The Pinnacle Of Empire (Book 6) (3 page)

“Memlatec must have suspected it survived in some form,” Mendentak said. “I’m sure he was hoping the evil was broken. We must send word to the wizard that the thing is regenerating. We must warn him and Emperor Saxthor as well that it’s moving south. Mankind is so susceptible to greed, envy, and the like. Perhaps the Crown of Yensupov can shield man from this evil once again. We elves, the dwarves, and other primal beings born of the elements and interwoven with them understand our relationship to the planet. We know, as the caretakers and partners of it, the need to live in harmony with it. Mortality and the need to leave his mark drive mankind. That vitality is a double edged sword. Out of balance, it leads to arrogance and an unhealthy sense of superiority, divorcing man from the world that nurtures him. As men move off their farms and into their cities, they increasingly see themselves as controllers of, rather than partners with, nature. This evil will quickly find sympathetic victims among them.”

“You must send word to the dwarf kings Ormadese and Bordabrundese,” the dowager said. “They likely know of the presence, but we must warn them, nonetheless. And then there’s King Ahkenspec of the forest elves in the Memtahhamin Kingdom.”

Mendentak clutched his sword hilt. “Ahkenspec has probably sensed this evil moving to his east. I’ll send a warning to him as well.”

Merritak shook her head. “More and more elves are despairing. Many are going west, leaving these lands, sensing a threat as man’s need for dominance grows with his spreading presence. He hews down the ancient forest wherever he goes, burning and upturning the earth, eradicating the native plants and destroying the harmony of diversity crucial to the forests. Man will spread over the earth until he uses up its resources if he continues. Nature’s resources are finite.”

“I understand the dwarves too are abandoning hope,” Mendentak said. “They first admired the vitality and creativity of man. They took on human form as best they could replicate it from the elements they understood. Now many are abandoning their physical, human forms and slipping back into the stone elements from which they came.”

“Soon there’ll be no place for us among the men of Powteros.” Merritak shook her head and Mendentak noted some of her silvery glow had faded, ever so slightly but noticeably. “You must take measures to ward off this evil, Mendentak. It’ll sense us if it gets too close. We’re hidden from mankind, but energy recognizes energy.”

“We can invoke our invisibility shield, energized and sustained by the intersection of planetary energy gradients.”

“Be cautious, Mendentak, remember the Chowzenshwang. It won’t abide interference or intrusion. It’s primal and not concerned with the creatures of the mantle. It must not sense a threat.”

“I’ll invoke its presence if the evil approaches too closely. That should be sufficient to drive aside the foul presence. For now, let’s hope the upwelling of primal energy beneath us will mask our own energy trace.”

* * *

High in the mountain forests of Zenobia on the southeastern edge of Powteros, King Zirkin hunted near the border with the Powterosian Empire. The king was thirty years old, slender, and handsome with full, classically elegant features, and medium blond hair. Reserved in his actions and reactions yet open to advice and suggestions, the king wasn’t easily swayed in his decisions.

Separated from his hunting party, King Zirkin aimed his arrow at a stag racing down the slope ahead of him. Crashing headlong through the underbrush, the deer startled a small creature that barely jumped out of the way of the flying hooves. A lessor griffin, poised to pounce on the creature, leapt up in reaction. Zirkin lowered his bow, watching the spectacle play out. Smaller than the smallest dwarf, the intended victim dove back down into the thick bracken ferns covering the timbered slope. Focused on its prey, the frustrated griffin snapped its intimidating beak. Anticipating its prey, it leapt up, thrusting its wings out to direct its descent down on the intended meal.

Zirkin had seen enough. The king’s arrow found its mark in the griffin’s massive thigh. The bird-beast screeched. Its great head jerked, focusing a menacing stare at the king. The massive beak reared back in a blood-curdling shriek. Zirkin’s horse whinnied and began backing up, throwing Zirkin off balance. Flapping its wings, the griffin hovered for an instant, snatched the arrow from its thigh, and flung it aside. It then flew away. The king shuttered at the sight of so evil a glare from the fantastic monster half again larger than himself.

Thrashing within the underbrush brought the king’s attention back to the lower slope. The little targeted being scrambled to hide under dark green rhododendron and mountain laurel leaves, but Zirkin had seen it and raced across the slope to find it before it disappeared.

