WHEN COMES THE KING: A Tale From The Land Of Nod

The Sanctuary

2006-05-10T20:20:00.000-04:00

Chapter Six:

To my brothers who will follow me up to the Mount of Adoration I pen this letter lest you think me more than the man I was. I am Medgag, servant of the Most High God. As this is my 830th season of life, I am no longer so young that I am neither ashamed of my failings nor so bold as to believe that I am without them.

It seems so long ago now when I went up to the highest of the mountains. I had asked to know what would be the way of the nations of men because of their fall from the Way of God. And when I saw the future of man’s deeds I lifted my fist to God and demanded that he change the course of events.

For my arrogance I was struck down. My eyes were closed, my ears were shut and my voice taken from away. For one season I was without their use. Left only with the thoughts of God I saw the excesses of my life. When my season of humility was ended my senses returned. I became whole.
Medgag: The Man of God

Hidden on a neighboring peak to the Mount of Adoration Karr passed the days in a cave observing the Sanctuary of Medgag. The mountain ranges of the Land of Nod were in the period of the frozen mists. Each season the mists that watered Creation changed to snow as the higher elevations became colder covering the mountains with the white powder. For a city dweller from the warm plains of Stone City cold was uncomfortable even while the snow was pleasing to the eye. His problem was maintaining his concealment and still getting up close enough to the Sanctuary to see anything. He learned how the snow mists covered his tracks every three to four days so long as they were shallow. But frequent movement around his hiding place created deep prints in the high snow. Consequently he restricted his forays out of the cave.

Lacking the skills of a woodsman forced him to rely on the supplies he had brought with him. Several failures at hunting confirmed his deficiency in the craft. His food lasted eight days and he was at the point where he would have to give up his surveillance and return to The City of Kings when he decided to risk a late night visit inside the Sanctuary. When he was within approximation of the structure he discovered that the entire surrounding area was covered with the footprints of humans and animals. He realized that he could approach the Sanctuary without danger of leaving a trail. Once in the compound his street-wise instincts served him well in stealing food and provisions including a set of the brown clothing, mountain boots and a warm cloak worn by the scribes of the Order.

How he ate well that night and every day after. The kitchens of the Sanctuary were stocked with a variety of foods and drink by virtue of the tithes brought daily from people all over the Land of Nod. Karr’s street sense told him to restrict what he took to items not easily missed. The practice kept anyone from noticing that a thief had raided the kitchens or food stores. The Order became his sole source of provisions and he made frequent trips into the walls of the Sanctuary. Primarily for food but after a while he began to explore.

The Sanctuary on the Mount of Adoration was built of a light brown stone particular to the Asshur Mountains and mortar in the shape of a square surrounding an open courtyard. Its main entrance was a tunnel running under the west facing walls between the dinning hall and the great hall used as a banquet hall by guests of the Order. Two towers dominated the northwest and southwest corners. The High Tower on the northwest corner was the living quarters of the Head Master of the Council of the Gifted. Housed in the southwest tower were the many libraries of the Order. The southern portion of the Sanctuary was the Hall of Light. Living quarters for the members of the Order and the dwellers were built into the northern side. The eastern section was reserved as the guest quarters for the frequent visitors. With the exception of the towers, the buildings of the Sanctuary were three stories in height and covered with roofs made from tiles formed by mixing crushed rock with mortar.

There were few visitors during the period of the frozen mists since the snow made travel difficult up the small path from the Great Highway. So the guest quarters, which provided the best entry into the buildings, were nearly empty. Using the balconies outside of the rooms, Karr gained access where the darkened corridors made it easy to move about unseen simple by what few members of the Order might roam them in the late watches of the night. He enjoyed sitting in the Hall of Light. The Hall was kept fully lit all of the watches of the night for those of the Order who desired late-night worship or a place of meditation. Karr would sit in a back corner with the hood of his brown cloak covering his head just in case someone came to the Hall. It was his first experience inside a place of worship. There were moments when he imagined that he could feel the very presence of the God of the Brotherhood. His great joy, though, was walking through the library tower. He had never seen so many parchments assembled in one place before, some bound together called books and many more rolled into scrolls. There were shelves from the floors to the ceilings filled with scrolls and books. Though he knew a few words he basically could not read the tongue of men. Browsing the libraries he would gently caress the scrolls. How he wished he could read.

*******************

Simon sat on the rock under the crisp night sky gazing at the neighboring hillside. With a partial moon to his back the mountain across the valley was shrouded by the darkness. He studied the southern slope. This was the third night in a row he had come to the rock to observe the distant ridge.

There it was, he thought. It was just a flicker of a light but he was certain he had seen it.

“He lives in a cave and usually comes out in the late watches of the night,” said Herro startling the scribe so much he almost jumped out of his skin.

The former thief scooted onto the boulder next to Simon.

Surprised, Simon asked, “You have seen him?”

“I heard him first,” laughed Herro. “He was wandering the hills several days past scaring away the game. He is not much of a hunter. Hunger must have gotten the best of him because he broke into the kitchens.”

“How…?”

Herro shrugged his shoulders, “I figured someone that inept at hunting would either have to leave or risk stealing from the Sanctuary. So I hid near the likeliest place to break into the kitchens and waited. He slipped in just long enough to take a few days worth of food before sneaking back out.”

“Did…did you follow him?”

Simon could see the big grin on Herro’s face even in the reduced moonlight. The other man shook his head, “I did not need to. I sat right here and listened to him make his way back to his little cave. Like I said, he is no hunter.”

“And he has returned?”

“Oh yes. Our friend out there is not much of a woodsman but he certainly knows how to get in and out of buildings. My guess is that he is a city dweller who has somehow found himself out of his element. But why?”

“The prince…”

“Most likely. The question is whether he is a friend or a foe. Strangely enough, he occupies himself more often now with the libraries.”

“We must discover his purposes.”

******************

It was a night when Karr had no real reason to roam the Sanctuary. There were sufficient provisions in his cave to last him four or five days. These days he was a man of two minds. He felt the need to report back to the old man at King’s Mountains while his heart tugged him back to the walls of the Sanctuary. The libraries drew him into their rooms with promises of unlocking the mysteries held in their scrolls and books. While looking through the scrolls he had stumble on scrolls with illustrations allowing him to define some words. Building on the knowledge he was gathering an ever-increasing list of words he understood. Confidence mounted in him that, given sufficient opportunities; he would soon be able to actually read.

There was no reason for him to be here. Yet, here he was stealthily navigating his way through the halls connecting the guest quarters to the library tower by way of the Hall of Light. Unusual traffic in the lateness of the night caused him to hide twice avoiding members of the Order strolling the halls.

The lower level of the library tower contained the library accessible to every member of the Order, the dwellers and any guests. He skirted it to climb a small circular staircase to the third level where he would find the illustrated scrolls he was using in his quest to read. Peering around the doorjamb he verified that the room was unoccupied before he glided in over the polished wood floors. He was anxious to get to his studies. It was a big mistake.

The Stoner was in the middle of the room when he realized that he was not alone. There was a man, appearing out of the shadows of the shelves, who was now barring the main door in front of him. Another smaller man was now blocking the side entrance to his sword hand side and he could feel the presence of another person behind him. Calmly he turned thinking that he might casually walk past the man to the stairway. It was not to be. There were two men between him and the stairs. He was in big trouble.

The former street urchin of Stone City did not panic. He had been in tough situations before and had learned to get himself out of them by keeping his senses and reacting before others could act. Logic said if he wanted to run for it he should take on the man at the side door. It would be foolish to try to go through the huge man guarding the main entrance and very stupid to take on two men to get to the stairway. Do the unexpected, he thought. Surprise them.

Taking two steps backward as if he were moving away from the two men, Karr suddenly pivoted and lunged at the larger man protecting the main door. Unfortunately, the man was not fooled by his feign and was waiting for him. The giant greeted Karr with a fist to the ribs and a quick jab to the side of the head. Before he knew what had hit him, the Stoner’s feet flew out from under him and he was rolling across the floor. He tried to come up fighting but the smaller man tripped him and delivered a blow to the other side of his head with his forearm.

Three men were now on him. The bigger of the men had pulled him up and pinned his arms behind his back. The other two were delivering body blows. A quick kick took out the legs of one of his attackers sending him sprawling the floor but the other continued to punish him. Karr was winded and his knees were giving out on him. Try as he might he could not protect himself from the punches nor free himself from the grip of the big man. He thought he was about to pass out.

“Enough!”

Herro brought his fist back for another blow when Simon grabbed his arm. “That is enough,” he insisted.

Hanging in the arms of Hartgore, Karr let his knees go. He was too weak to both stand and stay conscious so he chose consciousness.

“Release him,” Simon commanded Hartgore.

When the big man turned him loose the floor came up and smacked Karr in the face.

“Who are you?” asked the young scribe staring down in the face of the bruised Stoner.

Karr pretended that he was too battered to comprehend the question but Herro was not going for it and gave him a kick in the side. “Answer the scribe, Stoner,” he demanded.

Simon gently pushed Herro away and motioned for the other two men to move back a little.

“Who are you?” he repeated. “And what are you doing here?”

“I believe that I am lost and…,” began Karr.

Simon interrupted him, “If you would like, my friends can continue where they left off. Who are you and what is your business here?”

Karr sat up and rubbed his head. He had the beginnings of a really good headache and his ribs would be sore for days. He was convinced that the scribe did not have the temperament to have him beaten any further but he also knew that the Order did not think too highly of liars. And he had long ago learned that a little truth is easier and often better than the best thought out lie.

“I am called Karr. I followed you here from The City of Kings. I was curious why you would bring a baby all this way in a very round about fashion.” He paused in hopes that the scribe might lead him in the direction he should go in presenting his limited story but the scribe waited for him to continue.

“And once I settled in here I became curious about your little castle in the mountains. So I have been exploring it.”

“Who are you spying for?” demanded Herro stepping up to give him a slight kick. To which Simon responded by pushing the other man back with a hand to his chest.

Karr laughed slightly, “To that, I really do not know. He was an old man with a lot of iron bars. He never gave me his name.”

“Liar!” burst out Herro.

“I am afraid you can beat me until I am unconscious and my answer would remain the same. I never knew what he was called. He traded me more bars of iron for my information than I thought it was worth. You do not push that kind of customer too far.”

The scribe leaned down very close into the Stoner’s face. “Why did you stay instead of returning to tell your master what you had learned?”

“Well, for one thing, he is not my master. I am a freeman. And another thing… I do not know. I have asked myself what I gained by staying out there in the cold watching a big building all day and I do not have an answer.”

Simon reached out his hand to help the Stoner to his feet. “You will stay out in the cold no more. So long as you are in these mountains you will live in the guest quarters of the Sanctuary.”

The other three men started to protest but the scribe raised his hand and turned his head to cut off their objections. “We cannot kill him and if we run him off he can always sneak back. If we allow him to stay in the Sanctuary we can keep our eyes on him.”

Turning to Karr he said, “You are free to leave whenever you desire. However, so long as you remain our guest you will have one of these men with you always.”

“It is late,” said Simon as he started for the main entrance. “We must all get some sleep.”

Just before reaching the door Simon suddenly wheeled around to face Karr, “Whether by choice or obligation we all serve a master. Freedom is an illusion.”

*******************

The noise of the crying infant woke Karr. The Stoner’s lack of comfort in living with the brothers and especially the baby’s protectors made sleep fitful at best. He feared the knife he knew would come from the men who mistrusted his presence among them. And, rightfully so, he regarded the daily life of the Sanctuary with the eyes of a spy probing for weaknesses. Of one thing he was sure, the old man would trade a substantial weight of iron bars for what he had learned in the last couple of days.

There were no guards posted on any of the entrances to the Order’s compound nor to the main road leading up from the Great Highway, let alone the smaller trails, most unknown to those outside of the Order, that run through the mountains to the east of the Sanctuary. King Crom had dispatched a unit of warriors from the Seven Clans to the base of the Mount but Head Master Keron would not permit them any further up the mountain. The Stoner’s military sense was offended by this lack of security. A lone assassin with knowledge of the buildings could easily gain access and kill the child.

Karr heard the baby cry out again. He was given a room two doors down from where the scribe lived with the baby but the boy had a good set of lungs and the sound carried. Slipping into the hall, he listened for any movement of the former thieves who now considered themselves to be the prince’s bodyguards. They were fast asleep. While the men took turns seeing to the needs of the baby during the day, they had fallen into a pattern of allowing Simon to take care of the late night needs. He opened the door to Simon’s quarter carefully and leaned his head in.

“Come on in,” whispered Simon. He was sitting on a chair feeding little Christophe.

Karr sat down on a chair just inside the door and watched the scribe with his charge by the light of a single lamp. The infant gripped the jar holding the formula in his hands and was sucking hungrily on the tip. Wrapped in a blanket, all that was exposed was the child’s head and hands.

“It is…he is just a baby,” Karr said finally.

“What were you expecting him to be?”

This was the first occasion the Stoner had to actually see the prince. Up to this point he had avoided getting close to the infant concerned that if he did the bodyguards would attack him.

“Well, I am not sure. With the city calling him ‘the Great King’ and ‘the King of Kings’ I guess I expected him to be surrounded with a glow, to say the least. I do not know…”

Simon chuckled, “Look and see. He is a human child, nothing more nothing less.”

“What about the talk of a star falling from the sky and the prophecies of the ancients? Everyone in The City of Kings seem to believe he is something more, something special,” replied Karr.

“Have you read the ancient stores of which you site?”

Embarrassed, Karr looked down at the floor. “I was never taught to read or write.”

“That can be corrected.”

The Stoner stood up and walked across the room looking down at the baby. For a moment the child stopped drinking and seemed to stare at Karr. Then, abruptly, he giggled before he resumed his meal.

Karr rushed from the room. It would be days until he would again look at the child.

*******************

The air was frosty. Snow crunched under his feet as he walked. The mists had changed to snow once again in the Asshur Mountains leaving the ground covered with a fresh white blanket piled on an arms length of earlier snows. Karr was on the side of the Mount of Adoration facing the peak where almost one season ago he had hid to observe the Order. It too was draped in a fluffy layer of snow. The barren trees held the snow like white leaves. Everywhere he looked there was whiteness. He was not sure that he could ever become acclimated to the cold or the frozen mists, though it was pleasant looking. Pulling the hood of his brown cloak over his head he wrapped the garment tighter around his body to keep in the warmth.

Word around the Sanctuary was that the royal family of King’s Mountains would be traveling to the Mount to celebrate the young prince’s birthday. He knew all of the king’s children by face from his days of spying within the palace. The queen he had gotten to know personally by virtue of her frequent visits to the Mount over the past season.

Queen Sari had come to the Mount while Karr was hiding in the cave demanding to see her son. To her surprise, the Brotherhood welcomed her into their compound allowing her to be with her child as much as she wanted. After his discovery by Simon and the mighty men, the name the scribe had given to the three former thieves, Karr met the queen on her second journey to the Sanctuary. He learned from Nephilim Hartgore that the queen was unaware, along with most of the Order, of his past trade or how he came to be among them.

Past trade, he thought, was it his past trade or was he just like the trees that shed their leaves temporarily during the moons of the frozen mists only to grow new leaves when the snows passed? It was a good question. One for which he did not have an answer.

Much to his annoyance, he was enjoying his life in the Sanctuary. For one thing, Simon the scribe was teaching him to read the tongue of men. Lacking anything else to do, he had followed the scribe into the libraries three days after he entered the Sanctuary. While the scribe was trying to study Karr looked over his shoulder and asked a few questions about what Simon was reading until the scribe could take no more interruptions. He sat the Stoner down at a table, gave him a scroll with illustrations and a scroll to read. Simon showed him the basics he needed to use the illustrated scroll to decipher the other scroll and left him to the task of learning to read. Karr found that he had a knack for reading. He even began to take scrolls back to his sleeping quarters, which he shared with the three mighty men, and read out loud to the others with Simon helping him on the difficult passages.

His relationship with the mighty men was evolving. At first they regarded him with great suspicion. Taking Simon at his word, there was always one of the three with him wherever he went. Little-by-little they became accustomed to his presence and their suspicions dwindled. Hartgore, who was adept with most types of blades, was the first to associate with the Stoner. He began to tutor Simon and Karr on the use of swords and knives. Neemus was a hunter and woodsman. He tried to make the Stoner into a hunter. While Karr picked up a few skills in the forests, he realized he would never be a hunter so he tried to at least not be a burden to the Nephilim when the two were on the hunt. The sole skeptic remained Herro. Regardless of what Karr did or said he could tell that his motives where always in question. Nephilim Herro was clear in his lack of trust in the Stoner.

Nephilim, the title was new to him. When he asked Simon about it the scribe pulled an old scroll from the library shelves and handed it to Karr. The story was very old and the author unknown. It told of the seasons before the kings when the sons of God began to cross the Euphrates River. They found the Land of Nod to be wild and untamed. Reptilian beasts ruled the land and gained a taste for the flesh of men. A man, called Daytron, made weapons of wood and stone and showed the children of Adam how to kill the reptile monsters driving them back behind the Stone Mountains. In the days of the ancients men still spoke the tongue of the elves. They gave Daytron the elfin name Nephilim, which means mighty man in the tongue of men. Simon the scribe had resurrected the name for the three former thieves to give them a new identity. They were no longer bandits and common criminals they were Nephilim.

A rustling in the bushes brought Karr out of his contemplation. Dismissing the noise as an animal, he realized that he had walked across the valley towards the neighboring peak that was once his hiding place. The last two passing of the moon the three mighty men had stopped shadowing his every movement. Especially when he was not in the Sanctuary. He should be alone except he had the feeling he was being watched. He looked back at the Mount and turning in a full circle he noticed someone standing in front of the entrance to his old cave staring in his direction. Making his way out of the tree line he identified the watcher. It was the old man from King’s Mountains.

Approaching the old man with the fresh snow crunching under his feet gave him an uncomfortable feeling. Not that he had ever felt at ease in the man’s presence. Still, this occasion his inner senses were screaming at him not to get too close.

