

## KNIGHTS OF BABYLON

BY

## M.Y. ROGER

Copyright: M.Y. ROGER 2014

Published at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition

E-book License Edition Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given to other people. If you will like to share this eBook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only. Then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

All Rights Reserved.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of contents.

Chapter one. MUMMY IN CHURCH

Chapter two. SIGNS

Chapter three. THE KING'S COUNCIL

Chapter four. THE NURDORESS

Chapter five. THE CONSPIRACY AT GALADROSIA
SYNOPSIS

In the past one hundred years over two thousand deaths had been recorded in which a little black totem was found beside the victims, forensics showed the victims had died of accidents or natural complications. To many the deaths were either a hoax, spiritual or accidental in nature as there had never been proven any connections between the victims.

When a four thousand year old mummy appears on a church altar with another totem beside it, DNA reports prove it to be a priest who was alive the previous day. FBI special agent Rice a man with zero believe in the supernatural but an expert in solving supernatural cases must solve the mysterious circumstances surrounding the case.

His investigations reveal a secret bloody war between two secret societies, the Knights of Babylon and the Watchers for global supremacy. The knights of Babylon had gone diabolic, with the aid of a voodoo priest codenamed "the Black Pope" who had roused an ancient Babylonian mystic codenamed "the Black Ghost" to carry out spiritual assassinations on the Watchers, murders that mystifies and defies conventional forensic means to solve.

Rice teams up with a pretty Watcher, a woman bent on revenge from her past assigned to spy on him, a woman he is beginning to have feelings for. The course of his investigations takes him from the shores of America to the hut of a Voodoo priest deep in the jungles of Nigeria. To the most secret vault of the Vatican beneath the Pope's bedchamber, to a secret crypt beneath the Church of the Holy Apostle (Fati Camil) in Istanbul in search of the elusive Knights of Babylon, as he escapes the Black Ghost. Unknown to him that the course of events had been prophesied over two thousand five hundred years ago.
PROLOGUE

The church bell tolled for the 12th time tonight, father Pirlo knelt before the altar saying his prayers, before him a golden crucifix hung over a purple scarlet covering between two candles. The solemn atmosphere of the church in the midnight was shattered by the cracking and clattering sounds of things been scattered. The priest continued his prayers, the sound came again, this time it was apparent something was rendering havoc in his sanctum

The priest hurriedly concluded his prayers with the sign of the cross, and slowly retreated towards his office where the noise had not ceased. He touched the door knob and froze before opening it. There was only one entry the window and it was too little even for an average size burglar to get in through, and had burglary proof bars.

Father Pirlo opened the door, the room was dark and ghostly quiet, the light that streamed in through the door showed a little of the damage perpetuated in his absence. He gulped; his trembling hands reached for the switch on the wall, clicked it and in the illumination that resulted his once meticulously arranged office was in a horrendous mess. His liturgical books and garments were heaped on the ground, the shelves and cabinets broken and tossed everywhere in the mayhem.

"What in God's name happened here?" He asked himself in utter astonishment, his heart palpitating furiously against his rib cage. He knelt to pick the littered books, when the light bulb above faltered; perhaps something was wrong with the old electrical system of the church he thought.

The light bulb went dead then came on again, within a second it was dead again for the second time, and in the darkness that ensued he could feel the air in the room get colder as it stirred, and in the stirring air he could hear a shrill voice like that of a hissing serpent about to strike.

Father Pirlo sprang up and grasped the rosary that hung around his chest.

"The lord is my shepherd I shall not want, I will walk through the valley of the shadow of death and shall fear no evil." He said to himself.

The light bulb came to life again above him; his whole room was filled with a formless dark misty figure that was taking up the shape of a man. A sharp pain of terror seared his heart, an ominous dread issued before the evil he had just beheld. The frail priest turned and fled towards the altar; behind him he could hear the clinking sound of iron footsteps as if a medieval knight in an armor of darkness followed.

The priest fell on the altar, the only place of refuge in the face of such a sinister evil.

"Mother of god, help me." He cried with his eyes tightly shut, his body convulsing with fear.

He opened his eyes, and standing five yards away from him was this black veiled demon.

"Who are you?" He stuttered.

"Nergal, death dealer! The bringer of death, servant of the Knight of Babylon. You have been weighed, found wanting and I bring judgment on you. MENE, MENE,TEKE, UPHARSIN." It said and threw a black totem to the priest chest.

Father Pirlo hurled a vial of holy water at the face of his enemy, but it didn't allay its advancing rage. Its cold throttling hands soon wrapped around his neck and smothered the priest; the darkness fell over the altar and never wavered.

CHAPTER ONE

MUMMY IN CHURCH

The major headline on the New York Times that morning boldly read, "JAMAICAN SERIAL RITUAL KILLER CAUGHT." The Chicago tribune read, "NEW YORKERS BREATH SIGH OF RELIEF." Another headline read, "VOODOO HEAD HUNTER APPREHENDED." All the news outlets went viral with the story about the capture of the serial killer that had almost grounded New York City.

Agent Rice paid the newspaper vendor along Seventh street as he took a copy of the tribune, he was lucky his face didn't appear on the paper as the agent who had cracked the case, he would have been mobbed. Someone, somewhere had licked his name out to the media, and now he was on the run, made a fugitive by his new found fame. A horde of journalist had gathered outside the federal building at Albany awaiting him. He had been forewarned and as a result he was heading out of town, for whoever had leaked his name could have leaked his address also, therefore he expected nothing but an ambush at home.

Staring at agent Matt Rice, in his blue white stripped shirt, grey suit jacket and black pants with black leather shoes to match, one would think what a charming middle aged man he was. At forty three years .... About six two with an imposing figure many who worked with him thought him to be snobbish, overly straight forward with a zero social life because of his reserve nature. He had a head of flame coloured hair, a pointed nose, flat chin with tight eyelids that made his eyes look almost invisibly seen.

The man seated next to him on the subway train was a hefty African American, gold Rolex on his muscular arm. He was reading the day's paper just as many in that coach, and the headline reminded Rice that he was a celebrity running away from his stardom, what a shame.

"Imagine what madness drove this schizophrenic to kill these innocent girls!" the man exclaimed remorsefully. "Thank god they got him. Hey! Haven't you read the news?" he asked when he discovered Rice wasn't forthcoming with any replies in their conversation.

Rice stared him in the face and felt like letting him on a little secret that he had solved the case, show the man his badge and asking him to check and correspond with the name of the lead agent on the paper.

Rice continued to stare into his paper, the steward announced over the address system that the train was approaching the next station; he could hear the shrill cries of the brakes as it slowed. At the next station the man alighted,

Rice just realised how much importance New Yorkers attributed to the case, it had gained the popularity and media blitz of a presidential election, a pontiff's death or the death of a major celebrity. He never had a celebrity persona, evading the media was the second best thing he knew how to do. Eight years ago when he recently got his first case after been commissioned out of the academy after leaving the army, he and his team were investigating in Dallas. One night a Russian gunman dubbed "Ivan the terrible" after an infamous Russian Czar, walked into a hotel and gunned down three agents, members of his team. Rice shot Ivan as he escaped; investigations revealed that a member of the team had talked to reporters from whence Ivan got wind of their activities.

After the incident in Dallas, he never spoke to any journalist again. Eight years back he was secretly dating a fellow agent, Chloe. She died at the hands of Ivan; her death brought an end to his love life. The lady that sat opposite him on the train reminded him much of her, pretty, brilliant, brunette hair flowing past her shoulders.

After the train ride, he took a cab to Bainbridge Ave, Brooklyn to the St. Ann's church. He wasn't a man of faith so he wasn't going to find solace in any religious activity, he was the kind of man who believed anything that could be seen, felt and explained by science and did not believe in anything supernatural. He remembered as a child being led to church by his mother, after mass he would wait to see Uncle Jose, who was a reverend father. After many years he stopped attending church and went to experience the world for himself, but he never ended his contact with the priest. Father Jose was never a blood relative, but after Rice lost his father at a tender age, Jose became his guardian, a father figure who was good at it.

Today he decided to pay the sexagenarian priest a visit; he knew he was always welcome there.

Rice could already anticipate the manner of the conversation to come, which seemed to be a debate between two worlds, two systems. A debate that had begun before either of them was born, while father Jose spoke from a spiritual point if view, he saw Rice as inexperienced speaking from a materialistic and scientific point.

He could remember the last time he and the old priest had sat down to discuss over coffee. Father Jose appeared troubled and was about divulging something Rice thought to be a secret, when he was interrupted. Rice had left without saying goodbye physically, though he later called to explain the emergency.

The March sun was beaming over the city, spring was at hand. He had wanted to call earlier to mention his arrival, but it was on a Sunday and the priest would be busy he thought.

It was two months after solving the Jamaican Head Hunter case, the bedside phone rung, he always hated the scenario of it waking him up before the bedside alarm that usually wakes him up at six. He rose up dazed and tired as if he had not being sleeping; he knew it was an emergency as not even the president would dare call him before six. The time was six minutes past five.

"Who's speaking?" He asked.

The other person spoke for a while and the call went dead, another murder in this city of a over nine million, where almost two murders occur every day wasn't a new thing. But this one was strange and had fallen beyond the jurisdiction of the NYPD to the FBI, and if he wasn't wrong he was sure he heard Henry say something like a Mummy in a church. For god sake they should call the Metropolitan museum of art not him, they might have lost a Mummy.

He fell back to his pillow, now he would either beg Hypnos for sleep or drug himself; he knew his body needed more sleep. He hadn't shut his eyes when the call came again, this time he just got direction and headed straight to work.

Despite the cold morning air, a crowd gathered beyond the yellow tape line that cordoned the crime scene at the stair of Holy Cross Church along Soundview Ave as forensics scanned for evidences, while cops kept the crowd at bay. FBI special agent Rice alighted from his black Tahoe. He gave a keen stare at the crowd of onlookers, he knew from experience that most killers would act normally like everyone when they come to relish their heinous act, most of the mourners were worshipers.

Rice came through the crowd and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, when a hefty NYPD cop with a stolid look intercepted him. He flashed his badge at the cop without saying a word and continues, agents were already at work taking statements and evidences from the crime scene.

He walked up the marbled stair of the gothic styled church that resembled those in Italy. On the huge Oak wood door was an image of the blessed virgin. This was the first murder he would investigate in a church in his carrier, he had seen murders perpetuated virtually every place on earth by all characters of people but never inside a church, such things didn't happen on hallowed grounds he had thought until today, but he had a premonition that this was to be the greatest case of his carrier.

The inner part of the church hall was under quarantine by the FBI hazard team. Forensic team dressed in quarantine suits, with oxygen cylinder strapped to their backs were going in and out.

"Good morning sir." Some one said from behind him. Turning back an average height agent with dark hair, blue narrow eyes of Asian descent. Agent john Li.

"Agent." Rice had never called anyone by their names ever since he learnt the devil's first name was Lucifer in kindergarten, he preferred to call people by either rank or occupation.

"Call came at 6.am, found a Mummy at the altar; everyone who has been in the church has been quarantined. Forensics fears it might be a hazardous transmissible disease like a virulent form of Ebola." Agent LI was a loquacious individual who spoke beyond what was needed most times.

"I need a quarantine suit. This is my case I need to see what we are dealing with here."

Rice went to the quarantine truck where he changed into a safety suit. Inside the church he stared at the renaissance paintings of the saints, and the huge bronze crucifix hanging over the altar. Three morticians were assiduously attending to the body with their instruments. One was Dr. Harrison and the other two would be Maggie and Craig, his interns.

"Good morning Rice." Dr Harrison said as he stood up.

"Morning doc." Rice said. The horror of the corpse stunned him that he paid little attention to the other two attendants. At his foot laid what appeared to be the Mummy of an Egyptian pharaoh missing its sarcophagus. But it was not wrapped in any shroud as was accustomed of Mummies but was in a neat liturgical vestment of a priest, a chaplet in its wreathed right hand and a broken vial containing holy water shattered at the threshold of the altar.

"Wonderful!" Rice exclaimed.

"I said that too." Harrison confessed.

"Call the Metropolitan museum and find out if any of their mummies is missing." Rice said to an attendant beside him. "This might be a hoax but not a murder."

"No need to do that, it appears like a Mummy but its not. Its skin is dried but look there is flesh beyond the coniferous layer. But who is this!"

"All the witnesses who were here before we came could swear it is their priest."

"The Vic died from a single stab wound to the neck; there is only an entry wound no exit wounds as you can see."

"Then what will metamorphose a man into a mummy in one day?"

"At first we thought it the Vic had come in contact with a virulent and weaponized biological agent but after running preliminary test we excluded that. Am stunned!" Dr Harrison said nodding his head.

"We found this a few meters from the Vic." Craig said and in a sealed plastic bag was a little black image, like a carven doll only without a head.

Rice received the bag and intently looked at the strange object.

"I have never seen anything like this before." He said.

"It's a totem, sir."

"Totem!" Rice said, he knew he had definitely heard that word before but could not tell where.

"It's a mystical object, voodoo, witchcraft."

"How do you know that?"

"She is a student of mysticism and metaphysics, and she attends a local temple in town." Craig said.

"Interesting." Rice said. He had learned not to ever believe in anything his senses could not feel, neither religion or in the supernatural.

"In fact I have my own theory concerning the murder." Maggie said. And without any further ado she began. "The broken vial contains holy water, the Vic was a priest therefore he was learned in exorcism, he must have thought he had seen a demon. Look his chaplet is still in his grip he was obviously praying when he died, and there is the totem to confirm my theory."

"Don't be too hasty, you might be right. But how did you know that that is the priest, have u carried out a DNA test? And secondly I believe demons are spirit you don't see them, so when did spirits start murdering people in the physical? I have seen worse than this keep whatever mystical theory you have to yourself." Rice had always been known to be blunt and to many insensitive and egocentric.

Rice left the side of the Vic and headed towards an open door, he switched on his flash light as he walked into a rummaged sanctum. This must definitely be where the struggle had started; at his feet were scattered books, shredded garments like the scene of two tussling bulls. On the floor next to the wall were a chunk of bills, which looked like offering collected from the previous day's mass that ruled out a robbery gone wrong. On the wall hung the picture of a priest in his 70's, looking frail, such an individual was in no condition to struggle with anyone he must have done the fleeing, meaning who ever had come in here must have rummaged this place in search of something and when he had found nothing, vented out all his frustration on the priest.

Rice went through all the papers on the ground, they were all church documents, he wished he could tell what was been sought after here, but he knew it was impossible to tell the deep mysteries of the human mind, it was unfathomable.

Outside a flock of reporters from the local TV channels had gathered like a flock of vultures hovering a carcass. Agent Mallory was giving a press statement; he obviously loved the limelight by his charming grins and eloquent speeches. Moments later the forensic team came out of the church wheeling a tightly sealed bag to an awaiting ambulance. The reporters rushed to take photographs in a mad frenzy.

It was midday when agent Rice got to the ..................building, parking his car in the area allotted to him due to his high status in the bureau. Strode into the elevator and punched in 7th floor, during the flight up his pondered over the mysterious death and from where he would take his lead, he considered Maggie's theory, though insane he imagined a carefully orchestrated murder carried out to look like the work of a demon, he chuckled. The elevator door opened, the air was fresh with the scent of pine, the cubicles were angled to the white wall amidst grey file cabinets and a bank of clean windows that overlooked the streets below.

As a senior Agent he had his own office, he hung his jacket on the rack behind his seat, went through the messages at his fax machine, there was one from Dickson his partner of three years who was vacating with his family in the Caribbean. Rice released the grip of his necktie as he took his seat, the sight of the murdered victim came fresh to his mind and once again he was lost in a mind boggling thought on how to begin the case. At 4.30pm that day the preliminary autopsy result was faxed to his desk, he watched as the machine belched up the paper with much anticipation. His eyes strayed first to the inference where the DNA confirmed that it was the priest who lay as dry as a four thousand year old mummy. It struck him at first like a huge joke, if not that he could vouch for the competence of Dr. Harrison the chief medical examiner, due to his long history of almost three decades of crime solving forensic work he would have screamed incompetent. Rice had not survived his bewilderment when his hand reached unconsciously for the receiver and dialed the mortician's number.

"The phone rang for a moment, then it was picked and the doctor's baritone voice answered.

"I just got the preliminary result."