“Where are you?” Zirkin called out, “I know you’re here. Can you not spare me a moment? I saved your life.”

There was a rustling among the leaves then the small creature materialized before Zirkin. The king’s horse, startled by the sudden appearance so close, reared up at the perceived menace. The little person jumped back and started to scramble away, but Zirkin’s bow tip pinned his foot to the ground.

“Hold still, you. We shan’t harm you.”

“Well, perhaps you have good intentions, sir, but that beast you ride is displaying a different intent.” The little man still wiggled to get free.

Surprised at the response, Zirkin studied the previously unknown creature barely two feet tall. His short, squat body appeared pudgy. When released, he showed an unexpected dexterity and quick movement.

His short legs and oversized feet move much faster than one should think possible, Zirkin noted. This creature’s head is large with a short neck. Flushed, plump cheeks of late middle age protrude above its red beard. The whole is dressed meticulously in a forest green and brown outfit, close cut, simple but elegant suggesting a vanity in the creature.

Zirkin withdrew his bow. The creature shook off the leaf litter and stood facing the king, legs apart and hands on his hips.

“Are you hurt?” Zirkin asked.

The creature jerked his head up, staring. “I can defend myself, if that’s what you mean.”

The king laughed, but the creature shuffled on his feet, confirming his stance. “Well, that griffin might have been a challenge even for one as tough as yourself, little man.”

The creature looked to where the griffin had flown off then relaxed his deportment. He stroked his beard and cast a glance at Zirkin. An impish grin lit up his face. “Mean beasts, those griffins.”

“Indeed, I’ve hunted these forests since my youth, yet I’ve never seen a griffin or such as you before. That bird-beast was frightening even for me.” Zirkin patted his horse’s neck that was again trampling the bracken ferns.

“There aren’t many of us left,” the creature said, his voice trailing off.

“I should like to know you better, little man.”

“Stop calling me little man. I can hold my own with a giant such as you.”

“I’m sure you can. I meant no offense.”

“I’m neither little nor man.”

“My apologies, what are you, then?”

“I’m a tittletot and a well grown one at that.”

“I’ve heard tales of such creatures in these mountains, but I’ve never known anyone that’s actually seen a tittletot. I thought the tales superstitions. How is it tittletots have hardly ever been seen?”

“We tittletots bend light around us, making us invisible.  We must materialize, so to speak, to see and find food in this plane. I think I shall come with you, giant. My friends and relations are gone; I’ve little to stay here for.” The creature lifted his cap and scratched his head, then plopped his hat back on his head as if to banish his uncertainty and finalize his resolution.

Zirkin sat upright in his saddle at the thought. “Will you, now?”

The tittletot extended his hand to the king. When Zirkin realized the tittletot wanted a hand up, he chuckled then grasped the little fellow’s hand and lifted him gently up on the saddle. Zirkin tapped his horse’s flanks and the stallion started off again with the tittletot sitting in front of the king, bouncing like a plump child. Then, the tittletot chuckled as they rode.

“What’s your name? Mine is King Zirkin of Zenobia.”

“Yes, well… Tittletot will do for now. To tittletots, as you call us, our names are windows into our souls, and we mostly keep them secret.”

“Tittletot it is then.”

“Your hunting party is to the southwest about half an hours ride from here.”

“How did you know I was separated from my hunting party?” Zirkin asked, reining in his horse. He looked around at Tittletot’s face. Tittletot looked smug, said nothing, then flicked his wrist. The great stallion started forward again as if the king had spurred him. “You’re a conundrum, Tittletot.”

Zirkin and Tittletot met with the rest of the hunting party. After the initial turmoil over the sight of the new creature, all returned to the palace and the delights of the nobility. Zirkin noted the tittletot observed everything about the court, the people, and their behavior. He accepted the role of court jester for the time being and amused the royal entourage until his novelty wore off and people paid him less attention.

*

One day a messenger came to Zirkin from his ambassador at the imperial Powterosian court. The messenger brought news of the impending marriage of the new Emperor Saxthor and the Princess Imperial Tottiana at Engwaniria. King Zirkin was discussing the political implications with his chatra when the little noticed tittletot interrupted.