“Well, my old friend,” waved the old man. He had what passed for a smile on his wrinkled aged face. “It is good to see you again.” He was supporting himself with a rough wooden staff. Clothed in the garb of the brothers of the Order, his lowered hood exposed long stringy black hair. Smiling through stained teeth, his eyes seemed to glow even in the light of the evening sun.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Oh, that is not as hard as you might think. When you did not return after a few days I suspected that you might have gone off in search of the young prince. I figure that curiosity of yours had gotten the best of you. And here you are,” smiled the man lifting his arms up as if inviting an embrace from his former spy.

“How very clever of you,” mocked Karr, keeping his distance.

“Now there. You sound bitter. Did you think that you were the only one with such skills?”

When the Stoner did not reply the old man continued, “So, tell me what you have learned?”

But the refugee from Stone City did not hear the question. His mind was mulling over other questions. Like what was the old man doing here in the western Asshur Mountains? He knew that the child would be brought here. By now all of the Land of Nod knew that the youngest son of King Crom was living with the Brotherhood of the Order of Medgag. It did not make sense for the old man to come all this way to retrieve information he already possessed. Why was he…?

Karr looked up into the jovial face of his old benefactor who was still talking though Karr was not listening to what he was saying. The smile invited friendship but the deep-set eyes were full of menace and danger. In a flash the Stoner understood. He looked around quickly at the ground. Seeing what he was searching for just a little ways down the tree line from where he had exited. Three, no, four sets of footprints in the new snow. There was the rustle in the bushes earlier. The old man had accomplices. He was talking with Karr to keep him here, distract him.

The old man was trying to get his attention but Karr did not pay him heed. He spun around and sprinted back into the trees. There was no need to pick up the tracks of the other men. He knew where they were going.

While running Karr considered the four men ahead of him. Once in the Sanctuary where would they go first? The sun was about to drop below the distant mountains. The members of the Order would be starting to gather in the dining hall for last meal. He glanced down at the footprints that had started to cover the prints he made previously when he walked down from the Mount. They were similar to his boot prints. They were akin to the imprint of any member of the Order. Just like the three mighty men, Karr had adapted the brown clothing of the Order. It was functional in the changing climates of the mountains and allowed him to blend in with the rest of the community. No doubt the four unknown men were wearing the same type of clothing.

He could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart, his heavy breathing and crunching of the snow under his feet. Twigs snapped and popped around his head. His arms churned in rhythm to the cadence of his feet. His chest hurt from the intake of cold air.

Rounding the library tower he entered the dining hall by way of the door off the tunnel entrance under the west section leading into the courtyard. He paused to catch his breath and gather himself. Reasoning that the four men would not know that he was aware of their presence he had the upper hand. The dining hall of the Order was a place of equality. There were no special tables set aside for the Gifted or guests. Diners sat wherever they wanted or could find seats and the food and drink were brought out by the dwellers who performed the kitchen tasks. With a quick scan he located Simon the scribe and Nephilim Herro seated at a table on the far side of the room with the prince in his specially made chair between them. Neemus and Hartgore were in the process of taking the seats across the table from them. The room was full of chatter and the sound of chairs and benches sliding in and out.

Movement on his shield hand side caught Karr’s attention. Two men walking side-by-side around the tables toward the far wall. Both men still had the hoods of their cloaks over their heads. The dining hall was warm, as it usually was even in the cold of the moons of the frozen mists, so the cloaks were unwarranted, not to mention the hoods. A glimpse to the wall on his sword hand side picked up two more hooded figures walking around the opposite way. They were going to try to attack from two directions. If he shouted a warning the room would be mass chaos and the disguised assassins might succeed and possibly escape.

He had a plan. It was not a good one but it was a plan. Following the route taken by the two men to his shield side he briskly and, he hoped, casually walked up behind the men. Two steps from the pair he drew the dagger from under his cape just as the men he was watching pulled something from their own clothing. The two would-be killers were almost close enough to strike.

“Assassins!” he screamed at the same moment he thrust the dagger into the back of the first man he reached. The attacker, taken by surprise, dropped his dagger.

Simon and Herro pivoted around rapidly enough to see the second man lunging at the prince with a knife in his hand. Simon made a half turn back toward the prince using his body to shield the boy from the blade. Herro grabbed for the dagger, though too late to prevent it from stabbing the scribe in the lower part of his back. Karr had pushed the dying man aside and swiped at the second attacker catching the side of his head with the weapon taking off part of his ear. The attacker stepped back stunned, never to recover. Herro had drawn his own dagger and rammed it into the attacker just under his ribcage piercing his heart.

When the Stoner had yelled Neemus and Hartgore, seeing the two hooded attackers, started to climb over the table. Unbeknown to them, they effectively cut off the line of attack the other two assassins were taking to the prince. The assailants stumbled over the two mighty men trying to stab at the boy in his chair. Realizing they were attacking the prince, Hartgore grabbed the man closest to him by the arm and swung him around. Pinning his foe’s arm behind his back, the muscular Nephilim put his burly forearm across the other’s forehead and jerked the head back while forcing the body forward. The intruder’s neck snapped. Neemus saw the blade in the other attacker’s hand coming around from behind him. He locked the arm under his sword arm and with his shield hand he snatched up a pitcher of water from the table, the first object he could get his hand on, thrusting it back into the assassin’s face. The pitcher shattered and the attacker screamed as clay fragments splintered into his eyes. The smaller Nephilim released his grip on the man, turned around and struck him with his open palm up under his nose sending the bone of the nose into the man’s brain. The attacker was dead before he hit the floor.

With the second assailant dead on the floor Herro turned in anger to Karr.

“You brought them here, did you not?” he shouted at the Stoner.

Karr was confused. He had just helped stop an attempt on the life of the prince but now he was being attacked. He knew that Herro mistrusted him tremendously however this was a bit much. “What are you talking about? I stopped them from killing the boy!”

“They would not have come if you had not shown them the way. Admit it. You…”

“That will suffice!” commanded Simon holding his bloody side with his sword hand.

The prince was crying and Neemus had climbed over the table to him comfort him.

“He led them here,” Herro said to Simon pointing at Karr.

Simon shook his head sadly. “Do not be absurd. Of course he did not.”

“Who else would have? His kind …he is a Stoner.”

“And you were once a thief.”

The scribe reached out his shield hand to Karr. The Stoner brought Simon’s arm around his shoulders and gently slipped his sword arm behind the scribe’s back. Together they walked to the quarters of Gifted Barton. He had studied the ways of the healers but his gender disqualified him from making claim to the title.

*******************

The old man remained where Karr had left him standing in front of the entrance to the cave watching the Sanctuary. He had seen the four assassins slip undetected into the compound. Moments later the Stoner came sprinting up the path and disappeared around the tower. He waited for some sign that his Dark Ones had completed their task but he had little hope of their success. Quietly he cursed his former spy.

“You do not belong here,” said a voice behind him. He did not need to turn around. He knew whose voice it was.

“I had to try. You should have known that I would,” he said still facing the Mount of Adoration.

“Your presence here is a violation.”

The old men swung around to see an elf standing behind him dressed in the same style clothing as a member of the Order only his garments were all white instead of brown. Under the hood was a brown face, dark hair and pointed ears.

“You and your kind amaze me. Have you not yet figured out that the laws of Creation do not interest me?”

Without speaking another word or waiting for a response from the elf, the old man walked off into the trees where he was swallowed up by the gray and white landscape.

*******************

Karr and Christophe sat on a fallen log below the Sanctuary with a book. The prince was reading. Further beyond Neemus labored with the feathers of an arrow. The Stoner had been charged by Simon with the youth’s daily reading lesson after which the hunter would instruct him in his archery lesson. Though in his seventh season, Christophe read the tongue of men better than many of the beginning scribes who came to the Mount and, as his teacher, Karr’s proficiency was constantly improving.

“I am Medgag, son of Heron, the least of all who serve The Most High. In my night prayers I had a vision. I recorded the things that I saw in my own hand that all might know what wondrous sights I beheld’” read the prince.

“I saw the King of All Kings standing on a field of battle, his enemies spread out before him. On his head he wore a crown unlike any worn of kings before him or after. His empty hands held the Sword of Kings that would crush the head of evil.”

“Though he was betrayed by the sons of man, yet did he take the wrath upon himself? The price of victory was the fall of the Prince of Peace and Master of Men. Condemned to the grave of kings, he would not stay. The heavens would see his glory and the ground would show his footprints.”

“Born to the line of princes, he would stand in the place of kings. His blood will cover the ground and drench the tree of life.”

“How beautiful were his wounds. So white was all that was covered in his blood.”

“When I awoke I felt his peace. For many days I was at complete rest with my soul.”

“Do you understand what Master Medgag saw?” the prince asked Karr as he gently touched the page from which he had just read.

For a moment Karr thought about the question. “I understand the words.”

“Yes, but Master Simon always says that words mean things. What does the ancient master want his words to mean?”

Usually Karr chose the reading material for the lessons but on occasion, such as today, Simon would hand him a book or parchment the scribe expected the Stoner to use. Reluctantly, he always had his student read what the brother gave him since it invariably invoked questions in the youth’s mind and many a question proved beyond the Stoner’s ability to answer. At least, in his own mind.

“He is writing about the coming of a Great King, one who would save his people from their enemies. But I must confess that I have difficulty grasping the true nature of the man,” replied Karr.

Christophe thought for a moment, and then he said, “I have heard some of the brothers say that I am that king. Do you think I am?”

Karr kept his gaze on the distant tree line. He could feel the stare of the youth. Finally, he had to look into the boy’s eyes, “I do not think I am one who can answer that, young one. Simon or, better still, Master Keron would be far more qualified. Anyway, Nephilim Neemus waits to instruct you on your archery.”

Closing the book, Christophe handed it to the Stoner and rose to join Neemus. “I do not want to be that king.”

“Then do not,” Karr blurted out before he could catch his tongue.

“Do you think, Karr, that destiny is so easily controlled?”

The boy did not wait for his response, and a good thing, too. The former spy had no idea what to say.

The Land of Asshur

2006-04-28T09:59:00.000-04:00

Chapter: Five

The Land of Asshur

Do not fear the unexpectant. An altered plan often produces success.
Medgag: Thoughts from the Master

They slipped through the north passage of the Stone Mountains in the darkest of the night. Their concealment was aided by a heavy mist, which kept most of the residents of Stone City in the comfort of their homes and favorite nightly establishments. The dark grayness of their armor and cloaks gave the riders the appearance of shadows moving against an unseen light. Adding to the phantom images were their gray mounts. Twenty in number and silent in purpose, they were beyond the west side of Stone City before they broke into a gallop. Had anyone witnessed their entry into the Land of Nod they would also have seen them quickly swallowed up by the night. Though none did.

*******************

Simon knew it would take him two days minimum to reach the foothills of the Asshur Mountains. The first day went by without serious incident, though Simon had the nagging sensation that someone was watching him hike across the farmland.

The plains of the Land of Asshur appeared flat at first glance. A closer inspection by one who sought to hide in them revealed a rolling, hilly countryside spotted with shallow depressions.

At home in the mountains, Simon knew how to use the characteristics of the land to mask his presence. He doubled back on his trail twice trying to alleviate the feeling of being followed. While he could not find a trace of pursuers, he was unable to shake the feeling. The scribe was beginning to think that he had been so long in the comfort of the Sanctuary that his mountain skills were diminished because of it.

With the fall of darkness he carefully used a very small brief fire to warm the food for young Christophe and he buried the soiled diapers under rock and ground. He rationed his own food choosing to only eat enough to keep up his energy level. The infant prince was an excellent baby. He slept off and on, was quiet when awake and never seemed to cry. That night they slept in a nest of rocks, the baby cradled in Simon’s arms. Despite the discomfort he kept the pack on his shoulders and the bag in easy reach.

His sleep was restless and after five watches he was of the mind that he was not going to get much more in the way of sleep. He waited until Christophe stirred for his night feeding then he began preparations to get under way. Earlier he had warmed two servings of the milk and kept one of the servings between their bodies to maintain the warmth. Planning ahead allowed him to move quicker and eliminated the need to start a fire.

By the sixth watch of the night he was on the move. Progress was slowed by the darkness. He did not want to take any false steps that might result in an injury or give away his position. There were still about four watches of the night remaining.

One watch from first light he stopped for his first meal and to feed his charge. He kept his senses tuned for distant noises and felt sure that they were not being followed. That is until he heard the hoof beats.

Initially, the sounds were faint and he thought that they were coming from a road off in the distant night. When Simon determined that they were horses, he instinctively knew they were coming in his direction. He quieted his spirit and calmed his heartbeat and breathing. Now he could feel the movement of the horses on the ground and hear the hooves against stones and packed soil. The horsemen were not on a road, they were moving up the rolling fields toward his small camp.

Grabbing his bag and the child, he started jogging in a straight line away from the sound of the approaching riders. He was now moving parallel to the mountain range that was his goal. This route would take them into the Euphrates River at its widest part. From there he would be obligated to follow the river north or south to find a crossing point. Either direction would add another day or more onto his journey and increase significantly the possibility of being caught by the king’s men. However, he had little choice at this juncture. The quickest way to put distance between them and the riders was his new priority.

Simon moved into some small rolling hills leading into the foothills of the Asshur Mountains that were on the east side of the Euphrates River. He judged the terrain too hilly for most farmers to consider worthwhile farming. He hoped this course would minimize the chances of coming into contact with anyone else.

At first light, he was in the foothills and making good progress. He could still hear the faint sound of the horses behind him. They were about where he had camped the night. There could be little doubt that they were trying to overtake someone. He changed his direction to a more northerly one. The hills were a little rougher looking and he hoped it would make it more difficult for them if they were pursuing him. With first light he could now see the riders, some twenty or more in number. After working his way up a small crest, he turned to get a better look at them. A shiver shook him. They were dressed completely in gray clothing and armor and were mounted on gray horses. King Crom’s men they were not!

He descended the other side of the crest into a depression. Before he could start up the next incline he realized that he was not alone. Above him on a rise stood a man, hands on his hips looking down on him smiling.

“Good first light to you, my fine young man,” he said with the smile still in place. And why not smile, on both sides of him were lightly armored men with drawn swords. “How might we be of service?”

*******************

Mars drove his men all day without compassion. If a troll could force ride in the mid-day warmth with a hood on his head to mask his features, then these humans should have no problems keeping the pace.

He had led the riders over the Great Highway from Stone City almost to The City of Kings. Within sight of King’s Mountains he turned north off the Highway until they met up again with the Great Highway on its northward route to the Tri-Cities. They crossed over the Highway onto the plains of Asshur.

Just before last light Mars allowed his men to rest. Four watches into the night they mounted and continued across the farmlands of the plains of Asshur heading north. Their horses trampled fields and knocked down fences but, not surprisingly, none of the farmers made any effort to stop them or extract payment for the damages. It was at first light that one of the men called out the warning. Mars halted the unit.

Advancing a little ways ahead of his men, he scanned the horizon for a glimpse of what his man had seen. A head bobbed over a hill then disappeared. He called for a dismounted rest. Moving off from his men he scaled an incline for a better look. He saw the head again further away. There was no doubt in his mind that someone was trying to get away from him and his men. This was not surprising except that the general reaction of the farm people had been to hide in their homes, barns or wherever they could find cover until his riders passed. Now this one was running away. Most curious, he thought.

His orders were to make the best possible speed to Hammer’s Bridge where they were to intercept a scribe of the Order Medgag traveling alone with an infant. The child was not to be harmed at any costs. Zeus wanted the man too but Mars was not to risk the infant or his mission just to capture the man. And, he was especially warned, the scribe was not to escape alive. The warning angered him but he had suppressed the instinct to react, a very untroll-like response.

The troll flexed his muscular frame as he thought over the situation. Even among the dark beings, Mars possessed an enormous body, far more massive than any but Zeus, the reigning prince of the Dark Lands. Though many in the dark realm would dispute the assertion, Mars considered himself the second most powerful of the trolls. Except Mars had visions of greater grandeur. He wanted more power, power over all including Zeus. There was no interest on his part to maintain his status and he saw the current events developing in the lands of the humans as an opportunity. He would without a doubt fetch the little urchin who fled King’s Mountains with the son of the human king but turning them over to Zeus was another matter. His destiny was at hand and the troll intended to take it by the throat.

His hunter’s instinct told him that this running figure was his prey. His quandary was failure and the price he would pay if he did not locate the child. Should he continue on to the bridge or take off after this runner. His concern was that he had unwittingly and prematurely flushed his quarry. When this one reaches the river, will he take it to the north looking for a place to cross or head south? Mars knew that the sole northern crossing was Hammer’s Bridge. The river ran too rapidly to attempt a crossing anywhere else.

It would not take long to run this rabbit to ground. If this was not his quarry, then he could move on to the bridge. But if it was his man, then he will have saved himself the trouble of going all the way to the bridge and also not risk his prey going south on him.

The decision made, he returned to his men. “Captain,” he shouted, “mount your men. We are heading into the hills.”

********************

They had him completely surrounded. Simon glanced over his shoulder to see more men clothed in a variety of the garb of the nations of men coming around behind him. His brain was working furiously but he saw no possible escape from the trap he had walked into. Instinctively, he pulled the baby closer to his chest.

“As I said, my fine young traveler, how might we be of service?” repeated the apparent leader.

“Well,” said Simon slowly, “you could start by sheathing those swords.”

“Ah, well now, how do we know that you are not one of King Crom’s spies trying to catch us with our guards down?” he retorted.

“I guess you have me there,” smiled Simon. “I am using this infant as my cover so I can walk around drawing bandits into attacking me just to get them out of their hiding places. Then I will capture them and take them single handedly back to King’s Mountains for a handsome reward.”

Laughing, the man turned from side to side, “There you have it lads, we have been trapped. Seems we have no choice but to surrender.”

The joke brought laughter from the others.

He gave a signal to his men behind Simon. The scribe could hear some of them moving away. The leader jumped down from his lofty position to place himself face-to-face with Simon.

“Which brings up an interesting question,” he said looking into the young scribes eyes. “What are you doing out here all alone with a baby in your arms? Maybe you could answer that little curiosity for me.”

