denaveive, which have been threatening my kingdom.” He looked at Errit. “The proper course, wouldn’t you say?”

  Errit made the faintest appearance of protest, as if to grumble, but caught himself and replied, “Yes, My Lord—the proper course.”

  King Pallan looked back at the volume. “Good. Then we shall wait for the Order to assemble, and together, all of us, we will search this historical record for these ‘Denaveive’—formless marauders—menacing my lands.” He went back trying to understand the words written on the page he had turned to.

  Errit and Gileaind pivoted their heads to each other briefly, and then back at their king. They both said, “Yes, sire.”

  King Pallan bobbed his head as he mumbled to himself. He began to walk away from them. As he approached a small table in the corner of the room, a man burst in, shouting.

  “Sire-sire!”

  Gileaind jumped in place as Errit swung around. King Pallan froze; his face turned colourless.

  “Sire-sire!”

  One of the guards grabbed hold of the man as he fell to the floor. “Get a hold of yourself, man! Get a hold of yourself!”

  The man, wearing only a tattered shirt and torn trousers, was completely winded. The soles of his unshod feet were bleeding, hinting that he had run a long distance over rough ground.

  King Pallan finally responded to the man’s cries. “What is the meaning of this disturbance? Why have you come here—who permitted you to see me? We are
on an official inquiry into matters important for the kingdom. And you come flying in, babbling like a madman, startling us! What do you have to say for yourself? Speak up!”

  The man, held up by both guards, his chest heaving and his face wrenched and frightened, soon said, “Sire, please forgive me. I would never presume to disturb you.”

  King Pallan, the book still in his hand, urged, “Go on. You have my ear for the present.”

  Steadying the rhythm of his chest, the man announced with unquestionable firmness, “An invasion force has been spotted near Denal.”

  Everyone in the room turned to each other; even Reiluus had, subtle as it was, an expression of alarm, for he had been drawn back by the man’s shouting.

  King Pallan approached the man, his gaze intensifying. “What?”

  The man, slobbering, tried speaking, but the guards reprimanded him.

  King Pallan instructed the guards softly, “Let him speak.”

  The man announced his name. “I am Jelvon, of the village Crade, a tower worker. What I say is utter truth.”

  Errit interjected angrily, “Sire—this man has burst in and disrupted your work. Look at his clothes; they are all filthy and tattered. There is no way to verify his story. He could be lying. None of the guards present are aware of such an event. Why believe him?”

  Gileaind, along with other council members, agreed. Gileaind said loudly, “All tales. He tells tales, sire. No such thing has happened. Look at him—he’s a common vagabond.”

  The terrified villager, with watering eyes, spittle-covered lips, and sweat-beaded face, retorted, “No! No! I tell no tales. Sire—you must believe me! The outer tower by the Glen of Obyn signalled with three flashes to the tower at Mymrey. Strange men—not of the kingdom—mounted on horses were seen coming up the Kelsian Valley. They appeared armed and ready for conflict.”

  King Pallan shuddered at the words. He looked at his councilmen. “Can this be true?” They did not answer. All were growing concerned now.

  Jelvon shrunk from an advancing King Pallan, who had placed the book he had been holding on the table near the bookshelf in the corner of the room. “You had better be telling the truth. Not only have you entered a place where your presence is not permitted, you have done so in a manner that is deserving of death!”

  Jelvon exclaimed, “I swear to you, sire! I am telling the truth! The land of Paladia—”

  At this moment, several guards appeared at the doorway. One of them said, with concern echoing in his voice, “Sire, we let him pass. It took us time to reach you with the armour we wear.”

  King Pallan surveyed them with mixed suspicion.

  The guard continued, “Let the responsibility of allowing him to come here fall on us, squarely. Please hear us—him—Our King.”

  King Pallan responded softly, “Go on; continue.”

  The two guards holding Jelvon stepped aside, allowing the soldiers to enter the chamber.

  “Reports are coming in of forces massing near Javind.”

  King Pallan, who now appeared anxious, pressed the solider. “And what of the outer tower by the Glen of Obyn?”

  The soldier answered, “All dead.”

  “Is it true?”

  The soldier confirmed, solemnly, with a finality that shook one to the core, “It is true; they have all died.”

  King Pallan made a fist and shook it as he peered at the floor of the nexus room. “No—it can’t be.” He returned his fiery gaze to them. “Who dares attack my kingdom?”

  The soldier replied, “We do not know, sire—yet. But we shall know with certainty very soon.”

  King Pallan came closer to them, his voice filled with desperation. “But what of the border defences? The outposts at Magaden?”

  “All destroyed. The enemy is an elusive one; appeared to know how to circumvent multiple border walls and several signalling towers. They are on the move, sire—presumably headed here. May I suggest we gather our defences around the castle? I can—”

  Everyone looked up at the ceiling. The muted sound of horse hoofs, pounding on areas of ground cleared of the snow, thudded above.

  King Pallan asked timidly, “Ours?”

  The soldier answered firmly, “Ours. The news of the report has spread quickly—our forces are preparing for battle.”

  “The snows will slow them down.”