"I knew you would call as soon as you saw it, so I waited. DNA showed it is the priest."

Rice knew a DNA result was infallible unless if tempered which was a federal crime. "Its damn strange."

"Who carried out the testing?" Rice asked.

"I did."

"But eye witnesses claimed the dead priest carried out evening mass just yesterday, then how did he turn into a three thousand year old mummy over night."

"If I say am not confounded by the mystery of this case am a liar, I think this time we would have to look beyond our means to solve this case." Rice knew the doctor was insinuating, unlike him who was as good as an atheist, Dr. Harrison was a protestant, and a staunch believer in the supernatural.

For a moment both men were silent on the line, at length Dr. Harrison spoke. "The secret to this riddle is to find what mummified our priest."

"Please do." Rice said and hung up.

Driving downtown to the mortician's office was less stressful and always permitted him sometime to think about the case at hand. Dr. Harrison was chewing a sandwich when Rice walked in, he swallowed hard. The air was cold and had the odor of chlorine and flesh, at a corner Maggie and Craig stood in their light green overalls like surgeons, nose sealed behind masks, their gloved hands holding glistening surgical implements, probing the gutted torso of a dead man that lay supine on the locker bed. What an awkward place this was, would be the first thought a stranger would have upon entering here but men like Dr. Harrison had come to call here home over the years, so fond was he of corpses that he left his sandwich a few inches from an open torso.

"Good morning Doc." Rice said, taking off his jacket he helped himself into an overall. Dr. Harrison went to a locker bed at the right end of the morgue took off a white cover cloth, and their laid the victim, dried and old as Ramses.

Rice and Harrison stood at both side of the mummy perhaps wandering by what contrivance or mystery they had found themselves here.

"I want to show you something." The chief mortician said. he switched on the UV light source over their heads. The corpse turned from black to dark blue like an alien specimen, he took a hand magnifying glass and passed it over to Rice, and beckoned him to look closely.

Rice stooped over the corpse, in the blue light the magnifying glass revealed intricate shapes and mystic runes that appeared to have come from an ancient and extinct civilization. Dr. Harrison heard Rice mutter some words.

"Amazing right?"

Rice looked up a strange bewildering look was in his eyes. "Strange! How did this come about?"

"I don't know but everything about this case baffles everyone. The markings are ancient Chaldea, Mesopotamia, or Babylonian. The winged bull is a Babylonian god "

"But there were no mummies in Babylon."

Dr. Harrison nodded in agreement. "Neither did the ancient Egyptians tattoo their mummies, and these markings could not be inscribed by the killer on the Vic, or was that what the killer was after but was completely fooled by the old priest?"

"What do you think of the markings?"

"It could be a message, a coded message. Well I can't read ancient Chaldea." Dr. Harrison said and shrugged his shoulders. "But whatever message it is will surely help us to figure out the motive behind this murder."

"Am afraid you are wrong doc." Rice said. "The markings were not what the killer was in search off, this are the insignia of the killer."

"His mark!"

"Yes, but you are right it could definitely got to do with the occult, remember the case of the Jamaican hunter." Harrison nodded, there was no way he could forget that case in a hurry, it was barely four months ago here in New York, a deranged schizophrenic who believed he could derive power from the murder of a dozen virgins, had murdered eleven young girls so coldly by beheading them. Rice solved the murder case, and it was during that time he had come to know agent Rice as a brilliant agent.

"The Jamaican left headless bodies behind, but this is different."

"The killer could be a worshipper, he would know that there will be hundreds of fingerprints everywhere after mass, and so no need to be discrete, he needs no alibi to clear his name, too bad we can't find a murder weapon."

"I thought so at first, but why would a priest instead of fleeing from his would be assailant use holy water to defend himself?"

Harrison thought for a moment. "He might have thought he was facing a demon." He conjectured looking speculatively at Rice. "It could be the killer was masked like a demon." Dr. Harrison walked over to his cabinet where he kept his secret solutions and came back with two glasses of brandy, one he handed over to Rice who instantly downed his glass.

Rice shook his head with his eyes tightly shoot as the hot sensation hurtled down his throat. "No. according to records this man has being a priest for over twenty years, he is a master when it comes to exorcism he won't be easily deceived by some theatrics."

"Someone somewhere knows something we need to know about this murder, and am going to get to them." Rice said in a serious tone with a vindictive intent. "What of the totem found at the scene?"

"I found a strange marking on it too, but this one was hand made not as smooth as that found on the priest mummy." He passed onto Rice a piece of paper with the photo of the totem on it and the carving enlarged. "I found something startling, in the past hundred years such totems have been found in their thousands all over the world, and they were found beside someone dead."

"Was autopsies carried out on the dead? We could be dealing with a worldwide serial killer here."

"No, most deaths were confirmed natural, accidental in fact to many a hoax."

"Well this isn't a hoax. This is not the first time such totems are found, but this is the first murder of this nature, so what was the inscription?"

"The totem appeared to be half burnt. But we found "RL" inscribed, the letters fit the middle words in the priest name."

"Then the killer knew our Vic, this rules out all nonsense talk about spirits."

"Anytime from now the lab analysis on the composition of the wood from which the totem was carved would be out, from that we could narrow it to a certain part of the world."

"About those markings on our Vic I think there is somewhere I need to check." Rice said as he put on his jacket again.

CHAPTER TWO

SIGNS

In the past week after the murder, Rice had become more accustomed to driving along 7th street which he had done everyday. The sleepless nights of the past week had taken its toll on him, his face looked more wrinkled as he looked at himself through the rear view mirror, he had drank more than he was used to and had smoked more cigarettes than a locomotive train. After this case he resolved to take a vacation in somewhere sunny with white beaches under the tropical sun with the sight of gorgeous women in bikinis, bathing and tanning in the sun, and the soothing sound of calypso music in the breeze. Jamaica.

The church bell tolled twice for two PM as he pulled up before the church; the forensic team had deemed the church safe and free from any biohazard. Rice ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, at a corner of the altar a bank of reeves and candles besieged the portrait of the priest. Rice cast high at the mosaic portraits of the saints and crucifix that adorned the wall of the auditorium. He wished the portraits could speak since their gazes were fixed on the altar where the murder had occurred, they were witnesses.

Rice took out a pair of latex gloves and put them on, he went over to the priest office, the place was still as rumpled and intact as a week ago. He was out on a mission to find what the forensics had failed to find, and he had a strong conviction something cleverly hidden, the key to unlocking the mystery of this case was yet to be found. Agent Rice began the meticulous and painstaking process of going through every piece of paper or document he could lay his hand on. After three futile hours of search he felt he needed a break, he sat on the floor with his back to the wall and a cigarette in his lips and was about to struck a match when he remembered he was in a church, he grimaced then he caught sight of a bronze crucifix on the wall with a tiny hole in the head. Rice took the crucifix off the wall and a key clattered to his feet.

An old bronze key of intricate shape, as old as a roman relic with a faint inscription on its side. Rice took out of his inner jacket pocket a paper containing all the inscriptions found on the dead priest body, he compared them but they did not match. He stood pondering for a moment what secrets this key led to.

Rice took the crucifix again something was quite different about this one, he took it back to the wall then he found his answer unlike other crucifixes that looked forward this one was facing downwards at an angle about 45 degrees. On the floor was an Old Persian rug, Rice rolled it away and bingo, ingeniously hidden beneath the rug was a trapdoor no one would ever believe was there.

He gradually lifted the trapdoor and in the deep darkness below he saw a flight of stair that descended to the foundation of the church.

Agent Rice hurried to the altar grabbed a candle, lit it on the way and came to the open descent. The light faltered and illuminated another secret chamber. Rice cautiously went down the wooden flight of stair after delving about twenty meters down he came to a door which the key in his hand fitted perfectly into the lock. He worked the key inside the lock until he heard it snap. Rice felt like Ali Baba in the Arabian legends or Indiana Jones at a tomb, he could sense he was close to a secret. He gradually pulled back the door, and it opened to him with a creaking sound, he had stumbled into the secret sanctum of the dead priest, the hoard of his secrets by sheer ingenuity. In the middle of the little cold room sat a table and chair, a candle stand recently used and a lump of old wreathed files and folders, why were this kept in secret away from all eyes he asked himself as he felt his heart hammering in his chest, he was about to discover the other side of the other side of a dead man, what he was about to see would prove if the old priest was a saint or villain he thought.

Rice set the candle in its place; the light grew and brightened the whole room. He picked the first file it was a Babylonian hieroglyphics deciphering book like those carried by archaeologist, Rice went through the end notes written by the priest, he could tell he was a man much learned and fascinated in Babylonian art and history, that would explain his theory why he thought the killer had not inscribed the markings on the vic.

The next file had blaringly on the cover page, "THE KNIGHT OF BABYLON" interesting he thought thinking he had stumbled upon an old book manuscript, but after he had read through the first page of the conspiracy theories that the old priest had written down Rice got even more interested. The old priest had written about a faceless clandestine society or fraternity that controlled the governmentt, business conglomerates and defence, and was responsible for every single global mishap from wars to famine and was on the brink of achieving the technology to carry out even natural catastrophes.

The next page provided more points to buttress the priest theories, and from the manner of classified and top secret information he had access to, Rice could tell he had some considerable intelligence connections.

On the next page Rice saw a photograph of a group of men numbering about a dozen, he could point to the priest at the left hand corner of the photograph, and could tell the photo was taken within the last ten years. But what caught his attention most was that every face in the photo was marked with an X in red paint, save two faces one which was the priest and another elderly man, Rice brought the photo close to the candle for a better view, then he saw that a set of secret inscription stood over the head of everyone in the photo.

"What is this?" He asked himself.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, bringing him back to reality from his thought. The caller ID was Dr. Harrison, he wish he could pick but this was not the ideal time, he felt he was about uncovering something that moment.

Rice placed the phone back into his pocket, when he checked his wristwatch he was startled by how far time had gone without him sensing it. Six PM it said.

It was 8.30pm when He arrived home, drove up through the driveway; he alighted and cast a suspicious glance at the street for any alarming sign of anyone trailing him. He had become security conscious like a jeweller in a den of thieves.

On the way home he had ordered chiness, with a load of every file he had found in the priest sanctum under his left arm and the right holding onto his meal he opened the door, walked in and shut himself in from within.

He quickly took a drink of whisky, as he tore off his jacket and tie. Took his seat on the sofa and continued from where he had stopped in the underground sanctum. On a page the writer wrote about exorcism, demonology and other believes he found absurd, if crimes were carried out by people under the influence of demons why don't they have priest and exorcism experts prosecute criminal instead of the police he thought.

Rice refilled his glass with more whiskey, as he pondered if the Knight of Babylon were evil, nature would always provide an opposing and antagonistic side to it. The tone of the writer was that of an antagonist who did not reveal the name of his own side, perhaps it was as secret as the Knight of Babylon that was the enemy, a common characteristic of conspiracy theories and fables.

Rice continued to study the dossier of the havoc claimed to have been caused by the Knight of Babylon since the turn of the past millennium. Around 1.am when he had covered much of the files without finding any forthcoming clues to solve the murder, he went to bed.

Jason's shy eyes gleamed pitifully behind his heavy shielded medicated glasses, from where he sat before his boss who was sipping a cup of coffee, paying no attention to the geek who was seated before him. Jason was the computer analyst attached to the division, a graduate of MIT who had gotten the job after he had hacked into the FBI server, over the years he had proved to be capable of doing exceptional things with a computer.

"I went through the records of the old priest and found nothing incriminating, not even a parking ticket the man was a saint." He said.

"Never jump into conclusion so rashly." Rice warned. He passed onto Jason the photograph he had found. "I want a full profile of the identities of the men on that photo, and any connection they might have to each other."

Jason gave the photograph in his hand an intent look. "Well, at least I know the late congressman from Dakota." He said pointing to a marked face, which he showed to Rice. "Over here is the late Italian prime minister who died last fall in a plane crash." He said this time pointing to another face. Rice could tell he had seen that face before but failed to recognise where.

"Over here is Senator Jim Berkley whose car tumbled off a cliff while returning from church in Ohio last summer. Half of the men on this photo are dead, sir. Am afraid every face marked here is dead and they died within the last twenty four months, and this are not mere men in the society."

Jason's observation definitely struck a cord, Rice knew it was baseless disclaiming the natural or accident induced death of the men in the photo, he could be staking his carrier against the mortician's report which if proven again would be a daint on him. But what if someone somewhere had murdered these men and made it appear natural, a carefully orchestrated murder. He was gradually having a lead and a breakthrough in the case, now he had to find the last living person in the photo.

Noon met agent Rice at Dr. Harrison's office, while there he received a call that agent Dickson his partner had returned and was waiting him at the office, so he rushed back to debrief him.

During the debriefing director Henry joined them in the spacious conference room; he had taken a keen interest in this particular case. Director Henry and Dickson were both Catholics who had known the priest for a number of years, and the brutality and mystery of the murder had brought the case closer to their hearts.

Agent Dickson had grown up in the Bronx, an African American he had joined the bureau after the years of the civil liberties marches and had rose to become one of the most decorated agents in the bureau. Henry on the other hand had had a meteoric rise through the ranks of the bureau.

"A mummy in a church, and the museum hasn't reported any missing, that's strange." Dickson said. "We need to start looking into areas we don't usually check to solve this case."

"You imply spiritual, you know that won't help." A call came to the desk phone from Jason's office, rice remembered he had strictly told him not to call him unless he had found something tangible, this might be it.

Rice sprang to his feet. "Genius!" He exclaimed when he saw Jason's message. "Jason might have uncovered a new lead." He said. He took to the door with Dickson trailing behind him. They came through the corridor, hurried down a flight of stairs and came through a glass door.

The door opened at Rice push, Jason wheeled his seat around away from the bank of computers he had been staring into to face them.

"How was your vacation, sir?" Jason asked.

"Is that why you called us down here? I tell you about my vacation some other time." Dickson said. Jason sniggered, as he called agent Dickson a dick in his thought.

"I ran a facial background on the men on the photograph and guess what." Jason had the habit of putting his listeners in excruciating suspense like a magician, but the agents that stooped over him like vultures waiting for the Hyenas to be done to takeover had no stomach for that by the stolid look they cast at him. "Ok sir!" He clicked on his mouse making an enlarged image of the photograph display on the 80 inch monitor.

"Every single one of them is dead unless one." He emphatically said. "I ran through their autopsies report they all died inauspiciously, except our Vic."

"What do you mean inauspiciously?" Dickson asked.

"Natural causes of death." Rice said.

"Mathew Mallory former congressman from Florida and father of governor James Mallory killed in an accident, jack Williams former CIA field director in Algiers during the Algerian crises of the 80's died from a heart attack while strolling in his farm. Roberto Casonaci, Italian prime minister killed in a plane crash over the alp. Ahmed al Oubadi former Saudi prime minister and member of the royal family his jet crashed in the red sea last summer. Colonel Herbert McElroy, US Special Forces during the first gulf war died by suicide, and last but not the least Father Pirlo who died last week, they are all dead except this fellow." Jason said pointing to a corner of the picture, to an unmarked face that stood next to the reverend.

"I also found out that these men were close buddies, having connections all over the world and were constantly in contact with each other. Three hours before father Pirlo's death he gave major Isaacson a call that night."

"And who is that?" Dickson asked.

"Major Isaacson, Vietnam veteran, but that's not all sir. You see I found these hidden markings over their heads." He clicked on and the markings appeared on the screen.

"They are the same markings found on the body of the mummified priest." Rice said taking out a piece of paper from an inner breast pocket.

"I think I have seen something like this before, but I can't tell where." Dickson said, as he tried hard to recollect. "It was an old painting of Christ and his disciples at the last supper, I can't tell who the artiste was, but he drew the names of each disciple over their heads."

"But even if this is similar, I don't believe whoever inscribed this would go through the stress of inscribing their names in Babylonian meanwhile this men are popular." Jason added.

"It's not their names; I think these are their titles in their secret fraternity. Just last night I learnt from the priest diaries of a hideous secret society called the Knights of Babylon, this men must belong to another secret organisation that opposed the Knights of Babylon, an organisation we have just discovered." Rice said. Dickson and Jason were awestricken as if he spoke in another language.

"I want the major's location; he could have something for me or could be next in line to be assassinated." Rice said.

"Are you insinuating that there is a serial killer out there after these men?" Dickson asked.