Now how do I satisfy his question without breaking my discipline of faith, wondered Simon?

He decided to take his best shot. “This child is under my protection. I have been charged to deliver him to the Order of Medgag on the Mount of Adoration.”

At the mention of the Order of Medgag and the Mount of Adoration the brown clad leader stepped back as if Simon had told him he was ravaged by an illness.

The leader was wary now, tilting his head to the side. “You don’t look like a Gifted, my young friend. Are you a Gifted?” A slight smile crossed his lips with the question.

“No, I am merely performing a service for the Order.”

“Hmm, sounds quite noble. What reward would one expect for such an honorable deed?”

“I am not doing this to gain riches. Wealth is no concern of mine in this matter. However, I am afraid the Order of Medgag does not deal with those acting contrary to the Way of God. So I see little in this for you.”

The leader of the bandits put his hand on his heart. “Oh, you wound me. Do I look like the kind of man who thinks of nothing but the gain of wealth?” With that his men broke into loud laughter.

“I am sorry if my words were harsh. I must tell you though that I do not have much of anything of worth to steal, a few bars of iron and a couple of daggers. You may search my luggage if you do not believe me.”

“I am Herro of the tribe of Gil, I do not rob from women and children. As far as I can see, you are nothing but a little lost boy,” responded Herro. His tone had changed to anger and Simon realized that he had insulted the man.

He tried to recover the situation. “Again, I am sorry for my words but you must admit this looks very much like a robbery,” he said pointing at the swords in the hands of Herro’s men.

Herro waved his hand and the men put away their weapons. “There, you see,” he said showing his empty hands palms up, “no robbery.”

Herro looked into the blanket at the face of the child and up into Simon’s. “What I am wondering about is why so fierce an evil, like these dark riders, would want with a lost boy and his little baby? Maybe you could enlighten me on that little point?”

Simon bit back the fear. He forced his face to show nothing but calm. Unfortunately, his voice betrayed his concern. “What do you mean?” his crackling voice asked.

“Well, youngster,” Herro continued his demeaning tone, “we have been watching some shadowy riders coming up behind you over the low land plains. They were taking the same route across country to Hammer’s Bridge as you until just a few moments ago. They appear to have switched direction and are now close behind you.”

Before Simon could respond, he was interrupted by a commotion behind him. He swiveled around to see what Herro was looking at. One of the men Herro had sent back to check on the riders made several jesters with his hands. Herro swung around to the men still on his former perch and motioned with his hand. They quickly disappeared.

“Come, young one. We must become one with the hills or you will be having a most unpleasant confrontation with those riders of whom I spoke,” he said pulling on Simon’s sleeve.

**********************

Mars and his riders reached the small rolling hills where he had last seen the man drop below the horizon. He rode up on a small incline that gave him an unobstructed view of the surrounding hills. The running figure had completely vanished. He reined his horse around in a circle and removed the hood from his head, scanning for any signs of movement. He saw nothing, no one. The troll slapped his saddle and muttered a curse under his breath.

Somehow that little creature had managed to either conceal himself or he had grown wings and flew away. Hatred for the human burned in his inner being. If this was his prey, the man would not survive their first encounter, he swore. He pulled the hood back over his head. He waited on the top of the crest for half a watch, his eyes looking for any movement.

Finally, he conceded that he had lost this one. The mountains of Asshur on this side of the Euphrates River were too rough for horsemen. It would be difficult to continue west and still reach Rivers Run by last light. As such, he had no choice but to continue on to Hammer’s Bridge. He rode back to his men and without comment, he spurred his mount north back in the direction of the river crossing at the bridge.

******************

From his hiding place, Simon heard the horses ride off into the distance. He waited with Christophe held closely to his chest praying that the infant would not cry. The bandits were whispering to each other but Simon would have to move his head to hear them and he did not want to chance disturbing Christophe. So intent was he to listen for any clue as to what the horsemen might do that nearly jumped out of his skin when Herro tapped him on the shoulder from behind.

“The coast is clear, my friend,” he said in a low voice. “It would be prudent for us to put some distance between your pursuers and this place. Just in case they double back to look for you.”

Simon stood up and looked around. Everywhere there were men appearing from seemingly nowhere heading off to the west in the direction of the Mountains of Asshur. He determined that he was safer in the company of these men for now. So, he followed after them.

The band climbed into the mountains. Simon was sure these men were no strangers to the hills. They picked their way from one-foot trail to another, always traveling west. As a son of the mountains, he admired their ability to find the shortest but easiest paths up through the mountains. At the high sun, they stopped to eat mid-day meal.

Simon took care of Christophe’s needs before he allowed himself a few bites from his provisions. He was concerned about the quantity of his supplies now that he had added at least a full day onto his journey to Rivers Run. And there was no telling how long it would take him to get across Hammer’s Bridge. He would have to wait until it was safe to cross. He was convinced that the riders were looking for him and somehow they knew he was going to cross over the Euphrates at the bridge. How this was possible since only he and Master Keron knew his plan?

Deep in thought and with Christophe asleep, he did not notice Herro sit down beside him until the man spoke. “You have the air of a man with a large burden on your shoulders.”

“To say the least,” he responded. “Those dark riders have complicated my mission.”

“They are probably heading straight for Hammer’s Bridge to wait on you to try to cross.”

Simon shot Herro a quick glance, and then regretted the reaction. “You seem to know my business as well as I do myself.”

“That is not as difficult as you may imagine. What I do not think you are aware of is that the leader of those chasing you is a troll,” said Herro.

“Oh my,” breathed Simon. “Oh my,” he said again. He was at a loss for words.

“’Oh my’ indeed,” echoed Herro. “It is the occasion to be frank, young one. I am guessing that you are on the run from King Crom and these dark riders are not necessarily an unexpected development.” Simon tried to interrupt but Herro held up a hand cutting him off and continued, “You were attempting to cross the river at Hammer’s Bridge but the Dark Ones are going to beat you to the bridge and make that plan almost impossible. You could follow the river south and cross at Crom’s Point but, no doubt, the king will already have his warriors guarding that bridge on the alert for you.”

“I could wait out the dark riders at Hammer’s Bridge. If I stay…”

Herro interrupted his thought, “The mountains around the bridge are very dangerous. Bandits and thieves roam them freely. The only safe place to be at night is Rivers Run. King Cleaus does well keeping the streets safe but he can do little outside of the walls of his city.”

He is leading me somewhere, Simon thought. “What would you suggest I do?” he asked.

“There is a way for you to cross the river. It is reasonably safe and it will cut days off your travel to the Mount of Adoration,” said the brown clad man.

“Why?” asked Simon.

“Because, for one thing it is the more direct…” Herro started to say but it was Simon’s turn to interrupt shaking his head from side-to-side.

“No. Why are you offering to help me? What is your price?” he asked looking the other man straight in the eyes.

“We have heard there is panic coming down from King’s Mountains. I know who the child is. Or what he might one day be. The tale of the star has made it to the plains of Asshur.” Herro stood and placed himself in front of Simon and Christophe. He drew his sword and knelt on one knee, driving the point of the sword into the ground. “As you are my witness, I pledge myself to the service of this king.”

The man’s face was full of sincerity. Simon could think of a thousand reasons not to trust him. But something inside of him told him differently. He reached out and touched the blade of the sword. “On behalf of my charge, I accept your service.”

Herro’s band along with Simon and Christophe kept traveling across the mountains beyond last light. At the end of the first watch of the night Herro called a halt. “We will camp here for the night,” he announced.

As had become his habit, Simon saw first to feeding and changing the infant. He played and talked to the child for a long while until Christophe finally fell asleep. It was only then that he took his last meal. He ate sparingly. He was still not sure how much faith he could put in Herro’s word or his ability to cross the river. So, he was determined to stretch his supplies for as long as he could.

The Euphrates River was the widest, deepest and fastest moving of the four rivers in the Land of Nod. The river starts its southward voyage through the land from its Blue Sea inlet by the Tri-Cities. It takes over the waters of the Tigris River just before Hammer’s Bridge increasing also in the rapidity of the currents as it travels down the valleys of the Mountains of Asshur. Just before entering the Forests of Eden it collects the combined waters from the Gihon River and Pishon River at Seth Fork. The river widens even further as it passes through the forests but slows its pace. The Euphrates leaves the forest for the desert where it disappears into the vast wasteland beyond the known territory.

From their campsite Simon could hear the rushing waters of the river but could not see them in the darkness. Of one thing he was sure, they were far above the river. Herro and his men left Simon and Christophe alone. He could hear the men off in the darkness laughing quietly at each other’s jokes. Herro had ordered that no fires be built tonight and a quarter of the men would stand each watch. Simon felt semi-secure for the first occasion since leaving the City of King’s. He drifted off to sleep listening to the sounds of the river below him and reciting the works of Medgag.

It was still dark when Christophe’s stirrings woke him. He lay still for a moment listening to his surroundings. He could hear the river and the movements of some of Herro’s men. They appeared to be breaking camp and eating first meal. Confident that all was well, he changed the baby, made a small-concealed fire to warm the formula and fed Christophe. The child lay in his blanket chatting to himself while Simon took care of his own personal needs and ate his own first meal.

Herro approached him as he was finishing the last bites. The brown clad leader tossed him some dried meat. “Eat hardy, lad. This day will be a long one and you will need your strength,” he said sitting down beside the scribe.

Simon gratefully accepted the extra food. His morning ration left his stomach asking for more. He chewed in silence for a while until Herro spoke.

“I will go with you today.” It was a statement and not a question. “Two of my men, Hartgore and Neemus have asked to accompany us. They are good men. I highly recommend them to your service.”

“Why do they want to come with me?” asked Simon with an emphasis on the “me.”

Herro ignored the emphasized pronoun saying, “They want to serve the prince as do I and as you are so faithfully doing.”

When Simon did not reply he added, “It will be a long three or four day’s travel from the other side of the river to the Mount of Adoration. There are still dangers along the way. You could use the help and the prince could use the protection.”

“Then I see great value in their service,” Simon said conceding the point.

By first light the small company was on their way. They descended the hill where they had camped for about a watch when Herro proclaimed that they were at the crossing point. Simon looked around perplexed. There was no bridge of any kind and they were still too high up in the hills to use a boat. The waters of the river were twenty or thirty lengths below them. Cautiously leaning over the edge, the youthful scribe could see the agitated waters of the Euphrates rushing over the rocky bed of the river churning into frothy rapids.

“Herro, I do not see how you expect us to get to the other side without a bridge,” said Simon.

Herro smiled at him, “We do not need a bridge, my friend. We have Herro’s Cord.”

Simon followed Herro’s gaze. A large rope was stretched across the river a few lengths from them. It was tied at parallel heights to giant trees on both sides of the river. The cord dipped slightly in the center. Suddenly, he had a very bad feeling about this day.

“It is simple, you push off and build speed going toward the middle so that the momentum will carry you up the other side. You will just slide across the river,” Herro said, confirming all of the scribe’s worse fears. “There is nothing to it.”

A huge man introduced to Simon as Hartgore was the first to travel the rope. He had a strap of leather with a pocket in the middle. In the pocket he placed a smooth flat stone coated liberally with animal fat. The stone pocket was balanced on the rope and he held the ends of the strap. The rope could be heard singing as Hartgore sailed down the one end of the rope and up the other over the river. He used his outstretched feet to absorb the impact and stop on the tree limb at the far side.

“You see, no problem,” laughed Herro. “However, it would be best if I took the young one with me. You will need all of your concentration.”

Simon wanted to protest. He did not like the idea of entrusting Christophe with anyone else. But as he watched Neemus follow his comrade over the rope, he was forced to admit that he had his doubt about whether or not he could live through this adventure let-alone protect the boy. Reluctantly he handed the baby to Herro. Two men had his strap ready. In his case it was decided to tie the straps to his wrists for extra security.

The scribe was about to ask Herro if there was not perhaps another way to ford the river when he received a gentle push by the two men. The next few moments were shear fright and all that he saw was the tree rushing at him. He could also hear someone screaming at the top of his lungs and realized that it was he. Then the tree was almost on him. Two sets of strong arms reached out and grabbed him before he smacked into the trunk. They untied his wrists and lowered him to the ground.

Once on the ground, Simon’s knees failed him and he was forced to sit down on the grass before he fell. He could see Herro in the distance coming over the rope with a bundle over his shoulders. The bandit leader smoothly slowed and stopped himself with his feet.

“So you see,” he said landing at the side of the white flush-faced scribe, “nothing to it. Nothing to it at all.”

******************

Hidden on a mountaintop above the river with a view of Herro’s Cord Karr watched the four men cross the river. He could not help but smile at the screams of the young scribe as he careened over the line. It was strange, he thought, that these obvious thieves with a chance to capture and hold for ransom a prince of King’s Mountains would have opted for helping the scribe escape safely with the child. They could have received any price in trade for the baby either from King Crom, at Rivers Run or the Dark Ones that had nearly captured him the previous day. Why had they helped the scribe?

In the early morning the day after Simon had fled The City of Kings, Karr had picked up the scribe’s trail where he had left the Great Highway and had followed at a discrete distance.

On the second day he, too, had heard the Dark Ones riding across the plains. There was another curiosity. How had the dark riders back there on the plains of Asshur known where to find the scribe and his charge? The troll leading them had to have come from the east. Karr was confident that only he and the old man had knowledge of the scribe’s escape route. There was no way the old man could have gotten word by way of a rider to Stone City or beyond quick enough to have allowed the troll and his Dark Ones to covered that much territory that rapidly. At least no way humanly possible. There was a troubling thought.

Something about this child and this whole affair was pulling the Stoner to follow. This was not like him, he thought adjusting his shoulder pack and cautiously starting down the mountain toward Herro’s Cord. Where was his profit in all of this? It was not like him at all.

*******************

There were still several watches before last light when Mars and his riders reached Rivers Run. The city was known for its gigantic walls, the highest in all the Land of Nod. Huge stones and been quarried to make them thirty lengths high. A tower fifty lengths in height guarded each corner and two more pairs of towers protected the main gates on the north and south walls. The people of Rivers Run took pride in the knowledge that no army had ever taken the city by force and never would.

Mars immediately sent six of his men to the bridge to watch for the man and child. All of his remaining men, except his captain, were dispatched throughout the city to search for any traces of the two.

Hammer’s Bridge was built by Micah the Woodsman. The story says that Micah crossed the Euphrates River in search of a mate. He found her in the clan of Medan of the Seven Clans of King’s Mountains and took her to his home in the Asshur Mountains.

When his new bride fell into homesickness, Micah constructed a wooden bridge spanning the river so that his love could return home to her clan whenever she wanted. Over the seasons to follow the bridge was expanded to accommodate horses and wagons. The people of the small village of Rivers Run called him Micah the Hammer. Eventually the bridge took on the name Hammer’s Bridge after its maker.

The tribe of Micah grew and prospered on their side of the river. They traded lumber and stone to the people of Rivers Run to build their city in exchange for the goods and services of Rivers Run. So long as the people of Rivers Run stayed on their side of the river, peace ruled. But trouble brewed when Rivers Runners tried to build homes on the north side of the river. Warriors from the tribe of Micah came down from their mountains to chase the intruders back to the south side of the bridge burning anything left behind by the fleeing people.

Rivers Run learned its lesson. Peaceful relations with the mountain men of the Asshur Mountains allowed the city to profit from its location on the Great Highway between the Tri-Cities and The City of Kings. It increased in size and power. The people of Rivers Run made themselves a king to rule over and protect them and their wealth. The king built walls around the city and raised an army to defend the city and the bridge. However, no matter how powerful they became, the people of Rivers Run kept to their side of the river.

Mars spent two days hidden away in the room at the lodge the human captain of his squad had rented, drinking wine and pacing. His men prowled the entire city attuned for any signs or clues to the whereabouts of the man and a male child. His instructions to spread the word of a reward for the capture of the couple in the seedier quarters of the city resulted in the death of six men who had the bad fortune of carrying infant boys in the streets. The deaths were of no concern to the troll. Willing, as he was, to cause a thousand, thousand deaths to accomplish his mission.

He hurled his mug of wine against the wall in disgust. He was sure that if his prey had entered the city, he would have been flushed out by now. If he had been foolish enough to try to wait him out in the mountains, he would surely be dead and the child a part of some bandit household.

No, somehow he had managed to evade Mars and his men. The troll would stay two more days in the city on the off chance that the scribe was still hiding in the city. Then he would return to the City of Pillars. But, he was convinced that he had failed in his mission and dreaded the thought of telling Zeus. He cursed the air.

*******************

Trekking through the mountains was not an easy task for Karr. He was a child of the streets of Stone City and accustomed to the ways of the city. Out here in the open he was uncomfortable and uneasy. To his good fortune the four men were not as focused on where they had been as much as they were on where they were going. By shear chance he had managed to stay far enough behind them that he was not detected. Twice the first day one of the men backtracked to check their trail for anyone who might be tracking them but by the middle of the second day they seemed unconcerned with what lay behind and he was able to follow more closely. What were the most difficult were the nights. When his quarry stopped for the night they were able to make a small fire to cook food and to take away the evening chill. He could not for fear of being spotted. This city boy from the plains of Stone Mountains was not accustomed to the cool mountain air. He rolled himself in his cape at night and froze.

His fourth day in the mountains brought relief. On a distant mountain peak he could see the outline of what he believed to be the Sanctuary of the Order of Medgag. He allowed the four men to put a half-day’s travel between them and he made camp under a rock overhang where he made a fire and cooked a warm meal. He knew their destination and the light snow covering on the mountains made tracking the small party fairly easy. Under the shelter of his stone roof he sat by his fire and allowed the warmth to penetrate his body. He really had no idea what he expected to do once he confirmed that the scribe had safely reached the Mount with the baby prince.

He lay by his campfire wrapped in his cloak and looking up at the stars until he fell asleep. What, indeed, was this child of the streets doing in the mountains?

The Search

2006-03-21T18:24:00.000-05:00

Chapter Four:

The Search

Many is the king who thought more of his wisdom than reality would consider wise.
Medgag: Why Kings are Men

The night of celebration soon became one of grief.

