V – Open your eyes

For the fifteenth time, Arwel urged Narg to bring the council to a close. It was well into the early hours of the morning, but the king, who had summoned the troop commander and the scribe at short notice, desired to continue until it was finished.

Faced with that unexpected summons, neither Arwel—who, alarmed, had mustered the troops—nor Cheas—fearing that he might wish to write his last will and testament—could fathom the reason.

Narg desired to make the most of his hours of clarity and strike off the two letters from his list of duties, thereby making his position clear, and he was utterly hopeless at writing.

Formal language was not his forte; organising the battlefield was.

That was what Cheas was there for—to draft with precise wording and enviable calligraphy.

There he sat, at his desk, wearied, quill between his fingers and hands stained with ink.

He was drafting, for the third time, the letters to be sent to Lerg Munork and Jorlaft, the King of Wolest, whilst Arwel and Narg argued before him.

Lifting his head, he espied the knife yet stuck in the wall and yearned to hasten to Gwion’s chamber to ensure he was there and not locked up, on his way to the gallows.

He pondered for a moment, coolly; he could see that Narg looked well, and it struck him as odd that he had not waited to discuss the matter with the rest of the troop.

Now that they were an empire, would he dissolve the council? , he wondered.

They had rebuilt the Indralor bridge, yet Narg was not content.

He sought to persuade Arwel that two turrets were necessary, employing the same stratagem: wood and resin.

Thus, they would not only serve to guard the border, but also to illuminate the ground in case Jorlaft failed to understand the plain message he was about to send him.

'Read the letter to Lerg again,' he asked Cheas.

'Cousin, it is no secret that we do not like each other, but I do not wish our next meeting, in a few days’ time, to conclude with Welst bereft of a king.

Keep thy dogs upon a leash, for if thou dost not, I shall loose my wolves and thy bowels may lie splattered about thee,' Cheas read and lifted his head.

'I insist it is controversial, Your Majesty. '

'No, that one stays as it is,' he ordered with a satisfied smile. 'Now Jorlaft’s.'

'I trust thou wilt keep thy wits about thee and thy boots in the mud of thy own land, for shouldst thou set foot in Old Minister again, thou shalt be the first kingdom in Tloston where my flag doth fly.'

Arwel shook his head, but Narg seemed satisfied.

'I prefer to err on the side of caution,' he clarified.

'I think this one is better,' said Cheas, picking up the scrap of paper to his right.

'I understand the disadvantage of being caught between the kingdoms of the ravens.

Therefore, ere joining forces with my cousin, as thou hast unfortunately done with Ubberia, out of the benevolence that characteriseth me, I tender unto thee a peace treaty.

Open thy roads to any folk of Móntria, free of tribute, and with assurance of safety.

Else, I shall be constrained to resort to measures less advantageous unto thee. '

He was not convinced. Furious, he yearned for vengeance upon Wolest, but with a resigned snort, as he pushed the air forward with his hand, he approved it and suffered them to depart and rest.

He was weary also, yet he had already slumbered for far too long, and his own unease would not suffer him to take repose.

He poured himself another glass of fermented drink; dawn was not far off, and he determined to await their return whilst keeping watch.

He sat at the foot of his bed to watch from there through the large window overlooking the courtyard, but even with the light of the burning torches casting an orange glow over the rocks that formed the surroundings, he did not see the silhouette slipping through the shadows to hide in the stables.

In the last stall without a horse, the one without a window, with the darkness on his side, he waited for him against the adobe wall.

There were no witnesses to see them, as had been the case for more than forty years.

The stealthy shadow entered with outstretched, empty hands, and, by way of welcome, a resounding slap rang out, startling Clarens, who, affrighted, whinnied.

'I certainly had the urge to smash it to smithereens right there and then,' he apologised as he rubbed his cheek.

'We must act as if they knew,' he said, not letting the faint light from the street streaming through the door reach his face.

'It took you far too long to obtain that intelligence. It was your notion to employ him instead of rescuing him in time.'

Faced with the complaint, he stepped out of the shadows and, with one hand upon his narrow chest, pushed him whilst scolding him.

'In time meant this very night, and you have failed. Now wait until he is alone; do not seek to confront him. The wisest course shall be to employ the spell of eternal sleep.'