"I think so, these men once had influence it is a good enough reason for them to be on someone's hit list."

"The major lives in an old ranch somewhere in Montana."

"Keeping a low profile I guess."

Jason took off a piece of paper recently belched out of the printer, and handed it over to the agents. On it was the major's address in Montana and without any further ado both agents were about to take leave.

"Aahhh, something else." Jason said. Rice and Dickson stopped short at the door. "Remember that totem we talked about?

"I do."

"Four totems were found on four of the victims."

"Thank you, next time you have such information don't put me through any suspense before sharing it with me, I hate that." Rice said and stormed out.

AUTHOR NOTE TO READER.

Thanks for taking your time to enjoy my work, I released this two chapters to create awareness for the book, the complete book will be available in less than a month on smashwords publishers. Please follow me on twitter; twitter @momohroger, Connect with me mailto:momohroger@gmail.com Connect with me on Google+ momohroger as my blog is not yet up and running. I will appreciate it if you tell your friends and family about my book, and write a review for me on smashwords. I will be sharing coupons of my books to friends who help me share word about it and am looking forward to sending you one too.

I humbly want to introduce to you another of his book, under Fantasy genre. I have chosen a few chapters which I know will interest you most. Please continue to enjoy reading.

## THE LEGENDS OF THE SCROLLS:

BOOK ONE

THE LEGENDS, THE SCROLLS AND THE DARK QUEST

By

M. Y, ROGER

**CHAPTER TWO**

THE KINGS COUNCIL

Dusk was gathering over the city, when the lone horseman came galloping upon the northern roads that descended from Rimmon, clad in a dark cowl with a hood over his head, he raced impatiently through the half-deserted roads like one fleeing from a rout. Nigh the gates he hardly allayed his speed, and in a quick trot he passed through the watched gates even as the soldiers watched in disgust at the rider, through the narrow cloven passages he rode to escape the bustling streets that climbed straight to Thurin-hill, the footfall of his steed sounded horrendously loud in the quiet passages.

The rider rode through the dark shrouded alleys that were dimly lit by flickering lamps which gleamed through windows; finally he cantered at the stair of Thurin-hill. He threw behind the hood revealing his doughty and travel-worn face, and even as he alighted from the horse, it was reined away by another soldier. At the stair Thurin-mill the captain of the golden hall stood in company of other soldiers, they appeared to be discussing some strange prospect, and as he approached Thurin-mill recognized him to be Amroth the captain of Comorus, for he bore a striking resemblance to the king his brother, his chiefly armour was now revealed as he drew his cloak away.

"Amroth," Thurin-mill gasped. "What brings you so hastily to Ain like a fleeing brigand?" the old soldier asked humorously, but the captain's face remained indifferent for his coming was urgent that he had no time to regard pleasantries.

"Only one thing drives a fox out of its hole, trouble! I must speak to you at once before we seek the king." Amroth said in a hurried whisper, and together they climbed up the stairs into the fortress.

The door opened to reveal a large half empty room, whose wall was adorned with weapons, armours and strange banners from every realm under the king. A shelf stood hidden in the shadow away from the flickering lights of a hanging lamp, through the open window a cool nightly wind was breezing and one could see much of the city in the tranquility of the night. Amroth helped himself heavily into a chair, while Thurin-mill poured him a drink into a mug from the shelf.

"Have this, though the mead in Mythia is referred to as inferior to that of Porsa which you have grown fat on, but a weary man like you have no choice."

Amroth took a long sip, and dropped the half empty mug on the table with a heavy rap, across the table Thurin-mill was now seated and was caressing his long wooly beard, haste was written all across the graven brows of Amroth and he could see fear in his eyes.

"As the captain of Thurin-hill you must hear this first before we consult the king. Yesterday at dusk a ship sailed near Tirbane from the northern, it was not from Maul or Fysia as we had thought, but out of the Peat garrison, the first Asp ship to be seen since the fall of Surrucia." Thurin-mill's face straightened as he sat up in his chair with much anticipation. "Though we saw none of that foul race of the north in the ship, they sent us a package and before we could ready our ships after them they had sailed away into the darkness."

"And what package was that?" He asked anxiously. The fey pallor on his face was now growing whiter.

"It wasn't a hewn head as is accustomed of the Ibis, but a letter smirched with blood." Amroth said, and reaching into the folds of his cloak he produced the brown old parchment and left it on the table. Thurin-mill was visibly shaken as he stared in consternation, his hands trembled to open the letter and it appeared he now contemplated it, finally he touched it.

"Has it been opened before?" Thurin-mill asked.

"Aye! It is written in the uncouth runes of Ibisia which we all lack the skill to construe, but nothing has ever come out of thence than death."

"I feared your coming had evil, because you rode like a deranged person. I cannot read an Ibis hand, but I know it has one aim to instill deep fear in our terror-stricken hearts, to deter us. I guess there is one that I know who could help decipher that for us, an old acquaintance of mine who served in Maul, a great soldier though he has long forsaken that path and now looks towards tending his field."

"If he lives in Maul, we must find fresh horses at once and ride all night." Amroth snapped.

"No need for that, he lives just outside the city walls." Amroth sighed in relief and sat back.

"I cannot wait to find out what evil is written there, and I will neither eat nor rest until I know." Amroth said.

Together both captains took their leave, they rode through the city in silence without any company for their mission was clandestine, at the fringe of the city they took the south westerly roads towards the Wislow woods.

I can still remember vividly that night Thurin-mill rode to our house in company of another man. The waning gibbous moon was rising over the grey range of the mountains; a cold wind was rising as I sat on the porch thinking of my forth coming date with Veasty. In the gleam of the light that flickered through the window, the shadow of my father moved in his room. My heart missed a beat as I now feared he was searching for his sword which I had taken to the farm in the evening for practice and had not returned; moments later he came through the door and stood by the porch. I sat in tension and would not look up at him, he cleared his voice in the fashion he was fond of before a tirade, when we heard the clatter of horses hooves in the darkness approaching the house, now he will go back to fetch his sword I feared, but even as the riders approached like wraiths hunched up on saddles, they called out in peaceable terms and from the familiar voice we could tell Thurin-mill had come.

They trotted to a halt at the porch, hailed each other warmly and shook hands with my father. "What brings this old soldier to my abode in the dead of the night, like an emissary of the enemy sharing bounty?" my father asked.

"Can't I behold the face of a friend without a reason?" Thurin-mill asked laughingly, but the other rider appeared sinister upon his saddle.

"You didn't come to see my face Thurin, the sun has long gone to sleep something different has brought you here. Now come in for at first I thought Heres had come to some new trouble since he has now become lord of that order." The riders leapt off their horses and I reined them away but hurried back to eavesdrop on what was about to transpire, like my father I had a mixed feeling and premonition about Thurin-mill's riding in the dead of the night in company of another rider that was chiefly clad in armour and wore long boots of supple leather, the riders went in at my father's beckon. They sat before him, but I remained outside by the window listening attentively to them.

"Whatever we say here tonight must end here, it is secret, and no ear outside here must hear of it. This is Amroth captain of Comorus the king's brother." Thurin-mill said in a whisper as he looked around for me, at that my heart jumped into my mouth, my father sat back the cheerful look on his face died, and Amroth spoke.

"I have ridden for two days from Tirbane, if you know it is the great fortress of Mythia that overlooks the sea in Comorus. I need your help for all our fate is now tied to you." Amroth's deep voice implored. Thurin-mill brought out a strange brown parchment and pushed it across the table to my father, with much reluctance my father received and unwound the parchment and took a long frightful glance, what he beheld startled him as a terrified look crept over his face.

"It is of Ibisia...!" He gasped, Thurin-mill nodded affirmatively. Then was my first fear allayed even as a greater fear roused from the sound of the word, Ibisia "How did you come into possession of such a foul message?"

"That I cannot disclose to you, all I want is that you decipher it, for we lack any with that skill." Amroth said.

"An Asp ship of Ibisia brought it." Thurin-mill whispered.

"An Asp ship from Ibisia!" my father exclaimed.

"Even the king has not heard of it." Amroth added.

"The runes are of Ibisia and it is sealed in the name of the warlock on the rock that never sinks." He said and stared deeply into their weary faces:

"The warlock on the rock!" Amroth exclaimed. "What does that mean?"

"It sounds like a legend." Thurin mill said.

"It is the legend of Aardoo, the rock is his stronghold called the Peat garrison, the ibis call it Gurlotta."

Hurulk mansk illrik alvol iden Mythia, aril Maul halak izin gildal.

Harokal Sondon malzal illik Galadrosia, halmul illas illik inark halak.

"This is what is written in the black Ibis speech, now may I translate it to you in our own tongue, though grave and evil words they are but I am certain that you must have prepared yourself for it." They nodded silently, and after a sigh he began.

"Here is written in the Ibis characters according to the mode of Ibisia: _The end has come for Mythia, Maul and the realm of men, the dark master now musters the might of his lands, his war is nigh and it will cover all in its darkness, the dark days are drawing nigh, the warning of Galadrosia I now repeat."_

He paused and looked straight at them. "It was sealed by the hands of Aardoo, and from the blood that is smirched on it, this is no mere prank." My father said, and he wrapped the parchment back and gave it to Thurin-mill, who raised his head from the sheet he had been scribbling on.

"Alas! The fears of our fathers now dawn on our age." Thurin-mill gasped. "What is your counsel master Horace; they say none can rival your knowledge of Ibisia." My father sat still like a statue in his chair. The night was now old, though my legs were waning fast like the moon but I could not go without hearing the last of this secret meeting.

"Tell the king that the dark days we have long feared will come in his reign, and there will be wars. Though it will take awhile for the whole might of Ibisia to be mustered, but if it has then we shall not avail much. It shall be our doom, tell the king to begin to muster as much might as possible and prepare armaments for our enemy has never been idle."

"Every single word you have said will be relayed to the king; you might even be summoned before him." Thurin-mill said.

Without further deliberation the riders gathered themselves in heaviness and rode off into the night for the city. Even when I entered he was still lost in thought that he sat pathetically in his chair with a hand under his chin. He looked up at me when he realized I had for sometime been staring at him.

"Heres." He called and feigned a smile, not two hours ago he was as cheerful as a groom, but now he appeared pale and weary with grief like a groom whose bride had just scuttled away with another man.

"I heard everything father." I said. He sighed deeply and his head fell. "You cannot continue to shield me from such matters."

"When I didn't hear any sound of you, I knew you were eavesdropping on us. The end is near Heres; indeed the dark master has not forgotten his malice as we had hoped. We are all helpless in his overwhelming darkness, ever since Surrucia fell and its host banished, the enemy has never been at rest, he has relentlessly plotted our downfall and now his dark plot is almost ripe." He said.

"Is there no hope?" I asked frightfully. He looked up and deep into my eyes with gloom.

"There has never been any hope, except a fool's hope from a path that we have long deserted, men no longer remember that path, perhaps there is only a handful that still remembers that path."

"And what path is that father? Is it that of the scroll for indeed there is no hope there, since none can sack the horde of the dark master without binding him first, which is definitely impossible." I said.

"Go to bed Heres, and do not ponder over this thing, it is for us that are old, your life is still before you and it is bright." He said, but he lacked the reassurance in his almost wavering voice, and even as I walked away I looked at him sidelong as he clasped his bent head in his knotted hands in grief.

The guards by the door drew it apart, and bowed as Amroth and Thurin-mill walked into the upper room, and by a window that opened towards the north the dusky shape of a man stood. His hair and robe flowing in the cold draught as he backed them, peering into the distant night,

"Hail! Lord of Mythia, Roc my brother." Amroth called, the pitiful face lifted and turned even as they paid obeisance.

"I was told that you sneaked into Ain, brother." The king said, and embraced Amroth warmly which his brother could not reciprocate.

"Is it the refreshing breeze, or your habitual watch over the Rimmon as if Rogoroth still commands a realm before you, that makes you watch over the night like a guard in Fagshold?" Thurin-mill asked.

The king grinned. "You can never tell what tale the night brings, sometimes I believe I can read the will of the enemy from the stars, they say the same constellation we see here are also seen in Carn-dunn." The king paused and continued to gaze into the night, even as Amroth and Thurin-mill contemplated with incredulous looks on who would break the grim news to the king.

"A strong shadow of fear has been growing in my heart of recent, evil stirs in the north I can feel it in the earth, Sondon has not been idle neither has any of his servants been slumbering." The king said as he turned to them. "What brings you to Ain, are you now tired of your watch over the Isis?"

"My lord I'm afraid I have only come to confirm your fear." Amroth finally summoned the will to speak about the matter at hand. The king faltered against the wall as Amroth handed over to him the Ibis parchment, the king walked over to the sputtering torch. And like everyone who had come in contact with the parchment, he unwrapped it with a sense of dread as if a curse would be unleashed if ever opened.

"This is of Ibisia!" He exclaimed almost hurling away the scroll. Thurin-mill waited until the king had regained his composure, then he was given the interpretation. He read and pondered for a while with grave fear which pelted his heart.

"This is the repetition of the warning of Galadrosia." He muttered even as he now appeared to be standing aghast. "And it was not written to warn us but to scorn."

"My lord it is the hand of Aardoo who now hails as the wizard king of Gur-lotta, the same Aardoo who brought the line of Andron to an end in Maul." Thurin-mill said.

"How did you find this?" He asked, raising his face which was gnarled by fear.

"Yesterday my lord, at dusk an Ibis ship sailed south to Tirbane and left the message in the water." Amroth said.

"Long have I feared this, too long have I imagined that evil was stirring in the north, now the dark master knows that we have no allies in Surrucia, and dissension now grows amongst us like rot. There is now no power left in us to withstand him not even his vanguard, it now seems our doom has been hastened."

"It has not been hastened my lord, the dark master has not gathered all his might, if not he would have been at our door, we should only hope that it takes awhile." Thurin-mill said.

"Awhile!" the king scoffed. "That the fathers die in peace while their offspring's suffer the brunt of the tyrant, no. Many times have I pondered over this on my sleepless bed, into Ibisia we must go to reclaim that scroll, but none would volunteer even for all of Mythia, for the tale of Ibisia is as the fire that melts away courage like wax."  
"We must muster our might, though a little it may be my lord." Amroth said. "We must call upon a council of every lord and captain found in the free realms of men, a council my lord like that of Fark and Andron when hordes of Ibis marauded the south under Cyran."

"Then there was strength still left in men." The king snapped even as he paced about, he now appeared old and broken. "The best blood of our race has been wasted upon the battle fields of Galadrosia many years ago, even in the undying world our great fathers now weep for us. We are now caught between the hammer and the anvil of an invincible and implacable foe." The king leaned back by the window, the once strong gleam in his eyes faded, he sighed deeply and looked into their weary faces.

"Aardoo might have sent this to scorn us, but the evil in his heart has made him blind to his weakness, he has only robbed his master the advantage of the element of surprise. Send out messengers to Maul, Iop, Comorus to every captain under my liege, let them assemble at my hall before a week." He ordered. "Though long has the forge-master prepared the furnace it can still be ruined by a cup of water."

Before dawn the next day, horsemen were readied and as the gates were opened they took their journey out of the city, dispelling in all directions. Those to Maul took the eastern roads, while those to Iop rode down the southern roads and those to Comorus took the roads towards the grey mountains heading for the gap of Thundrin. The king stood alone on the top most turret of the tower of Edessa watching as the riders galloped north, though he knew many would answer to his call but only a few could stand the test of valour? For too long had any seen any battle in this part of the world. When ever he watched the formations and battle readiness of the host of his realm, he could only compare them to the fainthearted of the host of his father when he fought Cyran.

The first light of the rising sun was coming from Maul. Grey mist veiled the woods at the threshold of the mountains. Peering down as the darkness retreated from the city he could see people begin to move about the streets in peace, and how he wished it would remain as such for long. Behind him he could hear the rap of footsteps ascend up to him, and turning back he saw Thurin-mill clad in a grey robe and ascending wearily.

"This evil tiding robs everyone of sleep, my lord." Thurin-mill said, as he stared piteously into the downcast face of the king.

"To many being a king means the best of everything, but there are times when a king's only wish is to throw away his crown and run around like every ordinary person."

"What you need is good advice, and that your father made me swear to always give to you and in due season you will have it." There was deep silence for a while amongst them at length the king spoke out of his thoughts.