The king was absent too long from the banquet so, Queen Sari sought him out. She found him where Simon had left him in the chamber sitting in his chair, brooding, his face buried in his hands. His queen knew instantly that something was very wrong.

Merran and the king’s personal guards stood by the door. Their faces reflected a concern for their king and a helplessness of what to do for him.

She knelt at his feet whispering softly while trying to pry the story from him. His initial reluctance eventually gave way and the night’s events spilled out. At the conclusion of the telling, Sari fell back onto the floor as if pushed by some unseen hand. She covered her mouth with both hands. “No,” barely escaped her suddenly dry throat.

“What could I do? What have I done?” Crom asked of no one in particular.

The loss of his son had been traumatic but the sight of his mate so devastated by his actions was more than he could handle. Fury consumed him, replacing the sorrow. He practically leaped from the chair.

“Merran,” he shouted as though the noble warrior was in another room, “assemble a squad of your best warriors. We are going to retrieve my son.”

The warrior took a moment to recover from the abrupt change in his king. “As…as you command,” he responded rushing out of the door and down the hall to the banquet hall. In his mind he was already forming a list of the men he wanted for his squad. The celebration had continued despite the absence of the royal couple.

Two of the warriors he wanted were sitting at the royal table. Placing a hand on each shoulder, he leaned in between them and whispered, “Bring horse, sword and light armor to the main courtyard immediately.”

They did not hesitate. Both rose from the table and left the hall.

Merran moved down the length of the table and caught the eye of another warrior on his mental list. He pointed to the warrior and the two sitting with him at his table then motioned them to leave by the door at the back of the hall. That warrior tapped his companions on the back and the three started for the back of the banquet hall.

The noble warrior scanned the hall. He located another of his choices at a table in the rear. Crossing the room toward that warrior he passed two that were not on his list but were fitting for the task. He touched both on the shoulder, gesturing them to follow him. By now the three had reached the other warrior, he was aware that something was happening and joined Merran’s small unit. Merran met up with the other three warriors in the back of the hall. Noble Merran gave them the same instructions he had given the first two men.

Leaving the men to their duty, he returned to the king’s chamber where he found the king with a sword strapped to his hip. He accompanied Crom into the courtyard. His warriors had ten horses saddled and each was dressed in light armor and sword. Merran’s armor bearer with his horse and the horse of his noble warrior was also with the warriors. He strapped a sword on the noble warrior’s waist.

King and warriors mounted without a word spoken. The eleven left the palace at full gallop. Alert guards scrambled to open the gates before the horses rammed into them.

It was the fifth watch of the night so the streets were mostly empty of pedestrians. A good thing since the king forced his horse with an almost reckless abandoned. The echoes of the horse hooves on the stone streets bounced off the buildings and up the street as a warning to any and all to make way as these warriors were in haste.

At the door to the Hall of Light, Merran directed two warriors to each side of the walls of the building to cover any exits. The four remaining warriors accompanied the king and Merran through the main entrance without announcing themselves while Merran’s armor bearer tended to the horses.

Bursting into the Hall was a most irregular behavior even for a king. They found the scribes in the place of worship performing the Remembrance of Soil and Water. The two members of the Order had dedicated themselves to a watch of worship and prayer for their brother scribe and his mission. They were the only ones in the room built to accommodate two hundred worshippers. All of the oil lamps lining the walls were lit. The smooth white stone walls seemed to absorb the light then reflect it back. The effect was to give the room a light as bright as mid-day.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence at the sight of the king and his warriors storming with swords drawn. The scribes were in mid-ceremony, one about to pour water from a pitcher over the hands of the second as they recited the words of Medgag. They both stared to the intruders.

“I have come for my son,” growled Crom, breaking the silence.

“Your son is not here,” responded the scribe holding the pitcher of water in his hand. “Your presence in this honored hall with drawn weapons is an insult to God.”

Even though the king knew the scribe was right, he would not readily concede the point. “So is the kidnapping of an innocent child.”

“Did you not give up the child of your own free will?” The question was more of a statement and angered the king. Knowing the scribe was right intensified his anger.

Crom’s face was red with rage, “I was told my son’s life was in danger…”

“You knew our brother’s words spoke of truth,” replied the second scribe. “Long, now, you have permitted evil into the realm of the Seven Clans, for there is profit in doing so...”

“…By your own actions, you have brought on the danger,” finished the first scribe.

“Search everywhere,” the king commanded his warriors.

The king stood his ground in the place of worship facing the two scribes with his hands on his hips. He was doing his best to tower over them. Crom was accustomed to exerting his authority on King’s Mountains but members of the Order of Medgag answered to no king in the land of men. However, the king knew their disciplines of faith did not permit them to lie or deceive anyone. He was about to test those disciplines.

“Where has the young scribe gone with my son?” he asked with all the authority he could put into his words.

“We do not know, King Crom of the Seven Clans,” responded the scribe as formally as he could. He carefully set the water pitcher down.

Crom turned his attention to the second scribe.

The scribe slowly shook his head. “He told us he was going to an audience with the k…with you and that he would leave directly after he returned from your palace. He gave us instructions on what to prepare for him. Indeed, when he came back he had a child and he left immediately. We do not know by what road or direction he plans to travel. He did not tell us so we would not be obligated to tell anyone who might ask.”

Simon had told his brother scribes to tell all they knew quickly if the king had a change of heart and came looking for the child but to hold back the information about the hidden tunnel. His hope was that Crom would assume the scribes did not know anymore and would leave to pursue him by the most direct and likely route. Medgag wrote that, “kings always believe they must act in every situation resulting in rashness of action and shallowness of thought.” He was confident that Crom would assume he had taken the fastest, most direct roads back to the Mount of Adoration.

Merran and the other warriors were back. A shake of his head told the king what he already feared. His son was gone.

Without another word he stomped out of the place of worship with his warriors trailing behind. Outside of the Hall of Light he sent the warriors and Merran’s armor bearer off. “Check all of the gates. Find out which one he used to leave the city. I want warriors ready to track them down.”

Warriors rode off in different directions anxious to be the one to track down the scribe’s escape route. Merran and the king walked their horses back to the palace.

**

The Stoner spy kept in the shadows of the side street with his hood over his head. To anyone passing by, he appeared a beggar. Though he was out of sight of the king and his warrior aide, he was near enough to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation between the two men. He learned the man he assumed was a Gifted was wanted by the king yet had somehow eluded him. After the two nobles strolled away with their horses in tow Karr made his way back to the palace. He spent the rest of the night attempting to discover the man’s true identity and why the king was in such a hurry to find him. He suspected that he would have much to report to the wrinkled old man when next he summoned him.

Within a watch Karr knew the whole story of the disappearance of the baby prince. What details he did not learn from the gossip around the palace grounds he put together from the events outside of the Hall of Light. The infant prince had been spirited out of the royal suites and into the Hall by a young scribe dressed in the cloak of a Gifted. Somehow the scribe had managed to slip through the gates of the city and vanish into the night without any of the city’s guards seeing him or the baby.

The Stoner sat over a drink in his favorite tavern as first light threatened the city’s horizon thinking about the night’s events and what he should do with what he knew. It would surprise his elderly patron to know that the wealth he traded for the information brought by Karr was not the real motivation for the younger man’s espionage efforts. The reason Karr practiced the trade of a spy was because it afforded him freedom. Freedom allowed him to escape the streets of Stone City and the monotonous life of a common soldier. The iron bars gave him the freedom to go where he chose and do what he desired. The question was what he should do with the knowledge he now possessed? What could it do for him? At face value, there appeared little to further his own goals. He was amused when a messenger tracked him down with the expected summons.

Sitting a while longer in the tavern, he continued to give the subject of what to do with the information considerable thought before finally making his way to the house of the old man. It occurred to him that even after several passing of the moon he had no idea what the man was called. The one thing he did know was the man did not care for light. On every occasion he had met with his patron it was either at night on a dark street or, as in the case tonight, in a dimly lit room. A single oil lamp was the sole source of light in the small room. The old man sat on the only chair in the room placed on the opposite wall of the lamp. He always appeared feeble and gave the impression of being just barely on this side of Creation. Karr was sure the whole atmosphere surrounding the man was staged for his benefit but the point of the exercise escaped his comprehension.

“The infant prince is gone,” Karr said immediately upon entering the room. His delivery was purposeful. He wanted to gauge the other’s response. There was a brief flash of surprise and anger in the old man’s eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. The Stoner knew that the old man had his hand on the pulse of the city but his reaction to the news told Karr that, until now, he did not know why the palace was in an uproar. It was always a sense of satisfaction when he had information the old man did not possess.

“Where is he?” requested the old man calmly.

“Do you want the facts or my best guess?”

“I have learned, my young friend,” chuckled the old one, “that your guesses are usually better than the most solid facts of others.”

Ignoring the flattery the Stoner continued, “I believe the baby prince was taken by a scribe of the Order of Medgag. Apparently the king was persuaded to give the child into the Order’s protective custody but later changed his mind. Unfortunately for the king, the scribe and the infant have disappeared from the city. My speculation is that the scribe will attempt to take the prince to the Mount of Adoration and the safety of the Order’s Sanctuary.”

The old man shook his head in disappointment, “He will not get very far if the king wants to return the child to the mountain palace. The old king will alert his soldiers who guard Crom’s Point and they will capture them and bring them back to the palace.”

“Yes,” smiled Karr, “if the scribe is foolish enough to take the direct route and travel the Great Highway. Crom will assume such a course of action. It is what he would do and he tends to think that everyone should think as he does. But I would wager a good horse that this young scribe is not so dumb.”

“What do you mean,” the old man asked cocking his head slightly and looking at the Stoner out of the sides of his eyes.

Karr tried to act casual but inside he felt a pride in thinking ahead of the old man. There was a certain pleasure in reaching a conclusion before anyone else. “If I were the scribe I would go north to Rivers Run and cross at Hammer’s Bridge. It is no secret that Crom and King Cleaus of Rivers Run do not exactly see eye-to-eye these days. There is little chance that Cleaus would allow warriors from King’s Mountains to search his city at will. And once the scribe crosses the bridge he would be out of the reach of even Cleaus. The Rivers Run king would not dare send troops to the other side of the bridge and into the Asshur Mountains. The northern mountain people would not permit such an incursion.”

The old man laughed with glee. “You have done well, my young spy, very well indeed. I have doubled your usual payment,” he said tossing Karr a bag. “Keep your eyes and ears open for reaction by the king of the Seven Clans. Report to me any movement by the palace.”

Karr slid the bag under his belt as he left the room. Pride would keep him from looking into the bag until he put some distance between himself and the house. Though he was confident from the feel of the pouch that the old man had given him four of the finest quality iron bars of King’s Mountains. But he was far more interested in why the old man would want him to stay in the city instead of pursuing the scribe and his charge.

It was later in his rooms at a lodge located in the seedier section of the city that Karr paused to reflect on the night’s accomplishments. He was haunted by the puzzle he could not put together. He had been in the city the night the star appeared in the sky at the watch of the birth of the prince and had heard all the stories speculating on the child’s destiny as some great king. But what would the Order want with a baby? Everyone knew the Order had long since divorced themselves from the rest of the nations of men proclaiming that they would give their alliance to no human king. So, what would they want with a would-be child-king? And why did his benefactor not send him on the hunt for the child. The suspicious Stoner did not like questions he could not answer.

After brooding over the whole matter for a watch he made a decision. Hastily packing a few belongings and a bag iron bars, putting on his light armor, a sword and a dark cloak, he slipped out the window and into the night.

The First Book of Medgag

2006-03-17T09:21:00.000-05:00

THE BOOK OF MEDGAG

The Beginnings
All that was began with God. He spoke and all of creation came to be. The stars and the moon were placed in the heavens and set in motion by his thoughts. He formed the land of men placing it before the Sun. By his word life was released on the surface of the land. Every creature in the water, and on the land, and in the sky came from the power of God. With his own hands, he gave man existence and breathed life into his soul.

The Master God gave man dominion over the creatures of the land of men. The man named each animal in the ocean, on the ground and in the sky.

In his own likeness, God made man and from the man he created woman that the man might not be alone. When he brought woman to man, the man was so pleased that he called the woman Eve because she would be the mother of all who live. For himself, he chose the name Adam since he was the first of men.

So God made the Land of Eden and grew in its midst a garden of magnificent splendor. He gave the garden and all of Eden to the man and woman. He permitted them to use all of Eden for their own pleasure except for the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, which he had planted, in the center of the garden.

At that moment of Creation the Dark One, who had fallen with the hosts of heaven, did not have authority in the land of men. When he came down to see what God had made he saw the woman walking in the garden. He asked of the woman, “Why do you not eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?”

She answered him, “God has forbidden us to eat from the tree in the middle of the garden nor may we touch it or we shall die.”

“God knows you will not die,” he told her. “He knows that when you eat of the fruit of the tree he has made for you, you will be like God himself, knowing both of good and evil.”

The woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good to eat and so she took fruit from the tree and ate it. Then she gave some of the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil to her mate. He defied the will of God and he too ate of the fruit.

In the coolness of the morning, God came to fellowship with the first ones but they hid themselves from him.

“Where are you, man,” he asked?

Adam told God of the Dark One’s deception over the woman and how he took of the fruit offered by his mate. The anger of the Master burned against the man for his sin. Then God killed the beasts of the field to make coverings for the man and his mate as they saw shame in their nakedness. The Master forbid the first ones to remain in the garden having force them into the Land of Eden. To the east of the garden he placed elfin guards to watch over the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Now Adam lay with his mate and she conceived a son. Adam named the son Cain, who was followed by the birth of the second son, Abel. Cain was a tiller of the soil while Abel was pleased to tend to the flocks. Abel brought some of the first-born of his flocks, the fat portions, to the Master as a gift. Seeing this, Cain returned to his crops and brought some of the produce to God. The Master received Abel and his gift with favor; but Cain and his gift were not received. Cain was angry and his countenance fell. “Why are you so angry” asked God. “Do you not know that Abel took great care in his offering. You, however, brought in haste without thought. Return to your fields and think on what is of good and what is of self-interest.”

Cain waited until the Master had left the land and he went to his brother and said, “Let us go into the open country.” While they were there, Cain struck his brother Abel and murdered him. Then he tried to hide the body of his brother where it could not be found. The next occasion when the Master returned he asked Cain, “Where is your brother?” But Cain told the Master he did not know.

“Do you not hear the blood of your brother crying out to me from the ground,” asked God. And for his crime, the Master cast Cain out of the land of Eden and his presence into the Land of Nod. So that the brothers of man would not hunt him down, God gave to Cain a mark so that anyone who met him would not kill him.

And Cain lay with his mate and she gave him many sons and daughters. That is how the sons of Cain came to inhabit the Land of Nod. Then the sons of Cain became builders of cities and Enoch the first son of Cain built Stone City.

Adam lay with his mate and she bore him a son they called Seth, for he was the son given by God to replace Abel. Seth too had a son, whom he named Enosh. At that season of Creation men began to invoke the Master by name.

Adam and Eve had many sons and many daughters and when they had lived nine hundred and thirty seasons they died.

The twelfth son of Adam was named Javan. He was the one who led his people into the Land of Cush at the base of the mountain now know as King’s Mountains. He lay with his mate and she gave him a son he called Crom. Javan had many sons and daughters. When Javan was seven hundred and three seasons old he died.

Crom took the people into King’s Mountains in search of The Most High God. When he could not find the Master, he stayed in the mountains to call upon his name. Crom became the first of men to be called king by his people. When he was seventy seasons he lay with his mate and she gave him a son, Jared also known as the builder. King Crom had seven sons and thirteen daughters. When his seasons were full he died.

The children of Adam filled the Land of Eden. It came to be that many went from the Land of Eden to find room for their people. The descendents of Theer crossed the Pishon River and settled in the Land of Havilah. Malachi took those of his people to the Land of Asshur that run east of the river Tigris. Nahor followed the Euphrates River to the north and settled in the valley beside the Great Ocean, which is at the foot of the northern Stone Mountains.

The rest of the history of man is found in the Book of Men.

A Message to Kings
The Sons of Adam forgot the way of their God. Seeking their own pleasures they settled into the Land of Nod without purpose of life. They built great cities to their own glory, filling them with the works of their hands. The high walls and towers of the cities reached into the sky like giant hands grasping for their God. But The Most High did not respond.

So they made for themselves kings to rule over them. These kings raised armies of men and fought against each other for control of Creation. With their armies the kings did not need God. The people lost their memories of him. Their hearts turned to their own way.

The day came when God walked among the Sons of Adam and they no longer knew him.

In the first season of the kings, the Master of Creation came to me, Medgag, son of Heron, as I worshipped on the Mount of Adoration in the light of the morning. I fell before him as one stricken and I could not move.

“Arise,” he said, “and write down my words in the tongue of men. Give my words to the people that they might know me. Say this to the Sons of God: You have forgotten my name and forsaken my worship. You do not seek after me as you did in your youth. You have gone after those who fell with the Morning Star and cannot be returned. Their way is wicked and their path will bring you sorrow. Yet, you run after them as a newborn searches for the milk of his mother.”

“A fallen prince of heaven will seek to rule over men. He will mass his armies when the daughters of men cross the great divide. His armies will roll over the armies of men like a stone rolls over grass as it descends a mountain. Death will be his banner and destruction will be his way.”

The greatest of the armies of kings shall fall before the sword of the evil of the dark land. The people will perish but for the King of Kings. It shall be by his blood poured out on the blade of wood that he will pierce the head of the serpent. Only by his blood can the darkness be destroyed.”

“Say this to the kings of the land of men and write it in the tongue of men.”

I wrote on parchment the word of the Master God, The Most High of all Creation. And when I looked up I was alone.

I, Medgag, son of Heron, servant of the One who sent me, took the message to Crom the Elder who ruled from Kings Mountains. The king did not heed the Master’s warning nor did the people change their ways.

In my grief I tore my clothes and put ash on my head. When I could no longer support the foolishness of man, I returned to the Mount of Adoration.

Prayers of Medgag
This is the testimony of Medgag while he was praying in first light. I, Lamm, his servant and scribe, have written this account with my own hand as told to me by my master.