“I should like to go to this imperial court.”

“Would you, now,” Zirkin said, glancing down at the jester.

“Majesty,” the chatra said. “Perhaps the tittletot could be a valuable asset at the imperial court. We know little about this Emperor Saxthor. If Your Majesty were to give the tittletot to the emperor as a wedding present, he could observe the emperor and court much closer than the ambassador who only gets formal audiences or second hand information.”

“What say you to that, Tittletot?” Zirkin asked.

“Give me, indeed!” Tittletot said, but stroking his beard, he smiled. “I shall go along with your plan and see this imperial court first hand.”

And so the tittletot journeyed with the royal party to the imperial Powterosian court for Emperor Saxthor’s wedding.

Seated on the golden throne in the grand audience hall of Ossenkosk Palace, Emperor Saxthor was listening to the elf messenger from King Ahkenspec warning about the presence of evil moving down the peninsula. When finished, Saxthor sent the messenger directly to Memlatec in the palace wizard’s tower to repeat the warning.

The court chamberlain clacked his staff on the marble floor and announced Lord Hedrak, Imperial Governor of Mendenow Province. Saxthor motioned for the governor to come forward. The late-middle aged man formally approached the throne. Imposing, rampant dragons spared on the elaborate court robes over his large frame. Hedrak stood straight; his raised head turned from side to side.

He’s haughty, Saxthor thought, noting who among the courtiers acknowledge him. “Welcome to our court, Governor Hedrak. What brings you here so urgently?”

“Again, let me congratulate you on your accession to the throne, Your Imperial Highness.” Hedrak offered but a slight bow. “Mendenow is the southernmost province of your empire. We border on the kingdom of Zenobia to the east and, though far from the capital’s brilliance, we’re one of the empire’s jewels. I come on behalf of all the governors to petition that, after the marriage of Your Highness to Princess Imperial Tottiana, Your Highness might make a grand tour of your empire. I might be even so bold as to offer our excellent coast for Your Highness’ honeymoon. If such would be acceptable, I shall be honored to prepare the imperial seaside retreat for such a happy and auspicious visit.”

Saxthor turned to the chamberlain. “We have such a palace by the southern sea?”

“Your Majesty has palaces in all the provinces at your disposal at any time. Most have not been used in recent years and will require notice to prepare them for a state visit.” The chamberlain bowed.

“Remain with us Lord Governor Hedrak. We shall discuss the prospect of a state tour of the provinces in more detail. Count Feldon, arrange quarters for our esteemed governor.”

Saxthor looked at another petition and the chamberlain clacked his staff on the floor. Governor Hedrak bowed and backed out of the audience chamber as Saxthor continued with the endless petitions and protestations of the official audience. When Hedrak was gone, Saxthor held up his hand and the next approaching petitioner backed away from the dais. Saxthor motioned for the chamberlain and whispered his instructions. “Have Chatra Boktorian bring me all his information on Governor Hedrak at the conclusion of the audience.”

The remainder of the audience was a stream of petitions, appeals, ambassadorial presentations, and imperial decisions rendered to resolve disputes. Saxthor closed the audience in late afternoon and went to meet with Boktorian and Belnik in the private audience chamber.

“Tell me about this Governor Hedrak of Mendenow,” Saxthor said. “What’s his status that he would presume to petition for a grand tour in the name of all the governors?”

“The man is bold, Your Imperial Highness,” Boktorian said unobtrusively placing a full packet on the emperor’s desk. “He was appointed governor by Emperor Engwan four years ago for some services rendered, though it’s not known what those services entailed. As for his status, there were rumors at the time of his appointment that his birth might have an imperial connection, but that was hushed up. Whatever his connection to the former imperial family, his bearing suggests an arrogance beyond that of a governor.”

“Is that packet the information on Governor Hedrak?”

“It is, Your Majesty. You will find all we know about him there.”

“And how has he performed as governor?”

“There have been no complaints of note, nothing to bring him to our attention. The taxes and revenues arrive on time and within the expected range.”

“Thank you, Boktorian. You may leave the packet with us. We shall return it to you presently.”

“As Your Imperial Highness commands.” With that, the chatra withdrew, mumbling about Hedrak and his stirring up trouble at court.