"I wish I could tell the heart of the enemy, to know how much time is left to us for our mustering, but even if I'm given that opportunity I would rather not take a glimpse for the horror I would behold in there would kill any man."

"Ever since Surrucia fell, the reach of the enemy has become exceedingly long, it plucks and supplants whatever it desires, and his darkness now enshrouds the earth."

The morning was bright, and the wind was rising from the south, by now the riders must have covered many leagues, and the dark master must have mustered many hundreds the king thought. Frayed clouds now hovered over the mountains and at their feet the mist was fading.

Four days after the sending out of emissaries, the delegates from the various realms had begun to converge in Ain, but even then the council could not hold until every marshal expected had assembled. On the seventh day the king sat on his throne in the opulent golden hall and hailed the great knights and captains who had answered his call. The wine flowed in goblets and the beer in mugs as they drank, but they were all oblivious of the gravity of the matter at which they had been summoned, except Thurin-mill and Amroth who stood beside the king with no cup in hand, music filled the great hall from the minstrel, songs of great valour of the valiant of old were sung, and praises were rendered of the great ridding of the lords of Maul, the archers of the Morbids, but when it came to the turn of Porsa their meads and beers of much renown got the praises to the cheers and jeers of the men.

At last the king motioned to the minstrel and the music faltered to an end, the captains and marshals soon took seats as the king began.

"Once again I hail all who have come to my call to honour oaths of fealty and friendship." And a cheer of hoarse voices rose with the lifting of mugs and goblets. "Once again we stand in this great hall of our fathers, on a day when even as we sing of greatness and raise toast of friendship. An evil more ominous than those our fathers withstood stirs and rouses in the north." At that the very atmosphere of merriment died, the mugs fell onto the table and dead silence reigned.

"Ibisia." The word fell like a thunderbolt from the king's lip, and every man that heard it blanched and sought to cower away. "Ibisia is on the warpath. The dark master and his fell servants have not been idle." He said plaintively. "Not ten days ago we received a message from the lord of Gur-lotta, Aardoo who was once amongst us; it speaks of great indignation, a vindictive and malicious intent devised by the dark master himself to bring upon us death and ruins. Though the main aim was to instill fear in us, but it has also forewarned us lest we be caught off guard and for that reason we have all been assembled here." The graveyards now had more cheer than the king's hall, the first time such a thing will happen ever since the hall was built; the king was appalled at how the dread of Ibisia had eaten deep into men. The shallowness on their faces was as Sondon the dark master was suddenly revealed in their presence.

"Indeed I have seen the extent of the reach of the Sondon even amongst us that instead of uniting we now chose to grovel and beg for his black mercy. No wonder how easy and cheaply we fall to his dark wiles, eighty years ago beyond the Sinaren river nigh Farkburg, Andron of Maul and Fark of Mythia, the twin lords fell side by side in battle when all fled, today we sang of them and wish that one day our names would be called in such mighty songs, but it will never be achieved by such faintheartedness that would only end in we groveling at the feet of a foe who has no interest in prisoners of men." The king said more trenchantly to imbue their courage.

"A mighty army has been mustered at Gur-lotta that will require wielding all our strengths together to vanquish. But it is still a piece of the great armies of Ibisia which has long been stirred while we grew fat on wine and food." He said, gesticulating with his hands emphatically to reveal the size of the enemy which most could feel from the graveness of his face and voice. "Our age is drawing nigh its doom; Sondon is awoken though he never slept and has mustered all his fell servants. The tale out of the north is that he brings war. Ibisia is on the warpath we have run thin on our number of allies, most that have strengthened his arm are from our own race, and one thing must be accomplished to avert our doom." He said, and paused. "The scroll of Surrucia must be found and our old allies awaken." At that a tumultuous din began to stir.

"The armies of Surrucia were never destroyed but weakened, and whosoever would attempt this venture, though it is the most precarious and foolish I will make the lord of Mythia and every realm in the south to the boundaries of Surrucia." The king said, but the din of rowdy voices was so great that Amroth and Thurin-mill seemed the only ones that heard the last part of his speech.

The rumpus of voices was exceedingly loud that all about Thurin-hill people could hear the uproar, and gradually they were gathering about Thurin-hill to catch a glimpse for themselves. Inside it now appeared that the captains were snarling and tussling each other. The king motioned to the warden of the hall to clang the cymbal to bring them to order, but it seems to fall on deaf ears, the grappling and tussling got fiercer as wine and mead was spilled on each other, after a long period of commotion, order returned but it was fragile as any moment from now it could be broken.

"All I have asked this great gathering is for volunteers, for I would give anything to such a one." He said.

A captain sprang to his feet, and without the usual courtesy he spoke flippantly. "Who will!" he exclaimed. "It is but a foolish thing to attempt such a venture, we are not all oblivious of the tales of Ibisia, its woods are watched beyond mere eyes. A great evil resides there with hordes of Ibis and their greater folks like the sands at the shore, perhaps you should have asked for volunteers to sack the hoard of Sondon."

"Do not stir fear in the hearts of others, you fainthearted nitwit." Another snarled as he rose against the first.

"Why don't you volunteer? Andron!" and soon both opposing captains were joined by their supporters, but those who were in favour of the king were a handful and were soon overwhelmed by those against him, and even as the ranting exceeded into new heights the king saw Arioch and Arius of Maul seated calmly in front, keeping their cool, great captains they were, close kin of Zek, the last murdered king of Maul.

"Let the king volunteer first!" someone yelled. "Let him keep his gold and throne to himself, dead men need no gold or throne."

The commotion got wilder. The men were at the point of drawing swords. The warden of the hall clanged the cymbal countless times until its sound to order became a part of the commotion, and when it was to no avail he sat back and watched in grief. When the men became spent of their blustering they faltered to their seats and the king had their attention once again. This time like sober drunks they sat in shame with terror in their eyes, if only the enemy could have a sight of the havoc his dread could cause, it would send Sondon reeling endlessly in laughter that he would send his least captain for the sacking of men instead of his whole army. Men had now chosen their doom instead of uniting against the evil. The king arose this last time to call for volunteers, and if there be none so be it, to the gallows of the dark master they must all prepare to go.

"Once again." He began heavily. "For all the riches of my kingdom, the title of the lord of Mythia I call upon any that volunteers, and upon bringing back the scroll I would hail him as lord. Now if there is any with such courage let him step out." He said, and took a seat but he expected no one to volunteer. From the silence that reined within the golden hall after the long fits of rage, as men sat like statues frozen with fear, it was obvious that not in this age would a man dare the dreadfulness of Ibisia for all the riches of men and even that of Ibisia.

The king's council came to an ill-fated end, men had now embraced their doom and like a beaten dog with its tail hidden between its legs, so did the once imperious captains leave the golden hall like cowards, to return to their lands and begin the slow muster for a hopeless and foredoomed war.

After that assembly the king left for another secret council in company of other great men, it was still evident that by hook or by crook he would find men to go into Ibisia, now he wished he was a wizard of any sort with the power to cajole anyone into going to Ibisia even against their own will by just a spell, but even such powers could flounder at the sight of an invincible foe he thought.

"With such dissension in our midst, all Sondon has to do is to send the least of his captains upon us." Amroth said as they went.

The king's secret council was held behind close doors at the tower of Edessa that night. In attendance was Amroth and Thurin-mill, Arus and Arioch, Halman from Porsa and three captains from Comorus alongside the king.

"If for all of Mythia and its riches, none has volunteered, then the fear of Ibisia has eaten too deep in us." Arus said.

"I have studied the ancient scrolls of Maul, most dating to the days of Salmengras the first lord of our house when he warred against Saliban at Azulator. Ibisia is a dreadful place to tread on, no mere man would dare it for every evil we have heard of that place is true." Arioch said.

"And are we going to just sit here like sitting ducks and let Sondon do away with us as he pleases?" Thurin-mill asked plaintively.

"We must look to our own defenses, we must prepare for sieges we must fortify our grounds." The king said. "Tirbane must be fortified and the watch about the gulf of Torgarmah doubled lest Aardoo land a fleet behind our backs."

"My lord it is obvious that none would volunteer this task, but that does not mean it would not be attempted, for even though we defeat the armies of Ibisia here over and over again, eventually we would succumb and fall by the edge of the sword or by the dark power. Only securing the scroll would bring a long-standing solution to our plight." Arioch said. "Now listen to me, for it might be the best advice you would get in this dire time, chose the men that you greatly detest, your enemies, and send them though against their will, but fate would always walk out its way."

"I greatly reject your counsel Arioch." Thurin-mill snapped. "It is the most foolish thing to do, to send such men who would easily sell their services to the enemy for their lives. For at the first sight of the terror of Ibisia they would succumb more or less when they see the torture masters of the dark lands."

"I think I like the counsel of Arioch, it makes some sense to me for I have just thought of whom to send!" the king exclaimed. The gleam in his eyes waxed like one who had just found the answer to a troubling riddle.

"And who will that be, my lord." Amroth asked. Looking up, the king grinned for the first time in many days as he peered into the confounded faces that looked up to him.

"Who if not him who has brought so much grief to my house, of all the despicable things that I abhor, it is him that I greatly detest, for robbing me of the love of my only child: Heres!" he exclaimed angrily. Thurin-mill's head fell in disbelief and grief, for he could now imagine the horror of only me heading into Ibisia, it was to be my end indeed.

"My lord I know that lad like the back of my hand, he is just a child who has never seen the Isis Sea or even heard a tale about Ibisia. He would perish before he even set a foot upon the shores of Carn-dunn. My lord it is unwise to send him."

"I am not sending him to find the scroll that would be stupid of me; I only want to get rid of the rat that devours the barn!" The king fumed.

"My lord when the message of Ibisia came to us there was none in Ain or Mythia to decipher the character of Ibisia for us, but his father."

"Was that him?" Amroth exclaimed, and Thurin-mill nodded to him. "He shrieks at the sight of a rider at night what more a clad enemy." He scoffed.

"And who is his father?" The king asked.

"Horace the Hornite." Thurin-mill answered.

"Horace the Hornite of Maul!" Arioch lividly exclaimed and sprang to his feet and all turned to him incredulously. "Horace, long have I wanted to see the face of that scoundrel so that I may plunge my sword into him and watch him bleed slowly to death, it was with his aid that Zek our king fell." Arioch growled.

"That's an allegation that was never proven." Arus said.

"Well in that case Heres has found himself a companion into Ibisia." The king said.

"No, he knows nothing about the treachery of Aardoo!" Thurin-mill snapped.

"Why do you defend him?" Arius asked.

"Then why has he not become a lord in Ibisia like Aardoo or worst still inherited a hideous curse?" Thurin-mill retorted. "Or was it not said that Meroc placed a curse on all the collaborators of Cyran amongst men?"

"I will not bandy words with you Thurin-mill, for you are more than a friend, but I do not see your part in this tale. Send out orders I want Heres and his father arrested, and summon me another council in two days." The king said, and off he went angrily, but even as he got to the delving flight of stairs Thurin-mill spoke.

"But who would go to Ibisia my lord? I guess none of us here would, nor those frightened captains who would rather dig their own graves and bury themselves."

The king halted and turned back, he appeared to be deliberating within himself, and at length he spoke. "If Heres and his father never make it there, then it was never destined that a man would see the dark lands." He said.

"Does that mean that our hope now lies with them, for in that case we are worst that those bastards we called knights we assembled?" Thurin-mill said. The king went away but with much misgiving.

Thurin-mill was devastated at what the king had now resolved to do, it greatly distressed him but he could not disclose it to us without been branded a turncoat and becoming a party to those doomed to go to Ibisia. For a while he remained in shock and unbelief of what he had just heard which very much stunned him, he stood leaning by the window like an old tree assailed by wintry blizzards.

A day after the disastrous king's council I saw Veasty again, in a tryst that was to be our last before our journeys towards Ibisia would begin. We sat on the buttress roots of an old tree in the fields. Her beauty was enchanting and I felt lucky to have her. She told me the strange tale of the coming of an impious warning out of Ibisia, not knowing it was with the aid of my father that message was deciphered. She also disclosed the council of the king and his captain which ended in a fiasco, but she had no idea of the other secret council lest she would have mentioned it to me.

We conversed on the prospect of the great impending war, the fate of our age if Sondon concealed all in his hideous darkness. To my surprise she was also quiet knowledgeable in the tales of Ibisia, she spoke of the mustering of men and riders, the fortification of Tirbane, Fagshold and Ain. But most of all we spoke of the fate of our love and where we would flee to in the midst of the downfalls, to the southern wolds beyond the Grey mountains she suggested, but I thought it better to head south to the old ruins of Surrucia. Before she left for the city, she reiterated her love for me, and even as she spoke she shed a tear perhaps she felt a frightful premonition that it would be the last time she would see me.

In the second hour of the night I came strolling back home, from the lights that spurted through the window I knew my father had returned in my absence, I walked in and took off my coat as I sat heavily.

"Hullo son!" he said. "D' you have a nice date?"

"Well at least no one showed up to ruin it for us." I answered, he came towards me with a mug half empty in his left hand and a scroll in his right and into his chair he sat.

"Father, she told me that the king held court for all his captains, but none ventured to go into Ibisia even for the throne of Mythia, the treasures of the kings and her hand in marriage."

"What did you expect?" He scoffed. "Dead men do not become kings; none would go into Ibisia even those who are oblivious of that land." I wished such an offer had been made to me, for Veasty alone I would go into Ibisia I thought.

"Well if the brave captains of the Mythia would not dare such a venture, it means we are all doomed."

"Doomed you may say, but somehow someone will go to Ibisia, by what means I cannot tell." My father said thoughtfully, but little did he imagine that he had only predicted our fate.

"As long as the evil lot to go into Ibisia does not fall on us, it should give us little concern." I said, he chuckled and sat back and took a sip.

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

THE CONSPIRACY AT GALADROSIA

It was dark on the west fold road that headed west for the Anin River. The banners that warbled above the helmed head of the riders fell flat, as they cantered to a halt at the brow of a hill. The ride had begun at dawn out of Mindol but it won't be until another day before the party would reach its destination, Ain. Horton alighted from his horse, and walked tiredly up a slanting rock. To the north he could see the distant dusky summits of the Saran Mountains in the last glint of light. Already a fire had been made and tents were set on the dell behind.

"It is less than a day's ride from there to Ain." Gurlof said, startling the captain out of his deep thoughts.

"I guess it is, but that bothers me less for I have ridden farther than that. Is just that we are the first emissaries to come to Ain after the fall of Surrucia, and what hopes have I that the fair lady of the house of Zocos would accept me for it is said she is under a spell, cast upon her by a lover her father banished."

"There is hope my lord. Though the maiden be under a spell of Sondon but how could she reject a lord of your caliber. There is none of your worth in all of Ain or Maul or beyond the mountains; you do her father an honour since he is not man enough to sire a male heir." Both men chuckled. By now the darkness was too deep to even discern the aged face of Gurlof or the young steeled face of Horton.

Darkness had long cloaked the woods, the riders now rested in their tents, and in the gleam of the lanterns within the tents one could see their wandering shadows on the canvas. Horton was fast asleep on a fur in his tent, huddled in a cloak, by his side his armour sat next to his helm and sheath. A soldier came into his tent and roused him.

"My lord someone awaits you." He said.

"Who awaits me in the middle of the night in this sombre place?"

"One who will not disclose his name, nor show his face to anyone except the captain of Fysia."

Horton grasped his sword and a shield, but in his hurry did not strap on his armour. Outside the tent the gibbous moon stood upon the west but the wind was flat, his men were on guard and about twenty paces away stood the dusky figure that appeared to be wreathed in darkness.

"I am Horton son of Mattan, captain of Fysia, now by what name are you called you who rouses me from my sleep?" He asked.

"Put away your weapons I have not come with evil but with tidings of peace." The voice said. "And if indeed you are Horton my search is not futile, as for your sleep many nights await you. I come in the name of my lord who now masters upon all the earth."

"When last I checked I was no servant of your master, neither was my father nor his lands. I will have no word with any nameless servant of a nameless lord, do away with him!" Horton's men approach cautiously towards the veiled figure with drawn weapons. Though unrevealed figure was unarmed but they could feel a lurking hideousness in their hearts, when all of a sudden they were on the lawn lying unconscious at the mere stretch of its hand.