The spirit of Medgag cried out to the Master of the Mountains for the nations of men. How dreadful have become the sins of this generation? Never has man fallen so far from the Way of God. Yet, men do not see the evil of their goings and their comings. They use their daughters to barter and trade. Their sons take what they desire in their hearts, doing harm to any who resist their will. Some give up their infants to false worship.

The God of Creation looked on the tears of his servant Medgag and had pity for the sons of Adam. He spoke to Medgag saying, “Fear not in your soul for your brothers for they shall be redeemed from their evil.”

There shall be a son of a king, the descendent of a family of kings whose blood will heal men’s souls. He will come from the tribe of the great king to lead the chosen against the dark evil.

The King of Kings will unite a people. His rule will last a thousand years. The heavens will declare his worth and a star shall point the way to his beginning. Kings of foreign lands will fall at his feet in worship at his birth.

O that his children would know their Savior when he walks their roads. Who will call upon his name? Who will give him allegiance?

The King of Kings
I am Medgag, son of Heron, the least of all who serve The Most High. In my night prayers I had a vision. I recorded the things that I saw in my own hand that all might know what wondrous sights I beheld.

I saw the King of All Kings standing on a field of battle, his enemies spread out before him. On his head he wore a crown unlike any worn of kings before him or after. His empty hands held the Sword of Kings that would crush the head of evil.

Though he was betrayed by the sons of man, yet did he take the wrath upon himself? The price of victory was the fall of the Prince of Peace and Master of Men. Condemned to the grave of kings, he would not stay. The heavens would see his glory and the ground would show his footprints.

Born to the line of princes, he would stand in the place of kings. His blood will cover the ground and drench the tree of life.

How beautiful were his wounds. So white was all that was covered in his blood.

When I awoke I felt his peace. For many days I was at complete rest with my soul.

The Lament for Man
Like fire on a mountain, so are the days of men written by the hand of God before their seasons had begun. It is a story as ancient as mankind, a tale of war between good and evil. His ways are known still his path is not bared. His footsteps can distinctly be heard and yet the door remains open.

Man is the sole of the creations of God apart from the Hosts of Heaven who has been given freedom to know his way. How is it that he is so quick to give himself over to a king. And yet, before that king has grown of any age, he will seek out another claiming the first too repressive.

What has happened sons of men to your righteousness? Who has stolen it from you? How long will you insist on giving yourselves to the one who does not create?

And you, o fallen one, where is your glory? Were you not among the highest of creation? Where are you now? Did you not know the joys of the courts of heaven and behold the splendors of the throne of thrones? Yet, did you not say, “I will rise above The Most High. I will sit my throne above all.”

Were you not the most beautiful of those who served in the highest? How is it then that you took one third of the Master’s Host in your fall? You were once called the Morning Star but who honors you now?

You seek what can never truly be yours. What reward will you find for your bended knee? Are you prepared to endure the darkness of your choices?

How foolish are those who listen to the voice that can never again know forgiveness. Men of men what have you done?

We know this for sure; our destination is far better than where we are now.

There is no man who is truly free, just levels of servant hood. For what man has not traded his freedom to a taskmaster? Watch the one whose voice is the loudest for he is likely a bondservant of his deepest passions.

I once saw evil in all its darkness. It begged me in and I was drawn by its power. How hard it was to stay in the security of the light.

Why Kings are Men
Many is the king who thought more of his wisdom than reality would consider wise.

Kings always believe they must act in every situation resulting in rashness of action and shallowness of thought.

You can send a messenger to a king with good news and he will ignore the herald. But should a rider bring the king tales of trouble, he will mobilize his army and march into the field for the glory of battle.

Thoughts from the Master
As my seasons mount I find that so do my questions. This is a puzzle, a riddle of humanity’s folly. Can you make a stone come to life or awaken a fallen branch? Can you kill a God who, with a simple word, created all things? Yet men try to make life where there is none. And still does humanity struggle to extinguish the existence of the Creator.

The Master is the creator of all that is good and to wait on him is the greatest good.

We stand between the wrath of God and the lost of the world. Our prayer holds back his judgment.

Beware of the truly wise of the world. For they think they can discern the very will of God. But the ways of God are known only to him and the secrets of Creation are his alone.

The search for wisdom can lead a man to folly as the seeking of wealth can lead to ruin. Wealth is a great servant but a terrible master.

Pride is the first step to any fall and a boasting spirit leads toward destruction.

Do not fear the unexpectant. An altered plan often produces success.

Remember the God of your youth when you are old and the seasons are shorter. Surround yourself with the memories of his blessings. The God you followed with your whole heart when your seasons were fresh will keep you safe in the lateness of your seasons from the fears of a life full of regrets.

Most men pray when they have few other options. It is far better to pray before the storm than during a tempest or during a season of plenty before the coming of famine. However, a prayer never uttered is far worse than one poorly said.

I know so little about the other side of Creation, yet of this one thing I am sure; no man can make his journey there except by the will of God. No being of its realm may beckon him to cross its expanse less the man first grant him the right.

The Need to Worship
There are occasions when we must remember from whence we came that we might not loose our focus of where we want to go. We take the soil in our hands for it is our beginning. The water we use to wash the soil from our skin so that we would remember what we are. A man was made from the dust of the field, is sustained by the water of the hills and will return to the soil. Such is the way of men.

You who are of righteousness have you seen those who dwell in the dark places of life? They do not know what waits for them in the light. That is the reason they are slow to recognize the path you trod. If not for the patience of God they could never find him. This is why we pray, we, his righteous, are in their service. Our prayers hold back the wrath of their Judge; we stand between those in the darkness and the reward for evil.

A Vision of the Future
I, Medgag, when I was younger and full of strength, would climb the highest of the peaks of my mountain home. It was there that I would ask God and seek visions of his way that I might take the thoughts of my God to his creation.

On one such quest I saw the folly of man and witnessed its price. God opened my eyes and I saw a great boat drifting on an ocean the size of the land of men. In the boat was the whole of the righteous of men. The family of the one who did not turn his face from God. With him in the vessel were all of the animals of the land that must be saved. Now the boat was without oar and rudder, steered by the hand of God.

Why is it, men of Creation that you have fallen so far you cannot be restored? Why have you given yourself to the dark king? Did you not see that your ways were not the Way of God? Did you not think that the One who created you would also end your days? Now here you are. Nothing more than a remnant worth salvation.

Then I wept for the souls of my brothers and sisters. For what else could I do? I am but a voice. Oh man that you would have listened to that voice as it cried from the mountains, “Make way for the King of your salvation will come. Look for him and he will bring you what you cannot find on your own.”

The Man of God
To my brothers who will follow me up to the Mount of Adoration I pen this letter lest you think me more than the man I was. I am Medgag, servant of the Most High God. As this is my 830th season of life, I am no longer so young that I am neither ashamed of my failings nor so bold as to believe that I am without them.

It seems so long ago now when I went up to the highest of the mountains. I had asked to know what would be the way of the nations of men because of their fall from the Way of God. And when I saw the future of man’s deeds I lifted my fist to God and demanded that he change the course of events.

For my arrogance I was struck down. My eyes were closed; my ears were shut and my voice taken from away. For one season I was without their use. Left only with the thoughts of God I saw the excesses of my life. When my season of humility was ended my senses returned. I became whole.

I was humbled that I might see his greatness above all. I was brought low that I might rise higher on his wings than I ever imagined. The lesser I was, the greater he became.

The Coming King
When I saw the King of Kings he was standing before the Dark One. His weapon was like that of a large sword forged of the wood of the forest. The blow he struck was mortal to the Deceiver.

The Hosts of Heaven celebrated his victory while the fallen fled before his righteousness.

The King who was above all kings stood in front of the gates of Hell to declare, “It is finished.” And generations before and those yet to come will know his salvation.

Disciplines of Faith
It should be understood that man is totally free. Yet freedom has its limitations. One can chose a path but not the results of walking that path. Pleasures today can become tomorrow’s torments.
Strong is the man who has given all that he is to the Way of God. He will have the power to move mountains and the wisdom not to.

A wise man controls his tastes and retrains his impulses.

Six days are for man and one is given to God. A tithe of one’s wealth brings release from all possessions.

Strong drink clouds the mind while water cleanses. Heavy meals slow the body but moderation provides a healthy spirit.

Free is the man controlled by the Way of God. He shall never know the slavery of the one in bondage to his own desires.

Understand that our true battles are not against the weapons of this world or the flesh of men. No, we fight against the enemies of the Way of God in all their formations. The rulers and masters, soldiers and minions of the dark way who seek nothing but to destroy man’s relationship with his God.

Humility keeps a man from the pitfalls of pride, thinking himself more than he is and important beyond his worth. The truly humble man does not seek his own honor but the betterment of mankind even at the cost of his life. The wise man keeps his accomplishments to himself and the praise of God always on his lips.

A short life well lived is far more desirable than a long life foolishly spent. The days are numbered and the lengths of a man’s days are written on the parchments of Creation. Therefore, do not let faith slip from your grasp. It is truly the greatest of God’s gifts to a man or woman. How hard is it to believe that a bird can fly when you have seen the soaring of a hawk? How hard is it to believe in the strength of the wind when you have seen it topple a tree? But to believe that of which you have only heard and never seen, that is the measure of a man. If you have tested a thing and not found it to be false then what is it? Faith is the ability to believe when eyes do not see, ears do not hear and fingers do not touch. The Way of God is foolishness to those who seek to make him like a man. His path is clear but his hands work in mysteries.

Stories From Creation
The Hosts of Heaven gathered before the throne of God with the evil one in their midst.
“Your brothers have come to give me praise,” said God. “Why have you come?”

“I have come to demand what is mine,” he replied.

“Your season will come,” responded God, “and you will receive what you have earned.”

With that, the evil one left the presence of God for there was nothing for him there. He went to the nations of men in search of what he desired. And he found there men willing to give him what was his great longing. They traded what they had, not considering it of much worth. But the Dark One was not content. He saw that those willing to give him worship were few and he coveted the whole of Creation. That is when he set his heart on having all of the souls of men for his own. Yet, it was not his season.

Wanderings From The Land of Nod
I once came upon a man sitting on a log watching two other men fighting. I asked him what the fight was all about. “Nothing,” he responded. “Why do you not stop them?” I asked. “Then what would I do to amuse myself?” was his response.

In the richness of the farmlands of the plains of Asshur was a farmer tilling his soil. I remarked to him of the splendor of his crops. “It is the morning mists,” he said. How strange, I thought, to give praise to the tool and not the Creator of the tool.

There was once a man who was so wise that even the God of Creation could not teach him. He eventually died and learned the extent of his knowledge. Such is the pity.

The Most High God told me once of the creation of woman. There is no other creature in Creation more precious to him. Yet I found those who used women as barter for trades and objects for pleasure. Can there be anything in all of Creation more foolish? I think not. Blessed will be the man whose values are from the heart of God.

Many were the stories of the men who claimed that they could not die until they were ready. But I know them to be false. For I was there when they died. One such man was my brother of younger seasons, Zerubab. He was a proud man of many passions. He built a city of stone. His vineyard grew the grapes for one thousand skins of wine. He took for himself four mates and had children and children of his children too numerous to count. Yet he fought death to the last breathe refusing to release his life. In the end, it was not his to determine the number his days and he passed to the other side. I saw it all with my own eyes.

The Song of the King
A verse of song written by Medgag for the worship of the faithful in the Hall of Light.

I am lost in the silent spaces of Creation.
I have fallen into the chasms of despair.
How deep must I go?
How long must I stay here?
When comes the King?
When comes the Deliverer of my soul?
When comes the One who will set me free from all I have become?

In the quiet of the night my heart bleeds.
In the darkness of life my spirit cries.
Who will heal me?
Who will relieve me of my suffering?
When comes the King?
When comes the Deliverer of my soul?
When comes the One who will set me free from all I have become?

There are those who claim the darkness.
And those who come to seize the dying.
But there is One who forgives.
One who opens the tombs of the living.
Send forth the King.
Prepare for the Deliverer of our souls.
Make way for the One setting free the captives from their chains.

The Song of the Hunt
Chase the wind and grab the waves.
Let loose the hounds for the hunt must begin.
Run swiftly the trails of the forest and search for tomorrow.
For today has been lost to evil, and yesterday was given to the folly of men.

The City Of Kings(continued)

2006-03-17T08:59:00.000-05:00

Chapter Three (continued):

The City of Kings

The City of Kings was built around the Palace of the First Kings, which was, itself, constructed over the tomb of Crom the Elder. The city was nestled in a mountain range known as King’s Mountains. The ancients wrote stories of how the first king, Crom, had led his clan into the mountains in search of God when the people came to realize how they missed the presence of their God. Prophets in the land had declared that God had left mankind because humans had abandoned the Way of God. Crom, called the “Elder” because legend said a younger king would come from his seed and unite the people under one king and one God, went into the mountains to find a peak where he might be closer to heaven. Crom the Elder hoped to attract the attention of God so that the Supreme One would return to the land of men and walk among them again.

The first king of King’s Mountains died in defeat having never found that which he had sought. His people built him a tomb on one of the highest mountain tops, crowned his son, Jared, their king and vowed to wait on the mountain top for the day when God would open the gates of heaven and descend upon them.

Jared had four sons and three daughters. He gave mates to each of his four sons and they gave the sons of Jared sons and daughters. Then Jared brought sons from the people of the forest, the plain and the ocean side and gave them to his daughters, who gave their mates sons and daughters. This is how the Seven Clans of King’s Mountains came to be.

The kings of the Seven Clans built a city of polished stone carved from the sides of King’s Mountains around the tomb of Crom the Elder. They were the first men to put walls around their cities. As The City of Kings grew outward, they built more walls around it until the city had walls within walls. The people of the Seven Clans took much pride in their city. Their confidence was enhanced by their ability to erect the shiny walls so strong no enemy would think to attack them. In their city walls they found their security and their security replaced the need of the people for the presence of their God.

The banquet in honor of Christophe, son of Crom, was to begin at last light. Simon waited to leave the Hall until the darkness had settled in upon the city. He donned the red cloak of Master Keron pulling the hood over his head, hiding his features. He set out walking toward the palace with his head bowed, hands clasped in front. Every effort of his body was focused on emulating as best he could the walk and manner of a Gifted. Crowded streets packed with those still seeking trades parted before him in silence. The sound of his boots in dirty snow, frozen with the sun’s descent, seemed to echo in the void created by the unnatural quiet. Word that a Gifted walked the streets raced ahead of Simon as the way to the palace gates cleared. The usually noisy markets lapsed into an uneasy calm as thousands of guilty eyes watched the perceived Gifted’s progress.

From the shelter of the hood of Keron’s cloak, Simon scanned those lining the streets. Everywhere in the retreating crowds Simon could see soldiers wearing the seven different plaid patterns of the Seven Clans.

Crom the Younger was the tenth king of the mountain clans to bear the name of the first king. He was the seventh king from the clan of Torr to carry the name. He was more the warrior than any who had come before him. Iron of will and single-minded in his determination to unite all the people of the Land of Nod, he was convinced that the destiny was his to become the one king, the King of Kings. So much so that he was raising a mighty army in King’s Mountains.

Torches lit the streets from the gates of the inner wall surrounding the palace to the entrance. The torchlight obscured the stars. Guards lined the final approach up the stone stairway, past the huge statue of Crom the Younger riding a horse, his sword pointing the way forward, and into the palace.

As he passed through the gates of the palace walls, Simon slowed his pace making each step more deliberate. He could feel eyes following him, the stares of the soldiers of the palace guard and the servants rushing back and forth with their duties. Ascending the stairs, he saw two huge closed doors at the top of the landing he assumed led into the banquet hall. The doors were guarded on each side by giant statues of Crom the Elder and his son, Jared. They were made of hardwood and would require two hands and considerable effort if he were to try to open one. Slowly he continued climbing the stairs, head down and hands clasped in front at his waist, tucked in his sleeves. Three steps from the doors they opened before him as if by magic. On the inside the palace doors he saw to either side two servants smartly dressed holding the large handles of the doors with one hand and, while bowing, motioning him with the other hand down a long corridor.

The hallway walls were constructed of heavy hardwood beams arching overhead and wood paneling from the floors to the peak of the ceilings. Sculptures of the ancient royalty that once ruled the Seven Clans depicted in noble posses stood on pedestals every few steps elevating them above. Oil lamps on the walls cast Simon’s shadows in every direction. His sheepskin mountain boots made little noise on the stone floor.

The clamor of the banquet, already in progress, flowed up the passageway to meet him. The smell of food and warmth trailed after the noise tickling the youth’s senses.

The door at the end of the corridor was also opened just as Simon reached it. The entrance emptied into a large room lined with four rows of tables filled with happy revelers laughing, eating and drinking their fill. And why not? The king was in a mood to celebrate his new son and disposed to providing generous quantities of food and drink to any and all of his clansmen wise enough to accept the gift. Stands holding the lit oil lamps dotted the floor. Columns of twenty lengths supported the ceiling of polished wood reflecting the light. A raised area that was as wide as four lengths and surrounding the main floor on all four sides supported the columns. Five steps led down to the sunken main floor.

Standing in silence in the entrance to the hall Simon took in the sights and sounds of the festivities while waiting for someone to acknowledge his presence. He had expected a herald to announce him but that did not happen. With his face still concealed under the hood he allowed his eyes to scan back and forth across the room. He recognized each of the plaid patterns of the Seven Clans again represented in the dress of the attendees enjoying the king’s hospitality. All the celebrants were so caught up with their feasting that no one paid him heed. One servant attending to the door leaned forward from behind it asking if he could move forward so the door could be closed. When Simon did not budge the servant backed off to his station and waited.

Well, he thought to himself, he was a Gifted, or almost one, and patience was one of the strengths of the Gifted. Wait for the moment, he reminded himself. Wait for your destiny. He stood in silence and gave his full concentration to staying as motionless as possible. Master Keron was fond of quoting Medgag, “The Master is the creator of all that is good and to wait on him is the greatest good.”

His body surged with confidence at the thought of his mentor. He allowed himself a smile concealed under his cloak.