* * *

Memlatec was in the dusty wizard’s tower at Ossenkosk, looking through the extensive library, thumbing volumes here and there. Most of the books and scrolls, ingredients and such, were fairly common. There was little indication that the tower had been used in a generation or that there was any innovative research done there. He had just put down a volume on the Second Wizard War when Mendentak’s elf messenger arrived.

“What have we here?” Memlatec asked.

“The emperor sent you this messenger with his compliments,” an attendant said, who then bowed and withdrew.

Memlatec listened to King Ahkenspec’s warning about the approaching evil then sighed.
“
Yes, I’ve sensed it from afar too,” the wizard said. “I know it came out of Dreaddrac and is moving south, but that’s all I can determine. I suspect it’s coming here for Saxthor.” He looked up suddenly, as if tapped on the shoulder. “There is something here receptive to the evil as well. Who or what it is, I don’t yet know.”

The wizard walked over to the divination stand; the basin was dry. He cleaned the stone bowl carefully and rinsed it with moon water then filled the vessel and cast a spell over it. Repeated attempts brought no vision of the evil, though the water shimmered and rippled at some disturbance related to the search.
“
It has no substance as yet, but it moves with direction denoting purpose. I think it must be heading for the crypt just beyond the old Earwighof. It seeks the upwelling negative energy there to enrich and sustain itself on its journey. It will seek a physical manifestation after reviving itself. We must hurry if I’m to beat it to The Crypt. I don’t wish to alarm Saxthor unnecessarily.
”

Memlatec and the elf messenger took leave of Saxthor and raced back to Konnotan with all haste without revealing the mission or suspicions to anyone at court.

* * *

In the silvery moonlight, the evil essence passed the withered vines covering the Earwighof’s abandoned stone ruins.  It followed a trail of dried dragon dung remains to The Crypt and drifted to the cliff edge, savoring the upsurge of dark energy like flies following the scent of decay.  It basked in the rising energy and slipped down through it among the bones of the countless dead beasts who had raced headlong over the cliff edge, dying in agony eons before. As it regenerated, bats- returning from the night’s hunt- sensed the evil force and shied away from their cave above in the cliff wall. The dark force absorbed the negativity until sated. Then, the night before Memlatec arrived at Konnotan, it slipped away southwest toward the Neuyokkasinian border with the empire.

It crossed the fetid swamps and bubbling sulfur springs, following them around the edge of central Powteros, finally coming to the dark jagged mountains that insured the defense of the kingdom of Senoshesvas against intrusion from the empire. It had taken only a short detour from its course, stopping briefly in Engwaniria, making a contact, then left before Tournak sensed its presence. It rested in the mountains, carefully studying the topography, strengths, and weaknesses that would further serve its purpose. On a rainy, moonless night, the essence moved down into Senoshesvas to Varnakak, the capital, looking for the living form it sought to overwhelm and assume.

* * *

The monarchy of Senoshesvas had intermittently been at war with the Powterosian Empire from the empire’s inception. The kingdom’s massive architecture reflected the gloomy, defensive mood. The palace was more a massive fortress built of dark gray granite. Its minimal architectural notes were high vaulted ceilings and large, onion shaped arches. The sparse ornamentation was all ferocious, fantastical beasts, crouched or leaping toward the viewer, intended to intimidate. The kings spent most of their resources building and garrisoning a string of coastal fortresses to fend off a feared invasion from the sea. The political machine fed the fears to solicit endless taxes expensed on those elaborate defenses.

King Nindax was bolder and more aggressive than any of his fearful predecessors. Like the fortresses, the national mood reflected the king’s constant fear of invasion. The people lived in isolation, farming rocky soils to eke out a living above the stifling taxes.

“Saxthor! Saxthor! That’s all we hear,” boomed the deep voice of King Nindax across the throne room of his palace-fortress on the western edge of the impenetrable mountains protecting Senoshesvas from the Powterosian Empire.

“Emperor Engwan was weak. He spent his life in self-indulgence, pursuing endless pleasure. He was no threat,” Nindax said to the chatra. “This Emperor Saxthor is an unknown; he has our entire court trembling. We must discover his ambitions and if they include territorial gain.”