"I have not come to spill blood or to cast spells, but to offer terms." The shadowy figure said. This time its voice was menacingly cold and harsh as it approached.

"Show yourself! Show yourself." Horton growled as he clutched tightly to the hilt of his sword.

"I am Cyran. The lord of Cyranous does not fear." He said as he threw back his hood, and in his hands was Horton's sword which he presented to Horton, only then did Horton realize that he had been clinging onto the air. Cyran grinned as Horton gasped in awe.

"A gift from me, but my master gives greater gifts more lavish than all the lords upon the earth, neither does he forget oaths and treaties to all who have sworn allegiance to him." Cyran said. Horton looked in awe at his blade which had turned to gold and was glittering in the firelight.

"Though I do not know your face, but wherever that name is called it is evil and full of deceit. The harbinger of death, the hand that sundered the lines of the kings of men."

"Then I should kill you." Cyran sneered. "And your men would awake at dawn to find you of no use."

"Are they alive?" Horton gasped.

"Aye, they only slumber because I wish to speak to you alone."

"Then end your magic and speak to me plainly as men do, do not hide behind the subtlety of your crocked tongue."

"That I have done, but a man I am not though I once was, and even after this age withers when there is no song or lore to remember those that strove in it I will remain. It is my lord's wish that as many as he deemed friends should partake in his immortality and power."

"Speak clearly Cyran; I do not have ears for riddles." Horton growled.

Cyran chuckled.

"I bring word of him whose names you only dread to mention, him who the whole earth is smitten by his terror. Too long have the kings of Fysia languish in the shadows of the lords of Mythia, my lord brings war to Mythia and he seeks allies of men, only that they name their terms, say that to Mattan your father. Tell him my lord will see all men under one king, not the one in Ain but in Mindol if he agrees to his terms."

"Even under the pain of death my father will not succumb to such terms." Horton said hotly. Cyran halted and turned back.

"Perhaps you will."

"I will not bind myself by any alliance to Ibisia for your terms are full of treachery."

"It is said that there is a Nurdoress in Ain, whom all men seek. Lords and captains, you seek her hand too."

"They claim she is under a spell, a love portion spell placed on her by a lover her father banished."

"Indeed!"

"I do not know my chances of wooing her to myself; they say she yields to no man. You are a sorcerer, the greatest in this age. Help me, help me break his spell."

Cyran chuckled. "Horton son of Mattan, there are no spells for love. Return to your tent I have a gift in there for you, and do not bother seeking after me, I will return to you in due course of time." Cyran said and instantly vanished into the night.

After Horton had overcome the shock of the strange tryst, he returned into his tent, unsure if he had seen an apparition. Upon his bed under his cloak was a large chest, fear consumed him as he beheld the riches within. In it were all gold coins which glittered to his face then it dawned on him that it was no illusion but reality. The wealth before him was twice what his father had amassed in his life time, even the king of Mythia could not boast of such wealth, he felt uncontrollably inclined to run out after Cyran and agree to his terms. The more he peered into the chest, the more his gloat for a greater hoard seized him, but little did he discern that the ill will of the enemy was gradually consuming him.

Before dawn on the next day, Horton had the chest wrapped securely in a cloak and strapped to a saddle, at the sight of such a hoard anyone could sell his loyalty and become a spiteful foe he thought gloatingly. The men appeared to be ignorant of the event of the past night, and gradually they began the ride for Saran.

Ragged clouds sailed in the sky and the mist parted reluctantly before them, throughout the ride Horton remained silent not even a whistle did he mutter to his horse, he rode at the rear with his gaze fixed eternally on his concealed chest.

Before noon the company of riders came galloping up the ardent pass below the shadows of the mountains. To the east was the realm of Maul and beyond the mountains was the Horol road that headed west into the realm of Mythia. At Saran they rested in the king's fortress of Moilon where they were granted permission to ride in the king's realm from the captain. As soon as lunch was over, they took the roads, hoping to reach Ain before dusk; it was a ride of more than twenty leagues from Moilon to Ain. The tempo of the riding increased as it seemed Horton could not wait to behold the much talked about beauty of Veasty or worst still he feared the fate of such a hoard in the wilderness, if discovered.

Later in the riding one of the riders called, as he pointed northwards with his reining hand. They could see the distant summits of the grey host rising from the oblivion. Nightfall came on the second day after setting out from Mindol when they rode through the gate into the city. Horton took a long look at the magnificent gates, either through Veasty or his new found ally he would soon become lord of this great realm he thought. He thought of the possibility of his armies laying siege to the impenetrable city, unless Cyran could furnish great armaments and troops it would be impossible he realized.

The horse's hooves clattered up the paved streets for Thurin-hill, but even as the riders rode through the retreating crowds they were astonished that none took a second glance at them, as if Horton was not a lord, instead they could discern a sombre atmosphere over the city. The riders were bewildered at the sight of the golden court, where they were welcomed by a captain, and later that night after they had refreshed they were brought before the king.

The king was a cold, grey man. It seemed the last time he had a grin was a thousand years ago, but he appeared more powerful and wiser in his gloom that all approached him with an air of dread.

"My lord I present Horton son of Mattan, heir and captain of Fysia and his host." The warden of the hall hailed. The king's face rose with deep somberness as he beheld his guest bowing to him. Horton set out towards the dais of the high throne and bowed.

"I am Horton son of Mattan of Fysia; I come in peace before the great king of Mythia." Horton said with a grin as if he had no deceit in his heart.

"You are the first Fysian in my hall in many years, but I will not draw my sword because of your pledge of peace." The king said. Horton could see the great silver hilt girded beside the king's baldric that was partly concealed by his richly braided cloak of purple.

"I bring word from my father your long forgotten friend. Words of peace and alliances just as in the former days, and as a token of our commitment I bring you a gift and in return I seek the hand of the Nurdoress of Mythia." Horton said eloquently. Horton's companions gave a round of applause with cheers, but were soon silenced when they saw the long, scowl faces that beleaguered them.

The king sat back as Horton motioned to his men to hurry with the chest; with much pride he opened the chest even as he peered tauntingly at the king. The content of the chest made all gasp in awe mostly Horton's companions, but Roc gave him an unconcerned look.

"I hope this is not the hoard of your `father's toils? For riches are of no use in an age when the foul throttling hand of evil is hot on our throats. I do not seek riches my friend, but one man for every sword in my armouries, as for my daughter I would leave you to find out if you can release her from the wizardry of Heres." He said.

Horton was gravely disappointed by the cold shoulder treatment of the king, but crafty as he was he did not show it. "Since when did the courtesy of my courts grow cold like those of Rogoroth?" The king growled. "Serve my guest anything they wish, let the minstrels sing songs to their delight, as for me I must retire to my sordid bed though it mocks me with my sleeplessness."

Horton sat at the head of the great table, about him his men were greedily munching their meals and gulping down mead furiously, he had lost all appetite for food tonight. His ploy had gone foul perhaps the king had discerned his deceit at a distance he thought, but if a quarry will not fall to the arrows of the hunter it would not elude the traps so it is said in Fysia. At dawn he would seek the princess but first he must glean word about her and the wizard called Heres. For a piece of gold he got the loquacious warden of the hall talking, who soon divulged everything the prince wanted to know about Veasty and I. Horton felt elated to learn that I was not a wizard or any conjurer as he had feared but a mere farm boy who must have long drown in the sea or hacked into pieces by the savage Ibis in Ibisia. He felt deep pity for Veasty's helplessness and could envisage her grovelling after him to take her from her ignominious fate.

In the early hours of the morning, Veasty was strolling wearily in the flower gardens of Thurin-hill where legend had it that Theorbane met the Nurdoress. She would not let her maidens around her for at any moment she would fall to her knees and weep. To the north she peered in gloom as if to behold me in Ibisia as great tears gathered in her eyes. Beyond the distant sea her lover had gone on the most precarious venture of this age, though she had a withering hope that I might someday return, but ever after her father had mentioned that he had watched us sail into the northern oblivion under a bleak weather on a turbulent sea, she knew it was almost impossible to ever see me again but she remained resolute despite all that I would one day return out of the darkness.

"Are you Veasty, princess of Maul?" a deep voice called. She hurriedly wiped her tears and turned back to behold the richly dressed man who was clad in a red mantle adorned with many embroidery and gems, at the gates of the garden his companions waited on him. He must be a lord she thought, and from his cheerful look he was definitely another suitor trying to sway her heart.

Horton was flabbergasted when he beheld her enchanting beauty, the rumours he had heard were definitely true that he fought strongly within himself from falling to his knees and worshipping her but he was a prince not a stable cleaner. He realized that Heres wizardry was not in spells or potions but something many men would never discern. Veasty's head fell in grief, how many of such suitors must she turn down before it all comes to an end she thought.

"I am Veasty." She answered feebly.

"I am Horton prince of Fysia." Horton said almost stuttering. "Indeed your beauty precedes you. I can swear none can vie with such beauty upon the earth." He said as he stared deeply into her face while she turned away from his searching glance. Horton reached into his pocket and produced a bracelet of gold that was set with many gems of various hues. He held her and strapped it about her wrist, but Veasty would not have a glimpse of it.

"I am a daughter of kings; I cannot be swayed by such things." She said calmly. "Though it cost you a fortune but my heart is beyond any hoard of gold, my love is my gift which I give willingly, it cannot be bought neither can I be coerced to yield to any man."

Horton was stunned and lost of words.

"Have you heard of him?" she asked.

"Aye I have. But what hope do you hold onto knowing he would never return?"

"It is not in your power to say that." She whimpered.

"It is clear to all, that any who ventures into Ibisia is dead before they even behold that accursed land." Horton said.

"Indeed you have foresight my lord, but I wonder why you have not seen that you have no chance in my heart."

"I come to rescue you out of your misery; a lady of your worth should not waste in such unending grief. I come to give you a new hope, come, live in splendour with me and you will never regret it, only if you would take a glance at me for a moment." Veasty turned and took a weak glance. Horton had a great concerned look on his face. He was indeed more handsome than many a suitor but there was a cold light in his eyes that made her shudder.

"How come you never speak of love, or is it that you have never felt it. I will not yield to any man who does not love me."

"Love is an illusion that gathers as the mist at dawn and withers before noon."

"Oh! Love is like the sun, Rogoroth saw it in his age and after our age it will still be seen." She said and holding his palm open she placed his bracelet and walked away to tend her roses in grief. Horton felt downtrodden, he grimaced and his rage knew no bounds, if this were somewhere else he would have smothered her, his face turned steel and with great indignation he charged out.

"Prepare my horses we ride at once!" he growled. Now there was nothing stopping him from allying himself with Cyran not even his father. For the embarrassment he had suffered from the king and Veasty the whole of Mythia was doomed with them. Let Cyran raise his hordes, bounty or no bounty to see himself avenge such embarrassment was enough reward for him, without even saying farewell to the king, Horton left in so much rage many described him as a ravening savage. For once the king was gladdened that Veasty had turned him down, but even so he felt a new fear for the men of Fysia were of the same stock as those of Iop, traitors whose trademark was treachery.

Cyran in his dark ingenuity must have planned the disappointment of Horton, and how he mused himself as he beheld it from his orb in his chamber. Just as he had planned, things were beginning to fall into place, he could see the yearning of Horton to destroy Mythia, it was now left to him to do his own bidding which he would not fail.

On the third day after hotly storming out of Mythia, Horton came to Mindol and immediately conveyed a council of the knights of his realm. In that council he disclosed his new ally and intentions, though the men were reluctant at first at the thought of war, but to avenge the dishonour shown to their prince which they saw as upon them all they were easily sold and when they saw the bounty that they each will receive, but one remained ever reluctant, Mattan the old wise king.

"All my life I have lived to hate the king of Mythia," He began. "For in Mythia a Fysian is seen as a traitor but even the deepest hatred withers with time, except one, that which lies in the dark foundations of Sondon's heart. Not in my days will I see a man and an ibis under the same banner in battle. If Mythia falls my countrymen, we are defenceless! Forget about bounties it is of no use to dead men. Cyran's words are like water to thirsty men, but it is poison that will make you all grovel into your graves. As for that cursed sorcerer I will behold his face at Galadrosia even as he has requested and tell him to ward off my countrymen." Mattan said trenchantly.

Horton looked down with a mortifying look, the same rage he had felt in Ain was gradually consuming him against his father but he restrained himself from striking his father dead right away. In another secret council oaths were taken by those captains whose allegiances were to him, but it was not without the substantial bribes of gold and a promise of much more to come. All the captains swore allegiance to him except the Morbids, Mattan became a prisoner in his own sanctum as he watched his own heir become perceptibly more powerful than himself. He knew the deceit of Cyran was not without any dark craft, and he knew how virulently it could thwart a man for it was before his eyes that Aardoo, a mere servant became a menace.

A week later, the riders of Fysia rode to Farkburg after crossing the twin tributaries of the Sinaren river, the river that ran east through the great woodlands called Fondir, a name given by the Nephilim of that age. At Farkburg ships were readied and across the gulf of Gul-minor they sailed, for it was shorter than the long ride through Morzor for Folodwith. After four days at sea in calm weather, they harboured at the ruins of Folodwith where they received a message that Cyran awaited them at Galadrosia, the battle plain where the power of Surrucia was broken. But the riders of Fysia would not dare ride near Galanim for fear of venturing into the dark lands, for any league beyond Folodwith was feared as an intrusion into Goon of Ibisia, a place no man had dared for many lives of men. It could not be ventured when they could not fully trust a new ally long renown for betrayal.

With a great exhibition of banners like the marching of the kings of old, the riders of Fysia came to Galadrosia where Cyran was already awaiting.

"Cyran!" Mattan gasped, as he beheld the lord of Cyranous. Though it had been many years ever since he was last seen, but he had not changed a bit. There he stood clad in a white overflowing robe as if he still represented the light, behind him stood a large company of battle clad Krocs, in serried ranks beneath the dark banner of Ibisia which was unfurled in the fair wind of the vale of Galadrosia. Once under the territories of Surrucia then Fysia, until Ibisia overran these lands it fell into the hands of the Ibis lords of Turgron. The ibis still holds bitter memories of their countless defeats here when Surrucia was strong.

"Mattan, lord of Fysia the tamer of wild horses." Cyran called as he approached imperiously towards the pavilion where the king of Fysia stood clad in a purple cloak that hung onto his breastplates of gold. A sheathed weapon to his side, and a crown of gold helmed upon his head, behind him the best riders of the lands of Fysia. But even as Cyran drew nigh, he bore no weapon only his staff which he clutched to his breast, but that staff was more dangerous that any sword ever forged or wielded in the life age of the earth.

Both lords stood a few paces from each other in tension, a wind rose from the distant peaks of the mountains and poured down upon the pavilion that it shook.

"The last time you were seen, doom came upon the age of men." Mattan said gravely. His eyes grey with age and his beard seemed like wool that shimmered upon his cloak, even as he peered into the subtle eyes of Cyran which seem to gleam with a white light as if a mocking laughter was in his heart at the waning strength of mortal men, a thing he would never suffer for he had tasted of the waters of immortality just like his master.

"I bring you word from the one who would soon be the lord of the whole earth." Cyran said.

"You mean the dark one, Sondon!" Mattan retorted with a contemptuous tone.

"I came to offer terms of an alliance to you, for the lord of Ibisia would recognize just one lord amongst men, and he desires that it be you."

"There can never be an alliance between light and darkness." Mattan snarled. "Go back to the ruins and the shadows of the detestable lands you rule, for no man will be yoked under Sondon, in the name of any alliance."

"If you will aid the servants of Sondon in the fall of Mythia, and bring the line of Edessa to an end just as that of Andron and Salmengras then shall the rule of Fysia, Mythia and Maul and all realms be under your lordship." The sorcerer said.

"You are but an emissary of evil, who can discern what wickedness lies in the heart of your master? You speak words of peace and alliances while his hands move to bring war, and will the lord of Ibisia not impose any tributes on us, like our lives as his wretched slaves. I know you have read my mind by your dark arts, well, it is not difficult, for all though I hold a grudge against the king of Mythia, but I will not partake in his downfall." Mattan said.

"Well if you would care to know there is one that will." Cyran said, beckoning behind the king who on turning back saw his prince right behind him, his eyes cold and his countenance was ominous.