'And what shall we do with the fat one?'

'First things first, then the rubbish.'

Behind them rose the Cave of Whispers, whilst the crackling of the campfire lighting their faces wove melodies with the first spring cicadas. Gwion, impatient at his companion’s distraught expression, tapped his knee to prompt him to begin reading.

Gregor’s lips parted and he began to translate in a low voice:

'The plans must have changed—but before thou settest the world ablaze, I bring good tidings; thou shalt see it is the better way.

First: the child journeys to thee; thou shalt know him, for salvation radiates from him. As with the ostrich—one for glory, the other for the flies.

Second: set thy watch. The stars have revealed the hour—exactly forty years. The heir of the Blood Moon shall liberate humanity when his wings of shadow embrace the world, yet he must be restrained. The power—the wrathful beast—may be unleashed ere its appointed season.'

'The Blood Moon—might it be the very same as that recounted in the legend of Colquen?' queried Gwion, taking advantage of Gregor’s first breath of air.

'Wait—the best is yet to come,' Tower’s voice echoed at his right. He was surprised he did not need to enter that trance to hear him. But he decided to ignore it; what they were doing was serious enough without adding the steed’s chatter.

Gregor raised his eyebrows as he reread the last words and continued: 'Keeping him occupied is essential—use time to thy advantage, for thou art right: the spring lies beneath Móntria. Let us water the earth with the blood of every warrior; thou knowest the way—make Alfredo’s lineage count.

After all, thou owest it unto him; it was he who began all this.

Give thanks for his blood, for his sacrifices, for his covenant.

The fool never imagined the import of his own existence.

If thou raisest Old Minister to empire, we shall quench his thirst for death—and it shall be easier to heal humanity when all men fear the Raven’s Standard. Only fear is as powerful as love, and thou knowest that all too well.'

'Have thy brilliant minds been able to discern to whom it is addressed?' quoth Tower, and Gwion uttered a subtle, vexed grunt before comprehending.

'Wait a moment!' he exclaimed. 'Alfredo’s lineage, Old Minister made empire. My friend, what does Narg have to do with the Blood Moon?'

He rose, a fire burning within him on the verge of implosion. Gregor endeavoured to remain composed; it had been a long while since he had read in Leighill and the tension was blurring his vision.

'Sit down, this tiding shall send a shiver down your spine:' 'Thou mayest play as thou pleasest—they must be so united that none may see beyond the veil of night. Whilst thou dost weave the ropes, I shall help thee forge the door of escape.

I have one last gift: Pokrak hath compelled the hermit Oracle—he who hath spoken with Odín himself—to confess.

He purposes to send his two wolves unto the hamlet of Cartos.

Though we know not yet the hour, they shall serve us at the first feast. We must keep them.

The more Asgardian the blood, the swifter night shall fall—and our lord shall descend. '

Gregor looked up and felt a surge of electricity rise from his heels and settle deep within him.

Gwion stood with his head bowed; his heavy hair fell in strands, covering his eyes and cheeks, but those hidden eyes were the key.

Behind him, the light from the modest campfire, with its last flickers, traced his outline; in contrast, his face was shadowed, and in the midst of it, two masterful blue points shone from the depths.

'Gwion,' he ventured to say, 'Maed and you, Cartos, what Tower said.'

'A mere manipulation,' he mimicked, with a certainty that intimidated Gregor. 'It is plain—this is Halfdan’s last desperate gambit. Many know that my brother and I were born there.'

'I beseech you, for the honour we owe each other as knights, are you involved?'

Gwion rose again and leaned in close to him, gazing intently. Gregor recoiled, his hair still bristling, but he perceived his eyes regaining their warm, almond-like hue.

'My word, as precious as my life, is here before you,' declared Gwion, his right hand resting upon his breast. 'Let not my ignorance plant in your mind a withered seed that seeketh to sow the doubt of betrayal.'

Gregor, speechless, turned his gaze towards Tower. The steed seemed to be listening to them, its long neck stretched out.

'A spell,' he concluded, setting aside all other interpretation. 'They have bewitched the horse. Divide and you shall rule. Thus simple—and we fell into the snare the moment we doubted Narg.'