  The soldier commented, “Perhaps, sire; buy us a little time. But we must not delay. An invasion force has entered the perimeter of Paladia, making fast ground for here. It cannot be permitted to enter Halcon.”

  King Pallan finished the thought. “The last line of defence.”

  The soldier nodded gravely. “Only a short gallop from there to the castle grounds.”

  “Blast!” King Pallan walked in circles, like a caged man-eating tiger waiting for the slightest opportunity to spring from its prison and attack its jailors. “Who dares to enter my kingdom! My hereditary lands? I will have their heads for this!”

  The soldier, appearing somewhat startled at his outburst, said with reassurance, “We are with you, sire. What is your command?”

  All eyes were now on King Pallan; the room had fallen deathly silent.

  Gritting his teeth and scowling, King Pallan said after several long moments, “I believe the report; we are under attack. Gather what forces we have and set them in defence of the castle. The enemy must not be allowed to enter castle grounds. Do you hear me? Must not be allowed to enter castle grounds …”

  All the soldiers (three along with their captain) and the two guards detaining Jelvon acknowledged the command. “Yes, sire; at once.”

  The armoured men left immediately.

  King Pallan said to the guards impeding Jelvon, “Allow him to go free.”

  The guards released their grip on the man, who stumbled forward a little.

  As he looked away, King Pallan remarked, “I am sorry to have doubted you. Please forgive me.”

  Stunned, the man answered, “Thank you, sire.”

  “Now go.”

  Jelvon gave a great bow and bolted from the room.

  Errit approached King Pallan quickly and asked, “What do we do now?”

  King Pallan gave him an angry look. “We fight.”

  Gileaind came by the side of Errit. With a petitioning face, he asked, “What is your order for the council, sire?”

  King Pallan paused to think. He responded hastily, “Have the council assemble in the Hall of Gallend; have them ready the people for invasion.”

  Errit and Gileaind both bowed to him. “At once.”

  The council members hurried from the dark chamber, each vying to reach the exit ahead of the others, at times nearly tripping on their long robes.

  King Pallan turned in place and commanded Reiluus, “Archivist—instruct the Order to search the Archive for the Denaveive. I must know more about them. I have a feeling they are behind all this …”

  The keeper of records made a slow dip of his head, and then made his way down a corridor, the bouncing light from his lantern soon disappearing.

  King Pallan instructed directly, “Come with me.”

  The remaining two guards followed King Pallan out of the nexus chamber. The trio headed briskly for the tunnel that connected the underground records site with the castle. Taking more than one wrong turn, King Pallan, losing his patience repeatedly, eventually found the correct junction, which joined with the aforesaid corridor. “Bloody a’bout time! You would think they would have put names or numbers on these tunnel walls—to make it easier to navigate them.”

  “Yes, sire,” the two guards said.

  King Pallan stopped without warning in the middle of the corridor; the dim light from the castle was leaching into the corridor’s end, some thirty yards away. “Have the other watch meet me in the auxiliary armoury, the one closest to the correspondence room—nay, delay that. Give me a moment to think.” He lowered his head. Snapping his finger hard once, he declared abruptly, “Have the Royal Guard meet me
in the attic; there are many weapons there.”

  The two men fired back, “At once, sire.”

  “Good—now go. Hurry. Be quick about it!”

  “Straightaway, sire!”

  “We shall empty all armouries, in defence of the castle!”

  “Right away, sire!” The two men scrambled as fast as they could for the end of the tunnel.

  The King and his men scoured the castle for weapons they could use against a faceless enemy, an enemy on the move, fast approaching the outer shire, the idyllic meadow lands encircling the Royal Castle Grounds. Storerooms were broken into in search of bows, arrows, bucklers, lances, torches, tar, maces, clubs, whips, spiked chains—anything that could be used to defend the castle and its lands proximate. Simultaneously, six regiments were sent in haste to meet the enemy at Galfora, a thirty-decatar (approximately twenty statue miles) distant village near the Ackatan Falls. Moreover, a gauntlet (series of booby traps) was set up at the perimeter of the castle grounds to thwart even the most determined of adversaries. Messengers were dispatched to various villages and settlements to warn them of the nearing hostile force and to take cover—if possible, to flee to the mountains in the west. There was an overwhelming sense of fear and anticipation hanging over the kingdom that intensified with each passing hour. The sporadic news that did come back did not paint a picturesque scene; the king’s forces were suffering heavy losses. The lack of adequate training and the lack of any real threat to Paladia for nearly seven decades could not be overcome by a woefully deficient defence force. The former glory of Paladia’s military was now being exposed for what it was: a patina-encrusted coin corroding silently beneath blurry waters, in a bed of sublimate composed of dead and dying refuse. Compounding the kingdom’s current predicament was the unruly weather, which had turned from snow to freezing rain, plating men and horse with a pellucid armour of frozen precipitate. The driving rain intensified until only the heartiest horseback riders could make their way through it, and then only slowly. Then, as suddenly as the pelting rains had come, they mysteriously ceased, leaving behind an ice-capped land of snow banks and drooping trees, withering and sagging from the biting cold and snow and ice.