The suddenness of total quiet jolted Simon from his daydreams. He forced himself to remain still.

Someone must have noticed the red-cloaked figure standing in the entryway. First one table, then another stopped whatever they were doing and turned around to see what their tablemates were looking at. The silence washed over the banquet hall like a wave rushing onto a beach. Everyone’s attention was on Simon now including the servants, frozen in place with their platters still in hand.

Simon lifted just his eyes to the king’s table under the protection of his hood. The king attired in a white wool shirt with a sash of the black and gold plaid of the clan of Torr and matching plaid pants, sat with a mug of drink in his hand held just at the lips as if posing for a statue. Beside Crom was the queen, Sari, in a similar white blouse draped by the sash that was three quarters black and gold plaid and one quarter purple and white of the clan of Akan. She wore a floor-length skirt of black and gold plaid and was caught in mid-bite with a morsel of meat half in her mouth.

“What is this,” King Crom roared across the room slamming his mug down on the top of the table?

Behind the anonymity of his red cloak, Simon held his place. Patience, he told himself. Rule the moment, to take command of the situation.

Recognition of the red cloak became evident in the king’s face. There was an immediate hesitation. Unable to see the person behind the hood, he could not determine who was standing before him. He turned to Merran, his aid, positioned behind his seat and spoke a brief word into his ear.

The aide walked around the table and approached Simon. His footsteps echoed in the stillness of the hall as if he was the only one in the room.

Bowing to Simon he addressed him, “The Noble King requests the name of the Gifted who stands before him.”

Simon considered the request. “Say to the king of King’s Mountains that the voice is that of Master Keron, Head Master of the Council of the Order of Medgag.” He still had not moved or lifted his head. He kept his words soft to disguise his youthful voice, yet they still filled the room.

The aide walked back to the king and repeated the words even though all had heard what had been said.

“Bid Master Keron to come forward and join us in our celebration.” the king instructed his warrior trying to appear more relaxed. Though Crom was clearly shaken by the appearance of the Head Master. He was obviously not expecting Gifted Keron.

Once again the aid walked back to the red-cloaked figure standing above the banquet on the raised floor. The Noble Merran tried to act official and dignified but he was obviously quite uncomfortable in his role. He tried to speak but the words seemed to catch in his mouth forcing him to clear his throat. “The king requests that Noble Master Keron join him at the royal table to feast the birth of Christophe, son of Crom the Younger.”

“Does the king think that the Order of Medgag has naught to do but eat and drink? Is there no limit to the insults this king will heap on those who serve The Most High God?” The scribe felt sorry for the aide as he turned around to take his words to the king. His attention had been on the king as he had spoken and he saw the furry in the king’s eyes.

Even before Merran could get back to the king, Crom exploded in anger. “How dare you come into my house and insult me.” He smashed his hand on the table. “I am…”

“You are what?” demanded Simon lifting his head slightly but still not enough for his face to be seen. “You are but a man. No more and no less. But what do I find here? A celebration of a man when the God who made this man goes unacknowledged and unworshipped.”

The words caught the king by surprise, unaccustomed as he was to being interrupted. He stood with his mouth open in mid-sentence and thought. The king sat down in stunned silence.

Simon used the pause to move forward down the steps and across the center aisle toward the king. He could feel the celebrants on the ends of the tables moving back from him. He stopped four steps from the king’s table. In this position only the king, the queen and whoever was sitting on the sword arm of the king could see his face. He steeled himself for the king’s reaction as he lifted his head slightly to reveal his face.

Not surprisingly, the king was speechless looking under the hood. The scribe could imagine the difficulty for the king’s in deciding how to respond to the beardless face of a youth he saw under the hood. The queen sat dumbfounded, unable to react.

Simon did not wait for the king to decide what to do next. “I have come for an audience with the king. It is my purpose and I will accept nothing less. The voice of Master Keron demands to be heard by the king alone.”

Crom realized the youth under the hood had provided him with a means of saving face in front of his guests. If the Gifted impersonator dropped his hood, the king would loose respect for cowering in his presence. But should Crom defy the request for an audience, he would risk angering the brotherhood. Relief flooded over him. “Noble Merran, take this honored guest to my private chambers.”

The aide/warrior motioned Simon to follow him from the hall. Behind him he heard the king call for the resumption of the festivities.

The private chamber of the king contained one chair against a sidewall. Windows lined the outside wall from floor to ceiling and lighted the room during the day were black from the darkness of the night. The floor was of polished stone and glistened with the light of the oil lamps mounted on the walls. Simon moved into the center of the room and waited for the king.

Noble Merran closed the door and stood to the side of it. It was not long before the deliberate footfalls of the king and others could be heard. The door burst open. Simon was sure that the king was trying to make a statement with his entrance. But he was determined as well to fulfill his mission. Crom walked directly to his chair without acknowledging the scribe and sat in it as casually and kingly as he could.

“Merran,” he called to the noble warrior, “ask this person who he is and to explain why I should not have him executed for impersonating a Gifted.”

The aide approached Simon but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Simon cut him off.

“I am no more impersonating a Gifted than the man Crom is impersonating a follower of The Most High God.”

“You come into my kingdom to insult me?” screamed Crom. “I will have your head removed from your body and we will see how insolent you will be then, eh?”

“It is not I who has caused the insult here. I came to you with the voice of Master Keron of the Council of Gifted of the Order of Medgag, whose cloak I wear as a sign of his authority. This messenger would speak with his master’s voice on things of great importance. You ignore his messenger for the sake of a feast to your own glory. Do you think yourself so lifted up that you deserve to be celebrated? When was the last occasion you feted the Most High of the Heavens or called for the Festival of Creation? When did you last visit the Mount of Adoration and offered a gift of your wealth to your God? Do you not still collect the tithe of the people of King’s Mountains? Yet how much of that which is collected truly finds its way to God?”

Simon allowed the king the chance to reflect on what he had said. He kept the hood over his head but look directly into the eyes of the king. Crom, for his part, had his elbow resting on the arm of the chair with his chin against his closed fist. His mood changed from anger to brooding, his eyes fell. It was not a well-known fact that much of what the people of the Seven Clans presented as their seasonal tithe never actually reached the Mount. Traditionally, the king would gather the tithe offerings from the clans and journey to the Mount of Adoration where he would formally offer it to God through the Order. The brotherhood distributed the tithe to those in need throughout the nations of men. In reality, Crom kept most of the offerings to finance the building of his city and maintain a strong standing army. The Order received a token for the poor usually delivered by the king’s messenger.

“For far too long the Seven Clans have not called upon the name of the God of Creation. Instead they struggle with the other nations of men for control of the resources of the land without any thought of the One who has made all things. And now it has come to the ears of Master Keron that the one who sits on the throne of the First King has raised an army to bring together the nations of men for war. It is to that king that I bring a message from the lips of Master Keron, himself. Where is that king and is he prepared to hear the message of the servant of God?”

Again, there was silence as the scribe waited on the older man to absorb his words.

Eventually the king murmured, “Is your message verbal or written?”

“My master commanded me to speak the letter to you before I give you the words he committed to parchment.”

“Then speak your words… How should I call you?”

Simon sensed that the opportunity had come and it was now right for personal contact with the king. Using both hands he flicked the hood to the back of his head. “I am called Simon, son of Dan.”

“Well, Simon, son of Dan, let us hear this message from your master.”

Clearing his throat and with his most practiced voice repeated the message Keron had Simon memorize what seemed a life of seasons ago.

“To Crom, king of the Seven Clans of The City of Kings in King’s Mountains, I, Master Keron of the Order of Medgag, greet you on behalf of the Council of the Order of Medgag.”

“In the ancient of days the sons of God were pleased to walk in the company of their Creator and know him. When they called on his name, he was quick to speak to them. Long ago were those days and the memory of men has drifted. Less do they seek fellowship with their God and more do they desire their own ways. So it was that Medgag son of Heron, First of the Gifted took to writing down an account of the way of The Most High that man would remember from whence he has come that he would not stray far from God’s perfect path.”

“But what have the nations of men done with the words of Master Medgag? They have used the efforts of his mind to justify their own footsteps. His thoughts have become the servants of their plans and schemes.”

“And such is the case with the king who rules King’s Mountains. You have used the writings of Medgag to raise yourself above all other men. You seek to make yourself the king of the nations of men. Who has given you that right? Who has blessed your actions with righteousness?”

“Hear now the words of the Council of the Order of Medgag and know what you have done. Your pride has set into motion events that will consume you and your household. Sons shall fall to the sword and trials will flow through your seed. You cannot stop what will come to pass even if your mind was so desirous. Through your actions will come your destruction. You have used the powers of the Dark Ones in an unholy alliance to promote your claim. If only you had come to the Mount of Adoration and paid homage to your true King. Oh that you would have sought his face before you presumed to know his way.”

“Your only hope now is to salvage that which you profess to love above yourself. The child, Christophe, is to be given to the servant of God you see before you. He will deliver the boy into the hands of those that will care for him until he is of the age to make his own destiny. Then will he seek his path among men.”

“Know this, King Crom of the Seven Clans; your road is set in eternity. Your debt must be collected so that men will know the folly of your ways. You may try to bring to a halt what you have started but we of the Order do not see success in those efforts.”

“You sought to be made the King of Kings. In the end he will keep his own destiny.”

“I am your friend and my prayers are for your soul.”

With each word, Simon saw the king slide further and further down in his chair. His head slumped onto his chest. He is a defeated man, thought the scribe.

When he finished speaking there was absolute stillness in the room. Stunned by the king’s reaction to the verbal letter, the men who had accompanied Crom into the room tried to melt back into the walls.

Simon pulled the parchment letter from under his cloak and held it out in front of him with both hands presenting it to the regent. While Simon stood without speaking, Crom sat motionless staring at the letter in the scribe’s hands but making no effort to take it. The scribe was unprepared for the lack of reaction on the king’s part. In a moment of decision, the scribe slid his hands beyond the ends of the parchment allowing the letter to fall on the stone floor.

The parchment smacked as it hit the floor.

Simon brought his hands back together showing his readiness and resolve to take the child.

Finally the king broke the silence in a horse voice, “When do you want the child?”

Remembering the council of Master Keron, Simon said, “I will take him with me now. We will leave tomorrow at first light.”

“Tonight! Now?” The king was shocked. “What of his mother? What shall I tell her?”

“It would be best for all if you told no one until I have departed on the morrow. Please bring me the boy now and I will take my leave.”

Still the king hesitated.

“There are dark forces on the move as we speak seeking to take control of the child,” prompted Simon. “He is not safe even in the palace of King’s Mountains. Agents of the Dark Ones lurk everywhere, especially here. Your son will not live to see the passing of the moon should he remain in The City of Kings.”

Crom’s head shot up. He regarded momentarily the young scribe, measuring carefully the threat, before motioning Merran to his side. After whispering instructions to the aid Merran left the room with two of the guards. The king did not speak. Simon pulled the hood back over his head, wanting to be sure that none but the king would get a good look at his features.

It did not take Merran long to return. With him were the two guards and a young maiden carrying a small bundle wrapped in a blanket of black and gold plaid and a large bag. She had the appearance of confusion about her. She looked with fear at the red-cloaked Simon and then quickly to Crom.

“Give me the child,” commanded the king.

She hesitated for just a moment then, with her head bowed and eyes down, she lifted up the infant to Crom.

Seeing the bag, Crom demanded, “What is in the bag?”

“It is all that is needed to change and feed the prince for a day. Noble Merran insisted that I bring it with me.”

“You may leave, girl, and give the bag to Noble Merran.”

Crom sat in the chair looking down at the child in his arms. Battle hardened, accustomed to the rigors of campaigning in the field, his heart melted at the sight of his son. His eyes watered for a moment but he blinked back the tears. Without another word he stood and walked the baby over to Simon. Slowly Crom laid the child into the scribe’s arms.

He turned his back to the scribe folding his arms and bowing his head.

Simon did not hesitate, he did pause long enough to collect the bag from Merran left by the maiden and then he was out of the door. Skirting the banquet hall by using the servant’s corridors to the kitchens, he managed to exit the palace without meeting anyone who might challenge his presence. It took a while to find the street leading back to the Hall of Light since the kitchen doors emptied into a side street. He was relieved when he recognized the main thoroughfare running through the major marketplace.

When he arrived at the Hall, he found, as expected, his brother scribes were waiting at the door to admit him. There was much to do and the night was short.

One of Simon’s fellow scribes took the young Christophe and looked after feeding and changing his clothe. Searching the bag Simon had brought from the palace the scribe selected some of the items from the bag and stored them away in a satchel Simon would carry on his back. They would burn the bag and its remaining contents Simon had brought from the palace later.

Simon removed the red cloak and reversed it exposing the brown interior lining again. He hastily ate the small meal set out for him. That done he went to the room of where the young prince was being cared for.

The two took the luggage and the child into a concealed cellar beneath the Hall living quarters. It was a well-kept secret that all of the Order’s facilities had hidden passages to permit members to leave in emergencies. Few other than the Gifted or those scribes who tended the buildings knew of the secret escapes.

The third member of the team was responsible for opening the passage at both ends. The tunnel ran under the walls exiting into stables outside of the outer most walls, which was also owned by the Order. They leased the property to a family for a small fee with the understanding that nothing would be done to alter the stables without the Order’s permission. This was to guarantee the exit remained concealed.

It took the three scribes a while to navigate the passage. At the stables end of the tunnel the three embraced. The two scribes returned to the Hall of Light through the tunnel where they sealed and hid the entrance. Simon closed up the opening to the stables and carefully hid it as he had been instructed.

He put on the cloak with the lining out, the satchel and the shoulder bag. Wrapping up the now sleeping child in a blanket, he left the stables. With his hood covering his head he slipped down the empty streets of the city dwellings outside of the walls, the snow crunching under his boots. O little one, he thought, just stay asleep for a watch or so and we will be safely away.

The king and his men would expect him to return by way of the Great Highway in the direction of the Mount of Adoration. Instead he would take the northeast route of the Great Highway into the Land of Asshur. He was confident that it would be safe to travel the Highway for a couple of watches, barely long enough to get out of the mountains. After that, he would be into the open country of the plains of Asshur.

Three watches into his new journey he was indeed out of the mountains and had the flat open country spread out before him in the darkness just beyond the foothills. It was prudent now to move off of the Great Highway. Christophe was still sleeping so he decided he could afford to continue until either he tired or the child awoke. He wanted to let his mind wander on the writing of Medgag but he reminded himself of the need to keep his senses alert to his surroundings. The night beyond King’s Mountains did not belong to the king’s soldiers.

It was about the seventh watch of the night when he stopped for a rest. Baby Christophe began to stir so it was a good opportunity. He fed and changed the infant and wrapped him back up in his blanket. Dry and content, Christophe fell back to sleep. Simon curled up around his charge wrapping them both in his cloak and drifted off into a light sleep.

The scribe slept so lightly that he awoke after only a watch to give a listen to his surroundings. This happened on two more occasions when he determined that it was best to move on. Christophe began to make small noises. He figured it was the last watch of the night and first light was coming. He fed and changed Christophe and ate a cake from his provisions. With the baby asleep again, he moved off a little ways and made water.

He positioned the satchel and the shoulder bag, and cradled Christophe in his arms. He was ready for the most dangerous part of his return to the Order. Simon’s goal was Hammer’s Bridge. It was the only way to cross the Euphrates River in the northern part of the Land of Asshur. That would put him in the eastern part of the Asshur Mountains, home to his family. He would cross the mountains using the trails he had traveled as a boy. However, to get there from his little camp he would have to walk the farmland of the plains of Asshur, which eased into the foothills of the mountains. He had two concerns, the bandits who occasionally raided the farms and the farmers of the low country who could be bigger thieves than the bandits. The fierceness of the farm people made attacking them a hazardous business for bandits. He could not afford to hide out in the foothills of King’s Mountains and wait on another night’s darkness.

Simon knew he could not risk travel over the Great Highway. A squad of the king’s horsemen could easily catch up to him and he expected that the king would surely rethink his decision to give up the child and send his warriors to find him. Staying away from the Great Highway and using trails and secondary roads would make it more difficult, if not impossible for the king’s men to find them. The trick would be avoiding anyone who might see him as an easy target to rob.

Well, he thought, the beginning of any journey must start with one step. With a big sigh he picked up Christophe and took the first step.

**

The man in the red cloak leaving the Hall of Light just after first dark took Karr by surprise. He had not heard of a Gifted visiting the city nor had any messages from the king gone out to the Mount of Adoration since the birth of the prince. It seemed to him the current relationship between the king and the Order was not a particularly close one. While dwelling on the significance of the assumed Gifted he trailed the cloaked figure through the city streets. As expected the cloaked one went directly to the palace. Karr knew that there was a banquet tonight in honor of the new prince but the Gifted was more than fashionably late, he was on the border of being rude by mountain customs.

It took the Stoner a while to make his way into the palace using his contacts. Once inside he learned of the confrontation between the king and the unknown Gifted. Even though the rumors claimed Head Master Keron as the identity of the visitor, Karr did not believe the elderly Gifted could slip out of the Mount of Adoration, let alone find his way to The City of Kings, without the Stoner spy hearing whispers about it. Both the king and the queen were absent from the festivities, which set the banquet hall a buzz with rumors and gossip. As soon he discovered that the Gifted had left the palace he hurriedly retraced his steps to the Hall of Light. He did not see the Gifted return and did even know if he had. But he settled down to watch the Hall. He was a patient man and did not have any other pressing business tonight.

The City Of Kings

2006-03-17T07:39:00.000-05:00

Chapter Three:

The City of Kings

The spirit of Medgag cried out to the Master of the Mountains for the nations of men. How dreadful have become the sins of this generation? Never has man fallen so far from The Way of God. Yet, men do not see the evil of their goings and their comings. They use their daughters to barter and trade. Their sons take what they desire in their hearts, doing harm to any who resist their will. Some give up their infants to false worship.

The God of Creation looked on the tears of his servant Medgag and had pity for the sons of Adam. He spoke to Medgag saying, “Fear not in your soul for your brothers for they shall be redeemed from their evil.”