"Your own seed has turned his back against you and so has your captains." Cyran's voice now sounded grim and boisterous as if he now pronounced Mattan's doom. The king of Fysia reached for his sword but Horton was swift and he drew it from the scabbard and pointed the blade sinisterly to his father's throat.

"Indeed the evil hand of Cyran is long." Mattan gasped. "But it will not last forever; a day rises when it shall be sundered and trodden."

"Horton your son has chosen the right path, the path of power and glory. He will not be like his father who languished under the shadow of the king of Mythia, and not only has he become an ally of Cyran but even that of the lord of Ibisia." Cyran said.

"You fool! Whose eyes have been clouded by the deceits of Cyran, can you not see it? Cyran is a serpent with sweet subtle words which only bring destruction. You have sold your race and my father's house and you shall fall by it." Mattan said.

"No father I have chosen to be great." Horton snapped. He drew out his sword to strike his father, when Cyran restrained him.

"Hold it! Mattan I will take to the dungeons of Isenmorg as a gift of the allegiance of Horton to my lord." Cyran said even as he peered into the pale, terrified and whitening pallor on the face of Mattan. And gesticulating with his hands the old king was seized by the Krocs and shackled in great chains, bound for the dungeons of the Dark Vale.

"Now you and your fair captains and riders come have a drink with me, of alliances unbroken to the worlds ending." Cyran said even as he patted upon the broad proud shoulder of Horton. The wine was served in goblets of gold, but it was no wine but a portion that was fraught with the evil malice of the enemy to enslave the will of the Fysian, transforming them into puppets in the hands of the puppeteer Cyran.

Cyran was lavish with his gifts, chests of gold and precious stones, and the best of the hoard of Ibisia which was of no use to the dark master. And with the side of his eyes did he watch their gloat, the very gloat that had corrupted him, Aardoo and many others that were now in the service of Sondon.

"If you will aid the hand of Sondon in the conquest of Mythia, as such shall I fill your halls with much gold and strange wealth that you shall spend the rest of your lives counting. It is in the power of my lord, he promises and he keeps to his words." He said emphatically and looking up from his price of treachery, Horton said, "My lord." And it dawned on the sorcerer that indeed his potion had begun to work its effect, and once again one more had been added to the ranks of traitors just as Aardoo fell secretly many years ago. One more traitor that would hasten the hand of the tyrant to wrought his implacable mischief.

Before Cyran left Galadrosia he had made known his intention for an invasion of Mythia at the beginning of autumn. With an army stationed at Gur-lotta which had been rebuilt to be led by the revived wizard king, Aardoo, whom Sondon had resurrected. Horton was to aid him with cavaliers for the strength of Mythia was in its infantry. Horton pledged his commitment to raise all of Fysia to Aardoo's aid. When all was set and done, Horton returned to his lands with a strange rumour that he had engaged Cyran in battle and his father had fallen. Cyran returned to Ibisia to find that the tower of death of Basra had been sacked by the same hand that had dealt treacherously with Aardoo. Sirrion his most guarded prisoner was free along with three Surocs which he had left to rot in a potion.

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

THE FALL OF MYTHIA

"The wind seems fair, but I hear in it a cry long unheard in the realm of men. It brings the battle chants of the Ibis lords, the foul might of Gur-lotta, but it is only a foretaste of what will come. For behind Carn-dunn the mighty stroke of Sondon has been mustered." Roc the king said. From behind the battlement of Tirbane, as he peered far north upon the turbulent waters of the Isis on whose fuming tides asp ships out of Gur-lotta were sailing, with their dark sails bellying in the wind not a day away from the shores of Torgarmah.

"My lord, I hear word now comes from Milnor." Amroth captain of Tirbane said. The king turned to him with the pallor of one who had already envisaged defeat. Although he was known as a valiant man, but it was now obvious that his valour was of no match for the fear that now consumed him from within. Without saying a word he left the battlement where many fair knights stood beneath the warbling banners, watching as the ships came to harbour.

Down a stony flight of stairs beside a wall the king went to the hall of Theorbane where his marshals and allies from Maul, Porsa and Comorus awaited.

"All hail the king!" the herald cried, and the once tumultuous hall of vociferous voices went silent into mutterings. The subjects bowed as he went to take his seat at the head of the table of Oilus where great kings before had sat, the king remained silent and his head was bowed. At his right was Amroth, clad in war gear and his helm of silver beneath his armpit, his face grim and full of strength. To the kings left sat Thurin-mill of the guards of the golden hall, grey with age, but much wisdom would be found in him than the strength of arms.

"Call in the rider from Milnor." Amroth ordered. "Though evil tidings he brings but it must be heard for it is its hour." A soldier ran out. Finally the king raised his head to behold the gloomy faces of his nobles who had gathered to him in this dark hour.

"I greet you Arus and Arioch of Maul, for you have come to honour the old alliance between Maul and Mythia." He said.

Arus arose from his seat and paid obeisance to the king and his knights. A hefty man he was, with long brown curly beard that flowed onto his chest, his eyes were dim and his head bald and wore no helm. "Great are the knights of Mythia and their king. We of Maul know that any battle fought at the dales of Comorus will in no time come to the meadows of Maul except we forge our strength together. Though we have no king after the last was murdered with his household by the accursed, Aardoo, who now strengthens the black hands of Sondon, and now leads the assault. We have come for vengeance to rid ourselves of the name, "the kingless house of feebles." He said emphatically and took his seat heavily.

"Ere our long ride from Maul, words came to us of a mustering of might out of Fysia, perhaps the king has called upon the Fysians to come to his aide." Arioch of Maul said, a man of much height, fair to behold with a soft voice unlike the deep one of Arus his kin.

"I have not sent any word or emissary to the Fysia or Iop in decades, ever since they proved themselves to be collaborators of mischief, but I deem the young prince who now rules that land is not of the stock of old, for once he had sought an alliance with me." Roc said.

"My lord, Horton sends word." Thurin-mill finally said. "He says, though his strength is little, but still even a child could help an iron clad warrior to fasten his greaves." The king nodded with a deep look of satisfaction on his hard face. The butler came in with wine in a jar of gold, but the king beckoned onto him to be gone and leave the goblets empty.

"The king desires no wine tonight, except when this evil is trounced, save the wine in honour of those to die for many will."

"My lord the scout brings word." A captain said and bowed deeply. The king motioned with his hand. Standing beneath a torch that stood in the bracket on a pillar, the scout stood dishevelled and panting, for he was weary from a long ride.

"My lord from Milnor of Torgarmah I ride." He gasped half reclining on the pillar.

"What have you seen?" the king asked anxiously. "Speak! I bid you."

"A great host my lord, Asp ships! Ships with black sails with the emblem of the Peat isle of Gur-lotta crowded with the foul host of Ibisia. From the bastion of the watchtower, the ships were uncountable and endless." He gasped.

"Let him have his rest. I have heard enough. The might of Ibisia is not new to any here neither the reach of its powers." The king said and sat back heavily on his seat, a hand beneath his chin and for a moment he seemed to be lost in a dark thought unaware of all. "This is more than the foul host of Gur-lotta as I have long feared, for it seems Aardoo has gathered many more out of the hordes of Carn-dunn."

"This is no time to despair my lord; we must hold onto our defences and make the shores of Tirbane too bitter to tread upon for the Ibis." Thurin-mill said, and for once the hopes of the knights went to the Fysians whom word had were on the warpath to their aid. But they were oblivious that their hopes now rested on a band of traitors, long bought by Ibisia, who were coming to hasten their downfall.

In the dead of the night, the king returned to the battlements overlooking the Isis to the north. The faint white crescent waned to the north in a starless night, just like the world of men, lone and enshrouded in a waxing darkness. Tirbane was quiet beneath the gloom of an impending battle long feared in the world of men. From the turrets the vague figures of watchers could be seen pacing about watchfully, a smooth and cool breeze blew from the south which seemed to whisper evil to their ears. Then came the faint rap of ascending footsteps and clinking of mail, and looking back the king saw Thurin-mill rise above the steps, as his hair shimmered in the wind.

"My lord the thought of impending battle bereaves all of sleep." Thurin-mill said and faltered on the parapet and peered at the king, for a moment the king said no word but peered towards the north as if he could feel the breath of Ibisia, hot and foul upon his face.

"My thoughts stray away to two whom I have greatly wronged." The king said with much grief.

"Whom do you speak of my lord?" Thurin-mill asked, for it was evident that in the heat of events he had forgotten about Horace and Heres.

"The lad Heres and his father." The king said. Thurin sighed deeply and his head fell. "Death must have overtaken them as we all had foreseen." He paused. "And my only child has sworn to love no man but him; I fear that in the heat of all darkness when all hope is lost, she too would harm herself and bring the house of my fathers to an end. Who knows they might have divulged the secrets of their precarious mission under the cruel tortures of the Ibis, I fear I have only sent Horace to meet his secret ally Aardoo. And in their combine plot they have mustered a massive army, for he knows our strength."

"You harbour too much fear for a king going to battle at dawn, my lord. Do not be disheartened for you must imbue your men at that hour when all hopes fail." Thurin-mill said patting the king's shoulder. And quietly they retuned to their sordid beds.

Before dawn the men were roused from their beds by the blare of horns. The alarms were sounded and running helter skelter with weapons at hand they ran for the battlements to man the post. Peering north they saw nothing but the white foam of tides upon the roaring sea, for the sea had become tempest as if some power of old had come to their rescue to avenge them on the Ibis. The night was breaking and the wind had changed course and now it now favoured the attackers, hurrying their assault,

"Lights! Ibis fire! Asp ships!" The watchmen proclaimed from the highest tower.

"Prepare the defences!" the king ordered. "At last we have come to it, the very fears of our fathers, but we shall put the Ibis to the test by the edge of the sword forged out of the bitterness of our age." From the darkness that veiled the north a fading light flickered, a few moments later over a hundred of such lights glinted like stars in an open night, spreading east to west for many leagues.

"At dawn this battle will commence." Thurin-mill said ruefully. "Though they are many leagues away but their ships are borne on a swift wind."

The last preparations were hurriedly made now that the enemy had been sighted. Men rallied to their ranks, horsemen charged up stirring all to the defence. Gradually the dawn continued to break, but unlike other days it was to be a day of bloodshed, and even then the north seemed ominously dark in the first gleam of dawn, the dark sails bellied in the wind, it was a great fleet unlike those in the days of the first invasion when Sondon came to contest the might of Surrucia, and as they approached men quailed with a new fear at the powers of Ibisia, for they had no conjurer of any sort to withstand the wiles of the abominable Aardoo.

"I have seen the arm of Sondon, the hand of Cyran and the fingers of Aardoo for though it is wrought of steel and wield great power, nevertheless with our puny strength we will attempt to sunder it." The king said steely.

"This is an army ten times our number, Krocs from the farthest north, and blood thirsty Ibises." Thurin-mill said.

Clamouring jeers rose from the ships, ghastly voices of a foul horde, so strident that it silenced the rumbling of the sea, with the intent to dismay all that heard it into a rout. The men stood aghast none blenched for the king was like an oak tree which no boisterous wind could uproot in the frontier of his realm.

A league away to the shore the Ibis ships threw their anchors into the sea, and rolled up their sails. there beyond the range of the archers, they stood in battle readiness singing ominous war songs. Perhaps a strange fear had seized them, when they beheld the ranks of tenacious men who feared no slaughter. But a single ship of Ibisia ran into the shores, its gangplank fell into the water with a loud splash revealing the evil lord of Gur-lotta. Below his dark swirling banner he stood behind him the grimmest Kroc any man had ever beheld.

Aardoo came on shore he bore no weapon but his staff, all marveled and were dismayed at the despicable creature he had become. A half man to the right and a half Ibis to the left, an accursed being of no honour.

Aardoo approached imperiously like a marshal sent to receive his lord's tax.

"Are you that rabble of a king, lord of a wretched folk and ruins?" He asked the king contemptuously, but the king remained silent perchance it was the wretchedness of Aardoo that had stunned him.

"Aardoo!" he called in a whisper. "What a curse!"

"Indeed Roc your arrogance now precedes you that in your great folly you have conspired to uproot me." Aardoo began trenchantly. "Well it worked, but for a while, for there is still power in Ibisia to give life to one that is much esteemed like me, for in your sniveling you contrived against me. But Aardoo would not fall by any sword wielded by a mere mortal, I fell by my own powers, and I was lost in the darkness. Then I awoke in Kirrin-dunn in the hands of him whom you all tremble to call; now I walk the earth more powerful than ever. My tower rebuilt from the rubbles and the sons of Zek, Horace and his son they will now endure the slow torments of the dungeons of Isenmorg in the best contrivance of the dark arts." He entreated mischievously after which he proceeded to laugh to his fill in his insolence.

"Go back to your ship or I shall slay you first you insolent emissary of Sondon!" the king snarled.

"I am no emissary, for death is his emissary. Prepare your graves for I will fill the vales of Rimmon with your dead, and I shall fall every tree from here to Ain to build a siege mound against that city. The rivers of the Anuivale shall run red with your blood and I will pile up your dead as high as the Grey mountains." Aardoo said scornfully. Mostly to taunt and mock, then raising his hand that clasped his scepter aloft his head in a sign, he motioned onto his fell captains, and as the hand came down so were the gangplanks hurled off the ships.

A vociferous jeer arose as Ibis and Krocs, the most truculent host of Carn-dunn and Gur-lotta charge into the water, wading fiercely for the battle.

"Archers! Give 'em a volley!" Amroth cried. The bows twanged and arrows whistled and whined onto the invaders, many were struck and fell into the water only to be trampled by those whose lust for battle was far more insatiable.

"Fi-i-i-re!' A hoarse voice cried and a volley of arrows rose from the battlements of Tirbane and like a dark cloud it showered upon the Ibis. Like an overwhelming tide from a broken dike the Ibis came, led by the grimmest of Krocs of Isenmorg, a sight whose dread overcame the courage of men like fat thrown into the fire. The ringing sound of clashing steel and a rumble broke out as the Ibis crashed into the defending ranks. And for the first time in more than a hundred years after the fall of Surrucia, the much anticipated battle of this age now raged.

Brutish and savage was the manner at which the Ibis fought, fraught with evil malice they fought recklessly. But despite their vicious barrage men were better swordsmen and had a reason to die unlike them, and this proved ill against the teeming horde of Ibisia.

Aardoo sat upon a high seat which was borne upon the shoulders of four Krocs. With a sardonic grin he watched the battle unfold with much amusement. For it was clear that before noon the fighters of Mythia would have been overwhelmed, Tirbane sacked and razed. For even as he watched he could see the banners of men crumble in the heat of battle while more than half of his army were yet to see battle. Indeed men have only begun to feel the scourge of his master, he said to himself.

"Late will be the hour when those slimy maggots, who call themselves allies choose to appear, perhaps the Fysians will find none to slay, fools! They might have to clear the battle field for my army to advance towards Ain." He said boastfully and the captains that stood about him reeled out in a mocking laughter. "Where is that rat, a beggar of a king who calls himself lord, for I swear by noon on the morrow I would have made the halls of his fathers like the tombs of Neron." But even as he spoke insolently, an arrow whistled and struck one of the Krocs on whose shoulder he was borne. The Kroc tottered and with a choking moan fell. The seat lost its balance and fell with a crash.

Aardoo found himself in a horrid place as dark as the chambers of Kirrin-dunn. The sun was crimson coloured, the earth was parched and dust billowed to choke him.

A light flashed above his head and peering up he caught the grim face of a Suroc that was half veiled in the darkness. Aardoo cowered backwards upon hidden stones, and even as he grovelled the mighty hand of the Suroc fell ominously upon him and continued to smother him. With a cry of anguish he found himself on the battle ground, clutching onto his neck and screaming and writhing as he returned from his dark trance, the Ibis about him were stunned.

The armies of Carn-dunn proved invincible, and too bitter to be thrown back to their ships. And as the sun reached midday the defenders were now pressed against the walls of Tirbane, soon to be caught in the implacable grasp of Aardoo. Fiercely they repelled, but their valiant effort was to no avail for it seemed they floundered against a wall of steel. And even as it seemed Aardoo would reach out to take victory for himself, the riders of Fysia rode into battle with the blare of horns and the din of clattering hooves. Routing the invaders to the sea, and would not suffer them to have a glimpse of victory, in the rout that followed the king and his men joined in the charge until they came to the shores. Watching as the Ibis wade wearily for their ships, but it was an ingenious stratagem by Aardoo for none could contend against the craftiness of his devices. Now having his foes within his reach surrounded by his hidden allies, Horton was to give the sign which would bring his armies back again for the final assault and the sacking of Tirbane.

