Dealings in the Council of Avalhein…
Chapter 13
Malkknrre began the game, beginning with the chant that started it all. He had been on the floor, in pain, just moments ago, but elder Kimaha had found him and enthusiastically offered to play the Game of the Fayett.
”Wind to sear, magic to rescind…”
A scalding wind rose from the bowels of the mountain upon which a scarred black fortress stood. Screams of despair and pain drifted from the fortress’ bosoms, yells torn from the throats of captives as they were turned into gruesome beasts for the sinister master behind it all.
Yet the fortress echoed with something different from the melancholy screams of the dying; it was racked with the morbid sorrow and a hastily suppressed anger that coursed through an evil man losing authority over even his own army. Ever since that damned voice had started tormenting him, he had slowly slipped, deeper into his own despair.
The sultry wind whipped into the room through the balcony and caused the draperies to flutter around wildly. Mal’haran embraced the wind even though it seared him to the bone, he reminisced the times when the very mention of his name inspired fear in those that heard it. It still did, but it just didn’t feel the same, now that he, in a way, served a power higher than him.
The wind stopped, changing direction almost like magic was grabbing it.
After placing the blue discs, Malkknrre began the second line.
”Gold to bewitch…”
The hot wind seemed like no natural wind at all, over the oceans it traveled, without once wavering or cooling down. It crossed the shores of lands far to the west, so far that they were unknown to the lands in the east. Nothing but desert covered the parched continent, it was pebbled by the occasional hardy shrub, but beyond that, nothing but shifting sands.
The searing wind whipped up dust devils that flowed down the dunes in straight lines. No natural breeze would have done that, but the wind did just the same. Eventually, a raging sandstorm accompanied the zephyr that was now wailing.
In the distance, the desert air seemed to shimmer and it revealed a ramshackle group of dwellings centered on a well around which palms grew. Strange creatures darted in and out of the houses, fleshy two-legs with dragon-like feet and claws. Their large ears tapered and were filled with fluff.
Anxious yells arose and orders were barked as the people noticed the sandstorm that was barreling towards them. Nothing could have been done before the wall of sand crashed into the small village. Panicked screams and frantic yells filled the air alongside loud thumps and sounds of things breaking.
As soon as it came, it was gone. In the middle of the village, a strange four-legged figure stood, bearing sacks of glittering gold. Anxious grunts came from the males and the females shrank back with their children and attempted to blend into the shadows. The figure promptly answered in the tongue of the strange people. "Bring me your chief.”
An old woman stepped forth, gold earrings hanging on her drooping ears and golden tattoos glittering on her sagging skin. ”I be the chieftain. What do be the four-legs’ wish? Yes?”
“I do wish for an alliance. I do be prepared to offer this,” said the four-legged figure, taking in her gesture the sacks of gold that glittered under its feet. The old woman ogled at the gold, a look of greed flashing across her face.
“We do no need flashing metal, four legs, yes?” said the chieftain, evidently suppressing her greed, hoping to get a better bargain.
”Then I do offer more.” said the figure. Water erupted from springs all around the small village.
The woman’s eyes widened and tears brimmed on them. It was a miracle; the Sun Goddess had heard their prayers and brought them salvation. In her mind, though, she knew that hers would be the gold. "Savior,” the woman bowed in a peculiar way, with four fingers, two from each hand, to the forehead. ”You do be a great bargainer, yes?”
”I will need two of your strongest men, chief” said the figure and the chief was more than happy to comply. The wall of sand returned and when it cleared, figure and men were gone. The chief knelt in joy, as did many of her people, and she looked at the gold, as though caressing it with her eyes.
Kimaha muttered the third line absentmindedly.
Power to blind...
Screams filled the air as in the lands to the south, the wind rose to a gale. That wasn’t what bothered them; it was the fact that the fabled dragon people from the northwest rode the wind along with a foreign four-legged creature.
They flowed gracefully high above the fleshy two-legs and their towering spires. They landed in front of the palace and without any sort of ceremony burst into the throne room. They came upon a distraught king.
“I offer alliance!” bellowed the figure. “And the promise of power over the entirety of these southern lands.”
The king almost choked on his wine. “Gracious benefactor, thou hast not told me how thou will go about with thy offer.”
“This is how,” said the figure, gesturing to the dragon people behind it. After that, two hounds appeared out of nowhere; massive hounds with pebbled black skin that let go a howl that could strike fear into any heart.
Seeing this, the king knelt to the figure and offered his fealty. With that, the figure vanished.
Malkknrre finished the chant, but the entire thing echoed in his mind without cease.
Gold to bewitch…
Power to blind…
These will break all oaths that bind…
He comes and all alliance bends…
All oaths shall fall to fire that rends…”
Whoever ‘he’ was, Malkknrre did not know, but he was sure that if he didn’t live to see ‘his’ arrival, his descendants would.
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