“Perhaps we shall soon see the emperor’s intentions,” the chatra said. “An imperial emissary is approaching the mountains at the Abysmal Pass, or trying to.”

“Without escort, the man and his entourage can’t possibly make it through the mountains. The emperor’s advisors should have warned him of that. Surely, they have cautioned this messenger about the flinik and the foodoo. Send an escort to bring them here. We want to know what this new emperor has to say. Perhaps we can discover his true purpose behind the official message. Meanwhile, we want the army polished, drilled, and ready for formal presentation. Bring in an additional legion from the outlying fortresses to enhance the display. We want the envoy to report back to this emperor that Senoshesvas is ready to defend itself should the emperor desire to extend his empire to the west.”

The senior general bowed and withdrew to carry out the king’s orders. The chatra gave instructions to assemble a troop of heavily armed soldiers for escorting the ambassadorial party. He sent them at once to locate and bring the imperial visitors through the horrific beasts that hunted in the formidable Abysmal Pass.

“When this messenger comes through the realms of the flinik and the foodoo, it should become clear the pass is impassable,” Nindax said. “Dismiss the court; we shall receive no one else this day.”

The king rose and strode out of the audience hall to seek his wizard in the great tower just south of the palace overlooking the mountain lake that ensured a water supply in case of siege. 

“I don’t trust Wizard Xthilleon,” Nindax said to the chatra as they rode to the wizard’s nearby abode. “Wizards make me uncomfortable. I prefer an ax or sword, though a wizard can be handy when more direct means won’t do. I built Xthilleon this tower close to the palace, but not attached to it, in appreciation for his ‘assistance’ in putting me on the throne when my brother, the heir, most unfortunately fell and broke his neck at father’s funeral.” Nindax looked up at the wizard’s black basalt tower with few slender windows. Only one balcony above the ramparts and just below the steep slate roof.

“That was a most ill-fated accident, Majesty, but fortunate for you,” the chatra said.

The two men grinned, but Nindax observed his chatra’s facial expressions. Sorcerer Xthilleon greeted the king and chatra when they dismounted at the tower’s imposing, disproportionate gate. Only the creaking of the leather saddles and the slight lapping of tiny waves at the lake’s edge interrupted the grim silence. No birds sang. No vegetation grew near that stronghold.

The lean wizard was thirtyish, of average height, with thin blond hair and a hollow face accentuated and overshadowed by a prominent hooked nose. Silent, dressed all in black in front of the gate, he seemed ominous-- like a snake coiled to strike. At first, the wizard’s swarthy complexion obscured his beady eyes. On approach, they seemed to grow and overshadow his whole face. He stood with hands crossed in front facing Nindax. Long, herbs-stained fingernails tipped boney fingers on pasty hands adding to his unnerving appearance. Only a slightly hunched stance suggested possible token subservience. A sudden whiff of smoke infused with bitter herbs and sweet flesh accosted Nindax’s nostrils.  

“Greetings, Xthilleon,” Nindax said. Neither man extended his hand.

The wizard studied each man in turn. “What brings you to my tower, Majesty?”

“I’ve received word that an imperial emissary is making his way through the mountains. I’ve sent an escort to bring the entourage through.” Xthilleon gave a slight nod, his smirk visible. “What do you make of this contact?”

“I saw the emissary was coming. I saw his entourage some days ago. I think Your Majesty must see this man and sense what you may about the intent of the new emperor.”

“My thoughts exactly. I should like you to be at court when we grant this imperial envoy an audience.”

“I shall be present, Majesty.”

Nindax waited to be invited into the tower, though he didn’t want to go. The invitation didn’t come and the moment became awkward. “We shall be going then.”

Xthilleon said nothing but gave a slight nod. As the king and chatra rode back to the palace, Nindax broke the silence. “That wizard irritates me; I don’t trust him. Rather than send a messenger, I went to summon him to see his reactions and learn what he knows. As usual, we got nothing out of him.”

“He has proven useful, Majesty.”

“Such impudence, I should limit his access to the treasury. How dare he not invite me into that grim tower?”

“Would Your Majesty have gone in?”

“No, but he should have invited me in, nonetheless. I prefer men with weapons; you know where they stand.”