There shall be a son of a king, the descendent of a family of kings whose blood will heal men’s souls. He will come from the tribe of the great king to lead the chosen against the dark evil.
Medgag: Prayers of Medgag

Simon lifted his eyes to The City of Kings. It was more beautiful than he had ever imagined, for a boy raised in far from the most powerful cities of Nod. Nestled in the heart of King’s Mountains, the city glistened in the mid-day sun. Young Simon had heard of the beauty of the home of the Seven Clans but was still amazed by how brightly the stones of the walls shown as they reflected the sun’s light off their smooth surfaces. It was as if the walls and towers were made of ice. Built on a small hill surrounded by larger mountains covered in snow, the rays emanating from the city seemed to touch the neighboring mountains like the fingers of God. From the middle of the city a large, tall tower stretched up into the sky higher than any of the other buildings or towers with the black and gold banner of the clan of the Torr. Seven lower towers representing and flying the banners of the Seven Clans encircled it. Four walls ringed the city, each taller than the other the further out the wall was from the center. It was the season of the frozen mists and the roofs and battlements were covered in snow and ice giving the buildings and city walls a mystical appearance.

The City of Kings was the most majestic of all the cities in the Land of Nod. And legend claimed it could never be taken from without. While some of the city’s outlined areas were rough and the people living in them lacking in the wealth displayed in the rest of the city, for the most part the clansmen living within the city’s walls were devoted to displays of their riches. The homes and estates ringing the palace were built with the same smooth stone that reflected so brilliantly the sun’s rays. Even the wood shingled roofs were coated with a sealer made from the sap of trees dried to a glossy finish.

Simon felt the coolness of the air invigorating him as it only could a child of the mountains and the crunch of the snow brought on by the season of the frozen mist under his boots. He inhaled a lung full of the crisp air and held it. The moment of rest was over. He lowered his eyes again to the highway. With a sigh he returned to the task of forcing his tired feet to move again. “One step before the next,” he reminded himself. He would be within the safety of the walls by last light.

His journey had taken a full three days travel from the Mount of Adoration to The City of Kings. He was told that it would take him five days but a determined Simon committed himself to a forced march along the Great Highway.

The thought of leaving the Sanctuary of the Order of Medgag had distressed him the night Master Keron had come to him with the mission. But he had committed himself to a life of service and obedience compelling a faithfully undertake of any task given him.

All his short life, Simon son of Dan had wanted to be a Gifted. Stories of the piety and devotion of the Brotherhood of the Order of Medgag had captured the imagination of the child from his earliest seasons. He had prepared hard and accomplished all that his tutors asked of him. Once he entered the Order as a member, he showed much promise to the Council of Gifted of the Order and was quick to earn the status of scribe. He was the youngest scribe ever to become one of the three chief scribes to the Council.

Simeon, the father of Simon’s father, the eighth son of his family, fell in love with Marti, a daughter of Cain. He took her away from the Stone Mountains but could not find land in King’s Mountains. No one would trade with him for land because his mate, a Stoner, wore the mark of Cain. So, he traveled north across the plains of Asshur and the Euphrates River into the Mountains of Asshur. It was in those mountains where he settled on a peak unclaimed by anyone. He found the mountain to be a perfect place for one who no longer desired extended contact with the rest of the Land of Nod.

He brought his mate and flocks to the mountain and named it Heaven’s Step for he believed it lifted him closer to God.

In the second season of their union, Marti conceived and bore her mate a daughter. Over the next twelve seasons she would give him seven daughters. Although she was a Stoner, none of the daughters of Marti were bronze of skin or hair. The daughters each grew to the age of decision and left Heaven’s Step to be with their mates.

While Simeon loved each of his daughters, his heart was heavy when each took a mate because he had no son to pass on his mountain and all that he and his family had built. Marti saw the sadness in his face and went to God in prayer. She asked God to give her a son for her beloved mate. In her seventy-seventh season of life God answered her prayers and she conceived and bore a son and they called him Dan.

The couple took the boy, as they had each of their daughters, to the Mount of Adoration when they offered their tithe for the season. They presented him to Master Keron of the Order of Medgag that he might bless the child. Keron took the infant into his arms and lifted him up to God.

When he had finished blessing the child, he kept him in his arms. Looking Marti in the eyes he said to Simeon, “Son of Adam, this child is a gift of God but has been given providentially. In his future the Master, who gave him to you, will take a portion of him back as a tithe offering.” With that said, he returned the child to Simeon’s arms.

Each season, when they journeyed to the Mount of Adoration to give their tithe, Marti feared that Master Keron would keep her son. Each season they returned home their son still with them.

As the seasons passed, Dan became of age. He asked of his father permission to go in search of a mate. Reluctantly, Simeon blessed his son and sent him on his way weighted down with gifts for the family of any perspective mate. Dan returned to Heaven’s Step after three passing moons with a mate, Annia. To Simeon’s joy, his new daughter loved his mountain as much, if not more, than he did himself.

It was not long after that Annia gave to Dan a son. The couple took their son with the family on the seasonal trip to the Mount of Adoration. Simeon and Marti watched with great concern as Dan and Annia presented their son to be blessed. They had not forgotten the words of Master Keron on the day he blessed Dan. After blessing the boy, Keron returned him to his parents without further comment.

Eight more occasions Annia added a son to their family and on three occasions she gave her mate daughters. Each child was presented to Master Keron to be blessed during the giving of their tithe. Each occasion the Gifted returned the child after the blessing.

Then, for the tenth counting of children, Annia gave her mate a son. They named him Simon. As they had always done with their children, they presented Simon to Master Keron for a blessing. Master Keron took the child into his arms. For a moment he looked at the boy’s face. But, he did not bless Simon as he had done his brothers and sisters. Instead, while holding the child in his shield arm, he touched Annia on the head with his sword hand, “You are blessed above all women. For God has seen fit to use your womb, that a messenger might be brought into the world. He shall announce the Savior of man and through his words a champion shall be given.”

Keron then touched Simon on the head saying, “You are a gift of God that the Master might give a greater gift to all mankind.”

He held the child out to Dan, who reached up to take his son. But the Gifted did not immediately release the baby into his father’s arms. “This boy will follow the Way of God and when he has attained his seasons, he will desire to enter into the service of the Master on the Mount of Adoration. To you is the responsibility of preparing the boy to be a man of God of the Order of Medgag.”

Master Keron still had his hold on Simon. Dan sensed that he was to respond to the challenge. He tried to speak but all he could get out was a hoarse, “It will be done.”

With that, Keron lowered Simon into the arms of Dan.

The family of Simeon returned to their mountain. When Simon son of Dan was approaching the sixteenth season of his life, he asked his father for permission to enter the Order of Medgag. That season, at the giving of tithe offerings, the house of Dan gave double their tithe and then offered their son to the Order of Medgag of the Mount of Adoration for the service of God.

Simon was in his seventeenth season and had settled into the routine of his new position as one of the chief scribes when everything suddenly changed. A visit by elves sent the Sanctuary into a flurry of activity. After the visit, Master Keron, Head Master of the Council of Gifted, sent the three scribes into the libraries researching parchments and documents for any references to the fall of the Morning Star and the King of Kings. The scribes brought the materials to the Council who then spent endless watches in discussion of the information. All three of the young men were required to take notes of the Council meetings and would compare them after to compile an official record of each meeting. The task consumed every waking moment of the day giving them little sleep and, to their discomfort, no opportunities for worship with their brothers.

When, finally, the last meeting of the Council of Gifted was concluded and, after finishing their collaboration on the final transcript, the youthful scribes were able to attend the last light celebration in the Hall of Light.

That night, following worship, Master Keron came to Simon’s quarters. The young scribe was initially shaken by the visit. The Master was in the habit of summoning those to whom he wished to speak to his rooms in the High Tower. This night he huddled with his scribe in the corner of the small room as if he feared someone would listen in on their conversation. In almost whispered tones, he instructed Simon to leave with the next day’s first light for The City of Kings. He would be entrusted with a letter for King Crom the Younger that must be delivered orally before he was to hand the written copy into the hands of the king. Master Keron made Simon memorize the letter and required that he recite it repeatedly until he was certain the youth had the exact wording imprinted on his memory. The letter itself was concealed in a belt Simon would wear under his clothing.

The older man gave his scribe three daggers of the best steel and three bars of pure iron to use to barter for room and board at lodges along the Great Highway. He also gave him a red cloak, worn only by the Gifted. It was his own personal cloak, the Master explained. “There may come a moment when the status afforded by the garment might be useful,” said Keron. Finally, he stood before a kneeling Simon, laid hands on him and blessed him and his mission.

The master left the confused and frightened scribe to his sleep. But, Simon would get little rest that night. The thought of leaving the Sanctuary weighed heavy on his heart. Like most of the Order, Simon loved his life in the Sanctuary. It brought symmetry, order and comfort to the brothers. There was great peace within the walls. Each man knew his role and function. Most of all there was the purpose found in the daily moments of corporate worship in the Hall of Light. The Order met as a community twice a day, once after first meal and again after last meal, for a total of four to six watches of worship as a group. Many of the scribes and the Gifted augmented this worship with one or two more watches of individual personal reflection.

It was not uncommon for scribes and Gifted to go for seasons without leaving the walls of the Sanctuary. Many of the older Gifted could not even remember their last journey outside of the comfort of the Order’s domain.

Simon was on the move long before the first light of morning. He dressed in the brown clothing of the Order and packed carefully. Before leaving the Sanctuary, he made a quick stop at the kitchen where he secured enough foodstuffs to last him three days including something for first meal. The sun was not yet on the horizon when he passed through the tunnel and out of the main doors of the Sanctuary. He acquired the Great Highway at the base of the Mount by first light setting a brisk pace for himself which he maintained most of the first day. However, as first dark fell, he did not spend the evening in the comfort of a lodge as Master Keron had instructed. Instead he slipped into a camp along the side of the highway made up of fellow travelers. He kept to the perimeter of the camp. By turning the cloak inside out exposing the brown lining, he concealed his identity with the Order to any who might be curious about him. Not surprisingly, no one took much notice of the plain young traveler among them.

Simon was gone from their midst before first light and at the end of his second day he was in an encampment composed of completely different travelers, having outdistanced any who might have been in the first encampment by virtue of his quick pace.

It was now the third day of his journey and The City of Kings was in sight. He would be within the city by first dark. And indeed as the last of the sun dropped below the mountains behind him, he entered the massive gates of the capital city of the Seven Clans, making his way to the quarter which housed the local Hall of Light.

The City of Kings was renowned as the greatest of all the cities in the Land of Nod. Everything about it was grander and bigger than anything Simon had ever seen before. The main gates of the outer walls were thirty lengths of a man high, hinged to two huge pillars ten lengths wide and thicker than a man’s body. The Way of the Kings, the main street traveling from the main gate through each of the other three walls to the palace of King Crom, was the widest of the city’s streets and lined by giant statues of the ancient line of kings and warriors atop horses, weapons and shields in their hands, and dressed in armor. Many of the streets were made of stone. The myriad of courtyards where the streets intersected had fountains of running water poured from stone jars and bowels held by granite figures of youthful men and women. The homes and other buildings were constructed of the same rock as made up the castle, towers and walls.

The Order of Medgag had long ago established Halls of Light in many of the major cities and some smaller villages in the Land of Nod. Publicly, the Halls existed to educate the people on deepening their worship of The Most High. In reality their main function was to provide haven for traveling members of the Order and serve as observation posts for watching and documenting the activities of the nations of men. A team of two scribes managed each Hall. The assignment was a test of their determination and will to prepare them for the opportunity to seek the level of service known as “the Gifted.”

The scribes of the Hall of Light of The City of Kings welcomed Simon and saw to his physical needs. Before turning in, they worshipped together. While the worship service was open to anyone, no one from the city joined them. It was not uncommon for the attending scribes to worship alone. The people of King’s Mountains confined their religious practices to the celebrations of the passing of the moon and the seasonal festivals of the tithe. There was no reason to become too enamored with the God of the ancients of the Seven Clans.

Sleep came quickly, deeply for Simon.

The morning was bright and full of light. The three scribes took their first meal and spent a watch in worship. Again, by themselves as none from the city came to participate. After which, Simon sent a message to the king requesting an audience.

He decided to see a little of the city while he waited for the response from Crom. What he found outside of the Hall was a city bustling with activity. As with most of the major cities on the Great Highway, The City of Kings was a center of trade and commerce for the nations of men. Anything and everything imaginable was for trade in the stalls lining the large streets. Wheat, corn and grains from the plains, dried and salted sea creatures from the northern Blue Sea, and weapons and armor of all types produced by the clans of King’s Mountains filled the trading booths. There was even an occasional trader of gold. Disturbingly, he also discovered merchants with woodcarvings of humans and animals, decorated with jeweled stones and shiny metals.

Using small statues to enhance the atmosphere of worship had its beginnings in the regions near the Stone Mountains. The Order had studied the question of their use and determined the practice was unwarranted and dangerous. Apparently, many had not heeded the Order’s warning on the subject.

The young scribe gave these booths a wide berth. Unfortunately, the sight of the statues being bartered in King’s Mountains had taken the joy out of the morning. He decided it was best to return to the comfort of the Hall of Light.

Surprisingly, a messenger from King Crom was waiting for him in the Hall. The king, it seems, was giving a banquet, one of many, in honor of his new son, Christophe. Simon was invited to the event as a guest of the king. He thanked the messenger for the graciousness of the king’s welcome and invitation. He would indeed join the king at the celebration of his son.

With the messenger safely on his way, Simon slipped into the garden of the Hall. He passed several watches among the smell of snow flowers and meditation.

**

King Crom the Younger, king of the Seven Clans, the first son of Xavier the Pious, stood with his hands behind his back gazing down from the bank of windows in throne room of the Great Hall of the Seven Clans. Below him the courtyard was busy with his soldiers occupied with their drills and formation. Beyond, over the walls of the palace, he could see the tops of the homes in what was one of the wealthiest areas of the Land of Nod. His sigh drifted through the empty room like a cloud. There would be no court today so the nobility who usually attended could prepare for the continued banquets and other festivities to celebrate the birth of his seventh son. The morning had begun so well and now he was thrown into an uncertainty unfamiliar to the old king. Well, maybe not so old since he had shown he still had the ability to father children. So, the better word was mature king. Yes, that was it, he was a mature king. Yet that did not make his spirit any less appeased. Two events had clouded an otherwise perfect day.

The first was the spies Britt, his second son, seemed to have everywhere. The boy was far more subtle in his relationships with others among the nations of men than his father. He had developed contacts in the major cites of the land with common people such as merchants, traders and warriors. His gift for raising horses had led to a demand for his quality stock and, in return, Prince Britt had bartered in information with those who desperately sought his horses. These contacts told stories of Dark Ones moving beyond the Stone Mountains led by trolls. Those evil creatures, the long ago adversaries of humans, were again seeking to challenge men for the dominance of Creation. There was talk of a troll roaming the streets of The City of Kings, though none had actually seen him.

Trolls! How he shivered at the thought of these foul beings of Hades once again walking the land of men. Many in the Land of Nod refused to believe in these ancient foes but Crom did. He could not help it, he was destined to greatness. His father named his first son Crom after the king who had led the people of the Seven Clans into the mountains in search of God’s presence. King Xavier told his son the stories of when the trolls and the elves once fought for the throne of heaven and, following the great battle, they had been cast down onto the land of men where they continued their war by trying to align the humans with their evil rebellion. Some claimed, against evidence to the contrary, that elves and trolls were children’s stories. But Crom the Younger believed.

Master Keron of the Brotherhood of Medgag, and an old friend of the King Xavier, told a youthful Crom the stories foretelling of the rise of the trolls in the days before the water death of judgment. “Know that the battle for the souls of men was coming to a climax,” Keron was fond of saying. In his younger seasons Keron served as a scribe in the Hall of Light of The City of Kings and was a frequent visitor to the royal court. The former scribe had more than once scolded Crom because of his sparse attendance of the ceremonies of the brothers in the Hall of Light. Crom had always feared chiefly because he believed the man saw directly into his soul.

Which is why the second event of the day, the messenger coming in the name of Keron, struck such fear in the king’s heart. Did the old man know? How could he? Only a few carefully selected warriors, all of the clan of Torr, knew. And yet, he felt the old man once again looking into his very soul from high above in his mountain Sanctuary. He sent a rider inviting the Gifted sent by the Head Master to a last meal banquet to celebrate his son’s birth. He would impress the brother with his kingly piety and send him on his way to report back to Master Keron words of reassurance.

Still, he was troubled. Merran had been summoned so he could demand to know how a Gifted had managed to enter his city without word reaching the king’s ears.

From the windows of the throne room Crom could see over the walls surrounding the palace to the roofs of the homes below and as far as the outer walls. Somewhere out there was a Gifted and, if Britt’s informants were correct, trolls. He began to rub his hands together under his chin in deep thought. Looking at them, flexing his fingers, he wondered out loud, “What have I done? What have I done?”

**

The Stoner sitting casually at the end of the street leading to the Hall of Light called himself Karr. His real name was long forgotten by anyone who knew the man when his seasons were new and his life had begun. Karr never knew his mother. His father claimed she had died giving him birth but children are the cruelest of creatures and too willing to speak the truth adults avoid. According to the children who ran wild in the streets of Stone City his mother was a prostitute who had dumped her newborn infant on the door of the man she claimed was the boy’s father. Then she disappeared never to be seen again.

Karr’s father kept the child with the hope of trading him away to a house in need of a slave when he was old enough to be of value. But Karr would have none of it. When he was almost seven seasons he over heard his father discussing his fate so he ran away and hid in the alleys and back streets of the city. By stealing what he required to survive, he learned to live the life of the orphaned and adopting the name Karr because he liked the sound of it.