Now faltering on his sword, the king stood surrounded by his weary captains, for it had been fierce fight and only a few were unscathed and even as he watched the Ibis flee mindlessly for their ships he knew that victory for him would be short lived, for once the armies of Ibisia regrouped they would return, but never did he have a faint idea that he had now walked into a snare. Horton rode briskly with a company of riders whose armour glistened in the sun, and their horses were high and grim, great steeds of the south.

"I greet you Horton!" the king saluted, raising his sword to his new ally. Horton raised his sword in answer even as he reined his horse towards the king. He rode near towards the king, when suddenly his grinning face turned sinister, his horse leapt into the air at the king and with a swing his bloodied sword swept through the air narrowly missing the king's throat. The other captains were not so fortunate for many of them fell or were trodden upon.

A grim blast sounded and those who tended the wounded turned and slew them, the treachery of Fysia was at last revealed, and at the blare of horn calls the Ibis who seemed to flee returned to battle like a ravening host they hurled themselves into the battle more convulsively.

"Curse! Cursed! Are the horsemen of Fysia, who have allied themselves to the darkness for in it the rider shall grope and fall by it." The king lamented as the affray came bitterly upon him. "Flee! Flee for the walls!" he cried. "Flee forth!" the horns of retreat blared dully, and with the hot assault upon their rear they fled for Tirbane, which was soon barricaded and besieged.

Thick columns of smoke accompanied with the reek of battle blackened the air; the Ibis went about unchecked plundering the slain. But mostly it was the detestable act of the Fysians that confounded all for at first they had come with aid of alliances and friendships, bringing hope in time of despair only to add salt to injury when the battle had gone sore, an evil beyond sacrilege.

Near and far the Fysians rode amongst the Ibis as they set up to build siege artilleries for the taking of Tirbane. Aardoo would not relent until Tirbane was taken, for it was a lesser fortification compared to those which had fallen into his hands before.

The king sighed deeply as he peered upon the teeming horde of Ibis that now moved unchecked beyond his wall. His face was caked in mud and blood, his crown he cast aside for it was of no use in such a dire hour. To his right was his blade still stained with the blood of his last adversary. He watched his men run helter skelter carrying the wounded.

"Never did I ever think we could be swept away so quickly." He confessed.

"Perhaps we had underestimated the might of our adversary my lord." Amroth said.

"No, I will rather say we underestimated the craftiness of Aardoo, for indeed he has proved a useful hand for his master against us." Arioch said, his head bandaged and on his cheek a fleshy wound. "We must flee my lord, this fortification will not stand a siege, not for a night, we know it the Ibis know it."

"The horses, we must ride out of here or Tirbane will be our grave. We must hold our post and keep the Ibis from the walls. At the second watch of the night under the cover of darkness, we retreat for Rimmon from whence we can come to Ain on safer roads." The king said.

The Ibis war drums rolled and horns boomed, all about the shores of Tirbane Ibis ships were anchoring, with many more without harborage and out of them the invincible might of Ibisia sallied out. Battalions upon battalions that baffled the defenders, a great host like one only imagined in the kings darkest dreams, men sighed remorsefully for if Aardoo could muster such a force, what more will that of his dark master be? The woods were fell and great fires leaped in their midst.

Dusk was fast approaching when the Ibis resumed their fierce assault upon the wall; the gates of Tirbane quaked with every blow from the battering ram which was accompanied by the vociferous jeers of a horde of Krocs, boisterous Krocs out of Balragia now wielded the ram, clad in the thickest of amours that made the whining arrows look like rock hurled by a child. Their hoarse cries sounded sinister as they charged, clanked and yelled before the ram's stroke. The fissures on the wall widened with every blow as men braced themselves to the gates only to be hurled back by the brute strength of the ram.

The horses were readied in their stables and the wounded fastened to the saddles while those who could still wield weapons stood to fight. The king and his captains peered hopefully into the waxing dusk, for only in the cover of dark could they elude the ravening host that stood beyond the wall. Every passing moment appeared endless as if a dark spell by Aardoo now held sway over the day, restraining the night until he had claimed victory at the shores.

The king ordered his army, archers and crossbow men to the battlements, while the most valiant men stood in ranks with drawn weapons, a blow came upon the gate and a rampart tumbled from above and laid in rubbles, another blow came with a horrendous growl and the gate was rent in two but it still stood quivering amidst its battered turrets. A more trenchant growl issued as the last stroke was hurled against the gate that it broke into two and was flung wide open to the invaders.

"Fi-i-i-re!" The captains cried, a volley of arrows whistled but only clanged upon a wall of dark shields and bucklers. An avalanche of Ibises poured in furiously, the clangour of clashing weapons rose as another fierce battle followed. Blinded by rage men fought valiantly to avenge themselves, although the onslaught went bitter against the Ibis their great numbers still proved ill to men, and as nightfall came the defenders were once again beginning to be overwhelmed.

The charge was sounded to retreat from the fallen fort, the riders mounted their steeds and charging out furiously through the ranks of the Ibis though many perished, but even at the ruins of the gate they were cut off by the main strength of the Ibis and when it seemed all hope had been lost and Tirbane had turned to their graves, the Morbid arrived, rangers of Iop they were of great reputation in the wars of old, coming from the darkness of the woods at the rear of the enemy, unlooked for they rode into the rear of the Ibis ranks and hurled their charge away, making room for the king and his men to flee from Tirbane.

The ride for Fagshold was weary, desperate and precarious for it was in the cover of dark and the assault upon the rear had not allayed. Both men and steeds were weary from a long battle which had spilled the best blood of Mythia. In the dead of night the king and his men rode across the fords of the Variag River, where no enemy would follow. Riding briskly they covered many odd leagues all night, at the first sight of dawn they came to Fagshold the stronghold at the threshold of the Rimmon Mountains.

The jaded riders alighted from their horses, some fainting while others lay in pains upon the cold pavement.

"Sirdan." The king called in a gasp. "I owe you much, captain." He said gladly.

"You owe me nothing my lord; it is my oath of fealty." The dark hooded ranger answered, tall and grim he stood beside his horse, clad in a black cowl with the reins in his gloved hands, and behind him stood the proud admirable men of his company. "My lord, I bring Freanor and with him five hundred men, whose allegiance is not to Horton."

The king and his men turned with a mistrustful look to the man whose dark lofty helm ringed his head.

"My lord!" Freanor said with a knee to the ground. "I beg to repay the evil of my land and lords for there are still a few who have not joined in the conspiracy of Horton." He implored.

"What oaths will you now swear that I would hold onto, for every Fysian is as Aardoo and his master Cyran." Roc said.

"There are a few my lord, like me and my men, and many more abroad who would come to your aid at my call, three days ago I sent a secret messenger to warn you, but when we received no word from you, we knew our message had not come to you, so we set out, and to our horror we found him dead, with two long dark feathered arrows sticking to his throat. My lord Horton is but a fool, a slave to the dark magic of Ibisia, but I have a strong fear that if Ain falls, Aardoo would fall hard on him when he least expects."

"I cannot take your help master Freanor, be gone to your lands for this evil shall come there. I will look to my own defences with or without you." The king said and turned to go.

"What if I should tell you, that the way from Fagshold across the Nair valley to your city is watched, an ambush awaits you." The king halted and turned back. "My lord you must trust me for if ever you take that way you would only come to your city dead." The Fysian captain implored plaintively.

"I fear he says the truth." Amroth whispered.

"I fear you say that because we are outnumbered and you desperately need them, but it will be an incorrigible thing if we fall twice to the same ploy." The king replied hotly in a hurried whisper. And turning back the king went to the upper chamber where he would meet his council for further deliberations.

Before noon the council had ended, the horses were prepared and messengers were sent to all the realms in the lordship of the king, that all who could wield weapons take up arms and come to Ain while the women and children flee to the strongholds before they were caught by the ravening host. Freanor and his men got the kings trust when they came unlooked for and broke an ambush of Ibis and Fysians lurking on the way. Under the lowering clouds they took the southern roads, of over forty leagues to Ain through the great oak woods of Turgron upon the vale of Aenon. The gallops of their horse's hooves were heard throughout the gap of Thundrin, on the borders of Turgron below the shadows of Guardfrost where the beacons were lit. Five leagues east of the Wislow woods they rested a while, and on again they rode hastily and on the second day after the fall of Tirbane, the king came to Ain with many distraught riders.

Hastily the defences of the city were ordered, the streets were deserted save for armed men who hurried to man the walls and outposts. The eventide was heavy and no summer wind would pass through the city from the north. Many came to the call of the king but as feared only a handful for most were reluctant and turned to look upon their own defences, and as darkness deepened many teams of wagons laden with people, old and young with the few belongings they could scavenge came slowly grinding through the Wislow roads heading for the city for refuge, and even as they came clambering in the dusk and the gloom that hung in the air, horsemen could be seen charging through the procession, messengers bringing ill words of the evil that now ravaged Comorus.

As dusk came, the gates were barred and none was suffered to leave the city or stay beyond its walls. The men camped in the precinct of the wall while the captains stood at the battlements planning stratagems to hurl back the assault of Aardoo, fires were lit on the walls, but no song of battle was sang, heavy clouds stood above the city with a few lightning but not a drop fell, possibly under the control of Aardoo the rains only relented to wash away the blood of the slain.

At this dark hour very few had come to their lord's call, though the city defences were strong and could withstand a siege for it was built in the days when the strength of men was great but the defenders were lacking. Three thousand strong defenders, a force that could not withhold even the Fysians what more the ravening host of Ibisia, for most were slain at Tirbane and on the rout upon the dales of Comorus.

"Send the women and the children out of the city and arm any as found with the strength to wield a sword, for I will not suffer Aardoo to have his fill of bloodshed within the stones of my fathers." The king said as he paced about the battlements, his plight now obvious to his men, for he was unfortunate to be king at the beginning of the dark days.

"My lord is there now a beacon at Fagshold, of Rimmon?" Sirdan the Morbid captain gasped as he peered north at the flickering lights that spurted at the dales of the Rimmon mountains, the king looked up slowly and even as he watched it seemed the end had suddenly dawned.

"That is no beacon!" a soldier exclaimed. "It's the red fire of Ibisia, now it has come upon Fagshold just as it did to Tirbane."

"Indeed the hands of Aardoo now draw nigh, now he has taken Fagshold, probably in the dead of the night Guardfrost, and at dawn he would stand before my walls unchallenged." The king said.

"My lord a messenger awaits you." Amroth said, with a bow. The king beckoned for him to be brought, and up the flight of stairs he came flanked by two who held him fast lest he falls from the weariness of a long ride, clad in a grey weather stricken cowl and smelt much of smoke, still panting he made obeisance.

"My lord wild men of Fysia and Ibis!" He said, and bending low he took a long gasp and stood again. "Every fastness at the dale has been overrun and razed, Fagshold now burns, and every village from Turgron to the river sacked, but I fear at dawn they will come to the city." He said, the king sighed deeply and peered north, now he could see many distant spurts of wild fire in the far darkness that now veiled the north.

"One more thing my lord." The messenger gasped.

"Speak!' the king ordered without turning back.

"Siege towers my lord!" those words stunned the king that he turned with a frightful gaze.

"Aye my lord, Siege towers of Ibisia, made of steel not wood, I do not lie I swear! The ibis are dismantling their ships to build them." The messenger cried for he feared he would not be believed due to the incredulous looks that beleaguered him. "Twenty to thirty my lord, with my very eyes did I see and count them at the gap of Thundrin."

"Siege towers of Ibisia!" Thurin-mill exclaimed, nodding his head as he paced about with grave fear in his eyes. "Indeed the wizard king of Gur-lotta as he proclaims himself would not relent until he turns this city into a heap of ruins." He muttered.

"We must hold them before the wall." Amroth said.

"We do not have that strength." Thurin-mill snapped. "But also we would not suffer any Ibis to reach our walls more or less breach it, for I can now remember a stratagem of the Suroc's which they used against the siege towers and catapults at Gul-minnor, let every man cast aside his weapon for a while, pick up spades and meet me beyond the walls."

In the first light of the morning, the distant bangs and wild throbs of drums could be heard from beyond the sombre woods that were veiled in a sullen mist. A single blast of horn that sounded in the keep of Ain, the men grasped their weapons and arrayed themselves into serried ranks upon the wall. A red sun rose from Moil, partly concealed in the mist that was mixed with swirling dark columns of smoke from many fires, dark smoke rose from the distant fringe of the woods, swirling menacingly above the woods, men quailed and blenched.

From the main road that ran north from the city a tumult of galloping horses could be heard, and moments later their standards unfurled in the air, and on them were displayed a red Balrog on dark scarlet, the banner of Carn-dunn in the hands of an Ibis chieftain who sat upon the saddle of his hound as many more of his company came, and their upsetting ranks opened.

The swirling columns of smoke gradually turned into siege towers, dark and ominous towering above the trees like pieces of turrets of an advancing wall, adorned with warbling standards, and a tumult of fell vociferous cries, singing songs of war in their hideous tongue. The main force of the Ibises soon filled the plain before the city, their weapons and gear glittering in the morning light, and to their right flank the accursed riders of Fysia issued to form ranks.

The king looked at the floundering faces of his men, they were definitely intimidated at the strength of Ibisia which made them appear as a child armed with a brittle twig assailing a mail-clad warrior. But even as he watched from the rear of the Ibis ranks, Aardoo issued on a beast never before seen by any man in this age, upon a Monoi behind its Kroc rider he stood, with a sarcastic grin upon his mutilated face, and behind him two other Monoi's ridden by Kroc chieftains and dark towers upon their backs. Towards the wall they came to entreat insolently with ill boding words with the king and his men, he gave a long cold glance at the walls they were just as he had thought; they would not be too impregnable for his armies to breach.

"Call me that rabble, the son of Zocos that you call king." He cried imperiously onto those that manned the wall. "Tell him the wizard king Gur-lotta. The traitor of men has come to entreat with him." The king pulled up the visor and set his helm aside, and recognizing the king he let out a mocking sigh.

"What a facade of a stand this is, a mustering of every crone and feeble beyond your wall, soon you will feel the cold blade of Ibisia, cast off your weapons and swear oaths of allegiance to my lord." Aardoo said.

"We know you have no interest in slaves, you cursed, foul mouth of Sondon!" the king sneered with a stern look of great indignation on his face. "Save yourself the waste of time for none shall set a knee before your master more or less you." And for a moment the piercing eyes of Aardoo looked about the walls of the city sinisterly as if he could discern a hidden danger, for he saw that fear had lessened on the face of the men on the wall. The Monoi rider pulled his reins and they returned to their lines.

"Fools! They count on the strength of their walls, mighty they may seem but I will beat the hewn stones of this city into dust." He said coldly. "Begin the attack, hurl every artillery and siege tower to the wall, Ain must fall before dusk for I have seen her walls they are not stronger than those of my tower nor Basra." He growled.

A great Kroc chieftain, the most stalwart of the stock of the north, grim to behold, clad in a black hauberk and a huge breastplate upon his chest, in his right he wielded an axe and in his left a great horn while his large round buckler hung behind him. Ahmus he was called, a captain of Balragia who was now lord of Tirbane which he had renamed Tidran after the mountain of fire of Tophel. The Ibis hailed and cheered for him for he was of much renown amongst them, he lifted his dark double bladed axe high that it towered above the unfurled banners and a deep silence came to the Ibis ranks.

"Bloo-o-od!" his deep stentorian voice rang out. "Death, hew them all, until none remains!" at that a vociferous tumult answered, so great was the uproar that the walls shook, the woods seemed to sway backwards to hide behind the mountains. Ahmus drew his horn and winded a great blast as he stretched his axe at the city, the ranks surged forward with the siege towers in front grinding towards the city while Ibis and Krocs groaned as they pushed, arrows rained on the attackers from the wall, many fell only to be trodden by the iron wheels of the towers, a rattle of impaling arrows could be heard clanging upon the towers of dark steel like the clatter of raindrops in a storm.