The street imp grew faster than his peers becoming a strong, well built man by his thirteenth season. Few took him for the youth that he was which opened the society of the adults to him and ever-increasing possibilities for acquiring what he desired. Unlike most children from the street, Karr sought wealth and position as a means to freedom, freedom from the streets and freedom from a life of poverty. His great desire was to be the master of his own destiny. For the poor there were only two paths to riches, theft and military service. Having tried the one, the youth decided to give the later a chance. His size and build made him a perfect candidate for the army. He passed almost two seasons in the service of King Set, the Stoner King, as a member of his army but soon tired of the boredom of garrison life. The seasons with the Stoner army were not wasted. Karr became quite proficient with most weapons and he discovered his true skill, that of a spy.

It all started for the Stoner when the general of Karr’s division became suspicious of his mate’s involvement with another man. He selected the young Karr for the task of spying on her with orders to kill the man once he discovered who he was. Making the task a little easier, he placed the youth in with the soldiers he used to guard his estates. Karr soon discovered that the mate of the general was indeed having an affair. The trouble was that the affair was with King Set. Weighing his options first, he decided he would be better off if he reported his findings to Set instead of the general.

So, one night he slipped into the bedchambers in the palace of the king. Waking Set, he told the startled king the whole story. Karr, of course, had taken the precaution of preparing an escape route in the event the king did not recognized the wisdom of using the young Stoner for his own purposes and it would have been necessary to kill Set. The king rewarded him for his prudence and also gave him a generous retainer for future service to the Stoner throne. The general had not faired as well, falling from his bedroom window to his death one night after apparently drinking too much wine with the king.

The Stoner king had grown to believe that Karr was his most trusted informant. However, it was not duty to King Set which brought him to King’s Mountains and now had him trailing the little scribe around The City of Kings. Karr had been in Set’s service for almost two seasons when a shadowy old man dressed all in black came to him one night in a lodge he frequented often. Upon entering a private room expecting to find his favorite girls, he found instead the wrinkled old man. The man, it seemed, represented a group of associates, who wanted to remain anonymous, but wished to take advantage of his particular skills for a very liberal fee. They wanted Karr to go to King’s Mountains to penetrate the palace of King Crom of the Seven Clans in King’s Mountains and inform them of any and every activity of the king and his family.

The assignment was more difficult than it appeared. It was one thing for the Stoner to move about Stone City in relative obscurity but his bronze skin and hair would set him apart from the mountain people and make it tough to go unnoticed in a city of colored, as the Stoners referred to anyone who did not have their bronze skin. Still Karr relished the challenge and quickly discovered that, by dressing in the plaid clothing one of the Seven Clans, he attracted less attention, even a lesser amount when he wore a hooded cloak, common in the mountains, over his head. The pride of the clansmen pursued them that he was trying to integrate into their society. They accepted him, though not as an equal. The Stoner spy gained his access with favors for the guards and officials who learned to never question their benefactor for fear of loosing a source of extra income.

The discrete surveillance of the Hall of Light of the Order of Medgag today was the direct result of a messenger of the king. Karr made a point of following messengers from the palace on a regular basis. Knowing who the king was in communication with was a source of bits and pieces of information he could string together to get a better understanding of larger issues. That the king would send a rider to the local Hall of Light was unusual. The king had a reputation in King’s Mountains for practicing his faith in the one God but Karr found little piety and a lot of wind in the king’s spiritual practices. He would observe the Hall of Light for a while and see what fruit it might produce.

The Beginnings

2006-03-11T21:03:00.000-05:00

WHEN COMES THE KING: A Tale From The Land Of Nod

Chapter One:
The Beginnings

The Hosts of Heaven gathered before the throne of God with the evil one in their midst.

“Your brothers have come to give me praise,” said God. “Why have you come?”

“I have come to demand what is mine,” he replied.

“Your season will come,” responded God, “and you will receive what you have earned.”
Medgag: Stories From Creation

All three men were of the dark arts. Their dress was of total black, robes that went from head to feet, gloves and boots. The trip up the mountain took them seven days. They had waited in hiding for the darkness of this night to descend on them before they emerged.

Masked by the night they made their preparations for the evening’s task. Wood for the fire, powders to be mixed and the most important of all, the blood of the innocent. After much discussion, they had chosen to bring a lamb with them. He was newborn, white and completely without blemish.

Looking toward the distant city they watched the lights of the oil lamps drift up to their hide-a-way. They studied each light that appeared until they saw the light whose color changed between blue, red and orange. The color change took place in four counts, blue, red and orange. One sequence would have been enough. They had not missed the signal.

The fire under a large black cauldron was the first priority. Powder, coated on the logs, and ignited by a spark from a flint, started the blaze. Rapidly the flames grew hot and the pot began to heat up. With a knife they slit the neck of the lamb and drained the blood into two bowls. A mixture of powders was added to one of the bowls of blood while they chanted. The language of the chant was not of the tongue of men.

The powders altered the red color of the blood to white.

The second bowl of blood from the dead lamb was combined with another mixture of powders. This bowl of blood changed into a thick black concoction. Again, they chanted as they mixed the bowl.

One of the men held the bowl with the white colored blood. Another took the black colored bowl and the third picked up a bowl filled with water. The three encircled the cauldron chanting a new verse. They circled the pot for six counts then reversed and circled the cauldron for one count in the opposite direction.

As they concluded the chant’s last stand, they raised the bowls over their heads and dropped them into the now red-hot cauldron shattering the clay pottery mixing the liquids. The new mixture of all three bowls sat in the pot for only a moment. It began to glow. Then, suddenly, a white ball of fire shot out of the large kettle arching into the night sky.

The fiery ball held itself suspended over the city below. From the streets of the city, the ball appeared to be a star, lowered from the heavens. The men started another chant the purpose of which was to keep the fireball in place. They chanted for three full watches. Stopping their chanting only when the light from the ball fizzled into the darkness.

Digging a pit they buried the remains of the cauldron, lamb and anything else that might leave a clue to the night’s activities.

With their work completed, they returned to their hiding place. The drain on their spiritual energy had exhausted them. The three would sleep at least a week before they would have sufficient strength to descend the mountain.

They had been well paid. They could afford a short rest.

**

The Sanctuary was aglow and full of activity. Every torch and oil lamp was lit. This night was no ordinary one. The Order would have special visitors. Each scribe, dweller and Gifted at the Sanctuary was gathered in the courtyard waiting their arrival. Master Keron and the Council of Gifted stood at the entrance clothed in the red cloaks of the Gifted. Three figures, covered from head to foot in white robes, entered the courtyard where the Council greeted them. The rest of the assembly remained back from the small group, silent. The visitors removed their hoods. They were elves. The distinctive ears that came to a point, the golden eyes and their dark smooth skin devoid of hair, testified to their elfdom.

The greetings were brief followed by whispered conversations. With their message delivered, the elves left without partaking of the Order’s hospitality. But the Council was unconcerned. There was much to be done and the night would be long with tasks. Council members rushed away to meet behind the closed doors of the council chambers in the High Tower. Small groups of the Order remained in the courtyard to discuss the night’s events before they, too, dispersed to their own rooms for the evening.

A young scribe took it all in from the back of the courtyard. It was all so exciting and mysterious. A sense of adventure was in the air.

* *

Chapter Two:

The Dark Lands

Understand that our true battles are not against the weapons of this world or the flesh of men. No, we fight against the enemies of the Way of God in all their formations. The rulers and masters, soldiers and minions of the dark way who seek nothing but to destroy man’s relationship with his God.
Medgag: Disciplines of Faith

Lameleck trembled as he stood in the massive room. How, he wondered, could a room so dark still be so light?

He had never known such fear in all his life. Though, the passage through the Stone Mountains had not been without its fearsome moments, as when he had stumbled on a band of thieves as they were pillaging the remains of a caravan they had just attacked. In their haste to find booty they did not notice one scared little man moving stealthily from behind one boulder to another until he was safely beyond them.

The Dark City was a relief to find at the end of the pass connecting the Land of Nod to the Dark Lands. However, the night he spent within its walls was by no means restful. He barely slept in his room having stopped at the first lodge to which he had come. The night was full of the screams of the unknown victims of someone’s rage. And, when there were no cries of the distressed, there was the laughter of the drunk and the near drunken, and the seductive cries of the women of the night to keep him awake.

He had been told to keep to the Road of the Star. But Lameleck was unprepared for the road. It was no wider at most points than two men on horseback riding side-by-side and was constructed of wood and stone forming one large bridge spanning the land. Pillars and columns lifted the road ten lengths of a man above the ground. He did not have to travel long to discover why. Below him he saw great beasts whose footfalls shook the land and the road. Some of the beasts were so tall that they would snap at passersby on the road. These monsters walked on their hind feet and covered large distances quickly. Two men had gotten into an altercation on the road in which one of the men was thrown off during the tussle. Several of the massive beasts attacked him, as he lay stunned. They ripped and tore at the man and each other until one of them won the fight and carried the limp, yet still living body away.

Finally, he arrived at the City of Pillars. The city was more of a large fortification constructed in the middle of a desolate land. Its walls and towers of dark stone rose from the ground as if they had been grown rather than built. Sinister shadowy guards walked the battlements with their long spears and gray armor blending them into the walls they defended. Above the city, in the perpetually blackened skies, continuous bolts of lightening flashed and thunder clapped. Distant mountains belched fire and black smoke.

Before Lameleck could rest he was summoned before his master. The throne room in which he now stood was so large that he could not see from one end to the other. Massive pillars held up the ceiling elevated more than one hundred lengths of a man above his head clouded in a haze. The haze permeated the exterior of the room masking an audience he could hear but not see watching his every movement. The room was lit but Lameleck could not identify the source of the light as the building was devoid of windows or any kind. Guards led him into the center of the room where there was a large stone throne. The stones were the reddish color of dried blood. On the throne was the biggest, blackest, ugliest troll he had ever seen, not that he had seen that many in his life. The muscular trunk of the Dark One was larger than a wine barrel with arms the size of tree limbs covered by rough black skin. His head and hairless face were the shape of a large gorilla and he had shoulder-length soot black hair. When he spoke, Lameleck could see his pointy teeth. The troll’s eyes were as dark as black pearls, glowing in the mist of the room.

“You have brought a report?” the troll spat at Lameleck.

“My master Zeus,” he bowed, unable to keep from shaking, “the king of King’s Mountains has called for a council of the Seven Clans. There is talk that he will seek to unite the nations of men under his banner.”

“What is his claim?” roared Zeus

Some confidence filled Lameleck. He had done his research well. “The queen has given the king a son. He is the seventh son, born in the seventieth season of the king. And on the night of his birth a star appeared low over the city. King Crom is telling all who will listen that he is the guardian of the future King of Kings.”

“And what do you think of this…development, merchant?” snarled the troll.

Merchant, it was true enough. Lameleck had spent his whole life trading. At first it was agricultural commodities but eventually he began to trade in flesh when he learned that the profits were more than triple anything he could make trading vegetables. Even though strictly forbidden in the Land of Nod, he discovered a lucrative market in the lands beyond the Stone Mountains. Lameleck was hungry for the power that came with wealth. This hunger drove him to ignore the suffering of others. He established contacts in the Dark Lands and supplied them all the warm bodies he could get his hands on. In the process he had created an extensive network of contacts in the lawless quarters of most of the nations of men where he recruited the associates who procured and transported his merchandise.

Then, almost a season past, one of his customers, a troll, came to him with a proposition. He would trade for information. Initially the bits of information requested seemed to Lameleck as trivial and unimportant. Slowly the demands became more focused and detailed. The trader realized that the information was of the type needed by one army to attack and subdue another. But it was too late for him to turn back. He was hooked on the wealth provided for each piece of news he brought his masters. Plus, he, like all of his kind, rarely thought ahead to the harm his actions would bring to others.

There was no illusion in his mind that he was indeed anything but their servant. His status and the price of failure were made quite clear on many occasions. Nevertheless, he could care less. He was the richest man he knew. Anything and anyone he wanted was at his command. Lameleck had long since stopped counting the women he owned to service his needs or the servants he possessed to run his many homes.

The servant-hood to his troll masters seemed such a small price to pay for all that it gave him personally. That was until he received the summons. One dark, dark night his home was invaded by one of the trolls who brought him the demands for his service. They usually came under the cover of darkness because trolls were not liked by most humans, even those of Stone City. That night the messenger instructed him to go to The City of Kings. His masters wanted to know when the child was born to King Crom and of what gender the child was. He was to watch for the birth himself and report on any and everything that happened around the birth of the child.

The request intrigued Lameleck. He had been so conditioned to retrieving military and political information for the Dark Ones that he did not ask why but, this one caught his interest. He visited libraries and talked with the scholars of the documents of men. With his own wealth he traded for facts and speculations. Then he learned of the prophecy long forgotten and his cold blood went to ice and his hardened heart knew fear.

He traveled to The City of Kings as the destiny of the queen drew near. The festive atmosphere of the city did nothing to warm his blood. He stood on the balcony of the house he had purchased overlooking the palace and watched that night as the birth of the seventh son of Crom the Younger was announced to the cheering crowd. He witnessed with the throng the star appearing in the heavens above the city on the very watch of the young prince’s birth. Unlike the people in the street, though, he did not cheer the news. He had read the documents of the prophets and holy men of the ancients and a man with his past was in no position to welcome the new born. While the city celebrated the birth of prince Christophe, Lameleck drank himself into oblivion.

He started back to his home in Stone City the next day. There was little opportunity for him to speculate about what to do with what he had learned. No sooner had he crossed the threshold of his house than the troll came to call. The summons was clear. He was to come immediately to the City of Pillars and he was to come alone.

So, here he stood before this ugly, fowl smelling poor excuse for a living creature. Yet, the trader was helpless to resist. He had set his course seasons ago and now it was the moment to settle his debt. He envied the ancients, of whom he had read, for they had had a God to call upon in their seasons of great trial. The merchant, never having bothered with such things his life, stood alone.

“What do you think of this development, human?” the troll demanded. “I am not in the habit of being kept waiting when I ask a question.”

Lameleck took a deep breath and released it as slowly as he could. “I believe, master, that it could mean a uniting of all the nations of men is possible. The people have grown tired of the warring that goes on between the kings. The clashes over the petty quarrels are tiresome to the common folk. I think they are ready to again become one race. It is possible that even the Stoners might be prepared to join the other nations.”

The troll snorted moisture from his nose. Lameleck felt some drops on his shaking hands but resisted the urge to wipe them off. “And what of the old ways?”

The question took him by surprise. “The ‘old ways?’ Do you mean the worship of G….?”

The bellow of the troll was earsplitting and reverberated through the hall with such a force that Lameleck could hear it ringing in his ears. He could not stop himself from falling to his knees and covering his ears with his hands. From the shadows of the massive room he heard the echoed painful cries of the hidden audience responding to the troll’s anger.

“Do not use that name here!”

“I am sorry, master. Forgive me,” Lameleck stammered from his knees. “Forgive me.”

Zeus sat back on his throne. He thought for several moments resting his chin on his sword hand. Lameleck stayed where he was on his knees. He did not have the strength or the courage to stand up. Finally the Dark One spoke, “Do you think that humans will return to their old ways?”

“I think that depends,” said the merchant, surprised at the calmness in his voice. It helped to keep his eyes lowered and not look directly at his inquisitor. “If their one king seeks after…the old ways with all his heart, they will follow. But if he is like all the other kings of seasons past, the people will not change their ways. They will continue as they have always done.”

Zeus nodded while his hand massaged his chin. “What course of action would you recommend, O son of Adam?” asked the troll. His head was tilted to the side and he had what could only be described as an ironic smile, that is, if trolls could be said to have the ability to smile.

Careful, thought Lameleck. This is dangerous ground. “I would think that there are three courses of action for any who might not see the uniting of the nations of men as a good thing. One is to wait to see what type of king this boy becomes. After all, what are the odds of him being a really good king? His father has proven to be no different then those who proceeded him. Or, the second option is to kill the child before he has a chance to be the king who unites all of the nations of men. Without the newborn prince, Crom would find it impossible to bring all the people nations together. However, the most ideal solution would be to take the child into protective custody and grow him into a suitable king.”

Lameleck took a deep breath, “There is a problem, though.”

Surprise flashed across on the face of the troll. He came forward out of his throne so quickly that Lameleck did not have the chance to move out of the way as the troll grabbed him by the back of the head and drew his face so close to Lameleck’s own that the trader could smell his breath.

“What do you mean, human?” the troll spit into his face.

“Well, my master,” Lameleck tried to pull back but the troll’s grip was too firm, “the prophecy is so vague as to make it difficult to know of whom it speaks. It might be the child or King Crom but then again it could be any of his other six sons. Also, do not forget that he does have a daughter. She could very well marry the one who would become the uniter of men. The only verifiable fact is that there was a star over the city at the birth of the young prince. Though we must consider the possibility that maybe this is not the occasion of the Great King, it could be that someone might use this existing situation to advance their own agenda regardless of the validity of any of the prophecies of the current events.”

The room was bathed in a blanket of silence as Zeus considered Lameleck's words. Finally, he pointed his wagging finger at the trader. “You are most correct, human. We must thank you for your effort. You have done us a great service.”

When the troll released Lameleck, he fell backward onto the floor. Carefully, with his eyes cast downward, the merchant stood.

“You are most kind, master.” Lameleck started to back away from the throne. He hoped that he could bring the audience to an end and escape the oppressive room. Bowing continuously he had taken two steps back when he noticed that the Dark One was not alone on his throne. Beside him on each side were two beasts. Smaller versions of the ones he had seen along the Road of the Star. They were staring at him. Their eyes were a dark glow.

“Unfortunately, we have come to believe that your usefulness to us has been exhausted. Your loyalties are now in question, given the knowledge you possess. Such a pity you felt the need to research the subject so thoroughly.”

The two creatures moved away from the throne and towards Lameleck frozen in fright by the sight of them.

“We would be foolish to let you leave the Kingdom of the Morning Star after having given it so much of your life and effort,” Zeus sneered. “He is yours,” he said to the beasts still looking into Lameleck’s eyes.

Lameleck’s last moments of life were filled with more terror than he ever dreamed could exist. He closed his eyes and tried to protect his face from his attackers with his crossed arms. There was pain, such terrible pain, and he screamed until his throat was ripped away. He did not hear the cheers of the onlookers couched in the darkness of the giant room. He was now beyond all hope.