"Shields in front, shields in front! And above your heads you sluggards!" Ahmus growled, and all hurled their shields and bucklers before their breast as they drew near the city where the resistance was staunch, but this would not dismay the Ibis whose ranks appeared as an armoured serpent, gradually advancing to strike, the catapults on the walls hurled large projectiles of stones which came tumbling through the Ibis lines and knocking down a few of the towers.

Aardoo smiled for the resistance could not deter his advancing horde, soon the walls would be taken and the city sacked, he said to those who stood about him, and even as he spoke Horton rode briskly before him and behind him other captains of Fysia cantered.

"Stay your wrath my friends. There is enough to kill for every Ibis and Fysian." Aardoo said flippantly.

"Why don't we join in the assault against the wall?" Horton snarled. "We now fell like women who sing songs to men who go to battle." Aardoo reeled out in laughter but it was not to mock them.

"Will the horse scale and topple the wall with its neigh, or will the horseman breach the wall with his charge? No, my friend I'll give you a deal if we breach the wall you can ride in and slay as you wish." He said smiling and took his seat with his face turned towards the wall, where three of his siege towers were now smoldering the air with dark columns of smoke as fires raged upon them.

"Push! Push! To the wall, all hands on the towers!" Ahmus cried from behind his large shield, his grim face was doused in sweat even as arrows whined past him.

The towers creaked and the Ibis that filled them groaned then came a crack and many cries and turning to the left flank about a league away, a tower tottered and swayed sideward with a loud thud it crashed upon the Ibis. To the right another plunged into the ground and as it tottered the Ibis in it cried and panicked and many fell upon the upright spears that were now revealed in the quicksand, "Flee!" Ahmus cried as a tower came crashing into another tower. A loud sundering crack and many splinters and shards clattering about amongst the mangled bodies of Ibis and Krocs, the Ibis turned to flee only to be impaled by many fusillades of arrows.

All about the wall of Ain the Ibis siege towers were tottering and crumbling into hidden trenches that were now revealed beneath the weight of the towers; the first assault was in a rout and was fleeing beyond the range of the archers on the wall. Aardoo watched in consternation as his brilliant stratagem was brought to ruins by the ingenuity of Thurin-mill, and all across the battlefield only the dead of the Ibis and Krocs could be seen strewn about with arrows sticking to their backs, he could hear the cheers on the wall, how they mocked him and move him to great indignation, how could he not have seen this coming? He continued to ask himself.

"Match three companies to the gates and batter it." He growled at Ahmus, the Kroc captain turned upon his ranks, with an emphatic sign. And a long carriage of wood and steel came grinding from the rear through the ranks, driven by the brute strength of the Krocs from within with their shields hanging to the side of the carriage. Ahmus stood in front behind the giant wheel of wood, and slowly it went towards the city with a tumult of hoarse voices bellowing from beneath. The carriage was a cynosure to the men on the walls and the Fysians, for none had ever seen such an armament of war, the archers were ordered to stop shooting for their arrows were ineffectual against the carriages that were slowly advancing towards the gate.

The catapult on the farthest turret on the wall rolled, and hurled a large projectile that whined in the air with a tail of smoke, it crashed upon the last carriage and sundered it into two, bursting aflame. The Krocs beneath hurried out of the wreckage in flames, tossing their weapons as they ran for the safety of their lines but were soon overwhelmed by the impaling arrows. The first carriage had now reached the gate, and even as they assembled the battering ram, the men in the turrets above the gate began to pour barrels of hot moat upon the carriage, the Ibis cried from within the carriage for they now wished to flee the reek and frying heat of the moat to save their skin, and peering above they saw to their horror a soldier running with a torch aloft his helmed face down across the battlement towards them.

"Flee!" Ahmus cried for the second time that day, the Ibis broke company and dispelled in all directions like a scattered brood of bees. The torch was hurled off the wall, and all of a sudden there came a blast that sundered wood and steel, hurling bodies into the air. A fierce fire now raged with blinding smoke that made the invaders to grope in the day, and with a hideous cry of defeat the Ibis retreated from the wall, now battle shy they fled for the safety of their lines.

Twice beaten today by the ingenuity of the men, Aardoo remained confounded, the imperious look on his face had long vanished. Horton stood by the stirrups of his horse in astonishment and a deep grimace on his face, but now he wished he had not partook in the unsuccessful assault, for at this moment he had thought they would be pillaging the city and sharing the spoils of war, and here they were stranded and frustrated with defeat glaring at their faces, also dissension was beginning to stir in his ranks. Horton turned to the so called proclaimed wizard king of Gur-lotta and was about to ask if despite all of his powers and craftiness this was all he could contrive or conjure, but he restrained himself for his will was under the sway of Aardoo.

"Get me my Monoi!" Aardoo's voice ordered. "Let me take a ride to the city and behold the faces of her defenders, a bunch of feebles and crones which you have long foundered against." He snarled, and sullenly he went away and the Ibis fled from his face. At the rear of the ranks, the Monois were fettered, great beasts of colossal proportions, whose appearance made even the Ibis to shriek and flee, that if not for the fetters that restrained them, these flagrant creatures would go charging and trampling even through their lines.

Aardoo drew the reins as he sat upon the saddle; behind him was a tower with a company of archers and slingers. A Kroc smeared blood to the horns of the Monoi that instant the beast charged so viciously that it yanked the chains that restrained it and spurred furiously for the city, with the ground shuddering beneath its tramping foot.

"To the city! To the city!" He barked, the wind whistled in his ears and the smoke seethes upon his face, over the slain he galloped.

"What is this beast?" the men exclaimed in consternation, as they beheld the lord of Gur-lotta saddled upon the most sinister of all creatures ever seen in the world of men. A beast that appeared like a charging hill with a billowing dust at its tail, straight upon the gate of Ain it rammed its helmed head, the walls quavered from the blow, great clefts appeared upon the wall, Aardoo reined his beast away from the gate as if in defeat even as the archers volleyed at him. Fifty meters away he reined the Monoi towards the gate, the beast grunted and grinded its foot impatiently on the ground, and with a deep grunt it charged forward more ruthlessly and furious. A loud bang tore through the silence of fear that now clad the defenders, a column of dust billowed as a rumble rose, and in the pandemonium that ensued the turrets by the gate were hurled into ruins, the gate crashed into the city upon the defenders.

As the dust dissipated, amongst the wreck was the mangled body of the Monoi, its helmed head was mangled and battered and about it the fallen from the wall but the accursed Aardoo had simply vanished with the dust that now hovered above the city like a grey cloud.

"Move all ranks to the gate; it is yours for the sacking!" Ahmus ordered.

"Now the battle for Ain has begun at the gates we shall withstand them, where all our defences are of no use." Amroth said. At the ruined gate they could hear blasts of horn calls. A vociferous uproar, a bitter surge as the Ibis and Krocs came once again to battle. The men hurriedly piled up the rubbles and set a fire to the moat and all about the walls of Ain, fires raged whose swirling fumes reddened the sun and smoldered the air.

"The city has been breached, to the city you slugs, to the city!" Ahmus snarled and kicked at the stragglers, as the ranks hurried past him while the tongs of his whip lashed against those that appeared to plod and lag towards the final sacking of the city.

At the ruined gates, the heaps of rubbles at the breached segment reduced the voracity at which the assault came. And as many who clambered through the rubbles and came for battle soon met hewing axes and swords or were impaled by the whining arrows, Aardoo watched in anxiety as an hour crawled by and still they were many Ibises outside the wall just as much as he had sent, the battle was going at a slow pace from the din of swords he could now hear.

"My lord, the resistance at the gate is as staunch as steel, our assaults have been futile the men have piled a wall of rubbles and it grows by the moment with our dead." An Ibis captain reported, and with a growl Aardoo tossed him aside as he rose. "It's now time a wizard of Ibisia, prove his worth." He sneered.

At the wall the battle raged fiercely with a ringing din and jeers of many voices, both fair and foul, the Ibis thronged upon the breached segment, voraciously trying to storm their way through. At the rear of their lines a hoarse voice snarled, a horn blasted, the invaders turned back only to catch the horrifying glimpse of a Kroc chieftain astride upon a Monoi waving a dark banner charging for the city, "Out of my way, you weaklings!" he growled, the Ibis leapt off before his vicious Monoi, but through many he rode with many Ibis gored by the iron tipped horns of the flagrant beast, and many were left trodden into the ground as the beast rushed furiously upon the breached segment, there came the thud like that of many falling stones, a rising of thick columns of dust that blurred and dispelled both defenders and invaders, and as the dust dissipated nigh dusk, the piled rubbles had been cleared, the Monoi laid beside the first, its head mangled within its cloven helm, and many of the defenders and invaders slain amongst the ruins.

The Monoi rider awoke from his dark dream and at his head stood a fair knight clad in a coat of mail with the emblem of Mythia upon his breastplate, but it was the sinister glisten of the sword in his hands that caught the Krocs attention and unnerved him, reaching for his spear, he hurried onto his feet but before he could make a thrust, the knight made a swift strike and hewed his head asunder.

"The city is open, make for it, slay all in your path!" the hoarse voice of Ahmus rang in the clamour of battle, and like a whirlwind the Ibis surged into the city, that for once in the history of men of many ages, did a foe set foot within the precinct of the city's wall.

The king rallied all to his rank and there at the breached segment upon the rubbles of the wall and gates they withstood the Ibis bitterly. Swords and spears of the most valiant stock of men against the dark scimitars and axes envenomed not just in poison but also in the reckless hatred of Ibisia that before Aardoo could come to the use of his dark powers the city had fallen.

The defenders put the Ibis to a bitter test at the fringe of their victory, but once again the teeming numbers of ibis made their reach invincible, then about two furlongs away along the wall another segment crumbled as a third Monoi leapt into the city with a blast. The wall was now breached in two places and from it new strengths of Ibis were flying in unhindered, slaying at will. Amroth took a contingent of Morbid's and Mauls to withhold them, but the Ibis press was vicious for they were fresh and unscathed while only a handful of the defenders had not suffered a mortal wound.

At the first glimpse of dusk the Ibis horns blared and gradually they retreated from their onslaught, for indeed the taking of the city was at their finger tips, and as they retreated the horsemen of Fysia came galloping into the city, and with them the hound riders of Carn-dunn, "Aardoo's cavalry."

The defenders cried with dread, for they dreaded the terrible hounds of Ibisia which had riders saddled upon their sleazy fur, hounds which every living thing flew from with shrieks of consternation or else fell paralyzed in their paths to be instantly devoured.

"My lord we have left the pillaging and ravaging to the Fysians." Ahmus said as he came at the head of his company of Krocs.

"No, you have left the Fysians to count the dead of our onslaught." Aardoo corrected and chuckled upon his seat, from whence he could see the city now smolder in smoke as the dusk deepened and the shadows lengthened, but most it was the rising wails that amused his sardonic personality.

"We have slain the best of Mythia, now let Horton and his men slay the feebles and crones and beat their chest as a partaker of the downfall of his own kind, for once he is through and leaves the cover of the city, I have a surprise waiting for him." He said contemptuously and all about him burst into peals of laughter for long had they set an inextricable snare for the spiteful men of Fysia, for with their aid was Mythia to be subdued but the hammer stroke was also to fall upon them, so had Cyran and Aardoo devised even before the meeting at Galadrosia where Horton proved himself a traitor.

It was now dark, the city was veiled in a blanket of smoke that hovered above it, and many fires could be seen raging at various sectors of the city. Thurin hill was ablaze, the golden hall sacked and plundered, and all about the wails of the people could be heard for the brutality of the Fysians was beyond reckoning, that the people now wished the Ibis had come to slay them and not one of their kinds. The loot and plunder of battle were shared amongst the men. "To lord and captain of great victory!" they hailed themselves with embraces and kisses, while gold and silver were strewn at their feet.

"All hail Horton, lord of Fysia and the realm of men! A great lord as Azurin of the second age!" a boisterous captain proclaimed, and an encomium of cheers and hails rose in honour of him who now sat upon the throne of the great kings of Mythia whose line had just come to an end, and raising his goblet of mead in his right and many gold farthings in the other, he rose and raised a toast.

"To a new age, of alliances unbroken between the lords of men and the lord of Sondonia!" Horton said and at that he threw the gold coins of treachery onto his subjects. "Sheathe your swords from the swordplay, drink your fill of the wine of Ain, and count your plunder! Be merry take as many women as your strength can, for by the morrow every captain shall be a lord and every lord a king." He said. The minstrel came with sweet music and the mastery of the harp and flute, singing songs of great victories of charging knights and riders of the horse folks of Mindol beneath the banner of Fysia.

At dawn smoldering columns could still be seen dissipating above the city, the broken walls made the once fair city look like a long deserted ruinous city of ghost and howling wolves. Before the dark tents of the Ibis, the Ibises stood in ranks for Aardoo would suffer none to remain, and all night while the Fysians sang and got drunk the Ibis sheared their weapons for a greater slaughter.

Horton came from the gloomy shadow of the city, saddled upon his horse and behind him his company's came with the easiness of those who expected no misfortune, bearing chests of loot and slaves. Sauntering from the stupor of strong wine, they beheld the Ibis ranks and battle formations that waited to hail the new lord of men, on whose head sat the crown of Mythia.

"Now he calls himself lord amongst men, he has counted his loot and plunder and has become fat with the wealth of sweet treachery, now let him come and I will teach him a lesson that victory at the expense of one's own kin is the greatest of all defeats." He said.

"All hail the great lord of men, friend and ally of him who watches from Kirrin-dunn. Now my lord Sondon will repay his oath for your loyalty." Aardoo said and reaching into the folds of his dark robe as if to present a present, he produced a spear, and all of a sudden he hurled it at Horton, but the grey horse neighed and leapt into the air intercepting the spear that would have impaled its rider, it tumbled to the ground, and before the Fysians could check themselves the Ibis ranks had pounced viciously upon them with ferocious stabs.

The vicissitude of the traitors instantly turned sour as an ally turned into a virulent foe just as they had dealt with the men of Ain. The piercing pain of savage thrust and bitter scimitars cleared their stupor that their songs of exultation died in their throats.

Horton groveled at the foot of Aardoo, a long fleshy wound to his back as he cowered over the slain of his company, he cried as he peered into the ominous and fell face of Aardoo, a treacherous mutant of a creature who was most renown for treachery, and how he had come to ally himself to him he could not now tell, and like a mist dispersing in the bright daylight so it now dawned on him how grave his folly was. Now crouching like a lame dog he expected no mercy or quarter from the brutes and savages that now besieged him for it was not in their nature. Ahmus took him by the neck and heaved him up and all about he could see the end of his army, at the foot of Aardoo he was cast, and in the excruciating pain of dishonour, Ahmus great foot came heavily upon his back and pinned him firm to the ground.

"A lord amongst men indeed you are! A lord over open graves, the lords of Ibisia have no interest in slaves of men, neither would they stand by any alliance to your maggot race, now you shall become the most miserable of all and suffer the most heinous of deaths, after you have beheld the waste of your lands, for as I have done to Ain so shall I do to your city." Aardoo said, with a sardonic grin on his face.

"Aah!" Horton gasped in pain, as dark blood dripped off his mouth. "Indeed this is my retribution, but that of Aardoo son of mellion is still afar but it will be more gruesome than mine."

"Shackle this rabble to a fetter, to Mindol of Fysia we march!" Ahmus growled. And so came the end of the days of the fair city of Ain, fairest of the abodes of men after Saran of the first age that was sacked by Rogoroth, now sacked by men whose condign came swift upon them, for the very arm of darkness which they upheld came down in a vicious stroke upon them. The days of the kings of Mythia of the line of Azurin came to an end in the ten and nine hundredth year of the fourth age, a city of which many songs are said about.

Thank you for reading my book. If you have enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer.

Thanks!

M.Y. ROGER

M.Y, Roger is an avid reader and writer of fantasy and mystery thrillers, living in Nigeria. He is an award-winning feature writer, and also a free lance reporter for the local vanguard newspaper in my district, you can please follow me through the following links.

You can purchase this book at

Amazon US at. http://www.amazon.com/legends-scrolls-dark-quest-ebook/dp/B00I511Z7S/ref=sr_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1393535016&sr=1-9&keywords=the+legends+of+the+scrolls

Or on Amazon UK. https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00I511Z7S

Follow my facebook page. https://m.facebook.com/thelegendsofthescrolls?ref=bookmark&_ft_

My Goodreads page is https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/27755731-momoh-roger

THANK YOU.

