Chapter II:
Mityai's Testimony
Morning Departure
Lord Pelas, like Mityai, was clearer than the smoothest glass and lighter than a wisp of wind. He was much older and wiser, however, and his presence inspired awe even among mortals, though he walked among them unseen and unheard. He ruled over the spirits of Falsis from his throne in Dadron, but he often traveled to Galva to aid the Cheftans in council. He was particularly fond of the Galvahirne, for reasons that will be explained in due course. He beckoned her to begin her tale.
She began her account in her usual tone, which was soft and unsure. Pelas complained and commanded her to speak louder. He told her not to avert her eyes, not to fidget or wave her hands as she spoke, and many other things. Partly due to her own timidity and partly due to Lord Pelas' constant interruptions and interrogations her testimony came out only very slowly and in fragments. She would start the tale here and jump to another portion as Lord Pelas bid her. Then she would be told to return to the beginning and 'leave nothing out'. Then she was ordered to say 'only that which is of the utmost importance'.
The content of her account, when pieced together without her trembling, without jumping from one portion to another, and mostly without Lord Pelas' constant interruptions, is as follows:
It was before dawn on the twentieth day of the month the mortals call Primus when Daryas left his parents' home. He made no sound as he crept through the halls toward the front door. He did not wish to wake his mother, as the Lady Marima was as yet recovering from a long illness. Daryas had bid his father and mother farewell the previous night.
But as he stopped near the front door to gather his belongings, his mother addressed him with a soft and kind voice, 'You are not going to leave without saying farewell, are you my son?' Daryas was startled and turned toward his mother.
There behind him stood Lady Marima with a small cloth bag in her palm, which she was nervously rotating and passing from one trembling hand to the other. Her raven black hair was beginning to show the first signs of gray, and her face was pale and thin.
'Mother,' Daryas whispered, 'You need your rest.'
'This is for you,' his mother said as she handed him the bag. 'It is a loaf of bread, the sort that your brother and you love so much. And some dried venison as well.'
'Goodbye mother,' Daryas said as he took the bread and kissed his mother's hands. 'I will return to you.'
'May Pelas grant you good fortunes, my son.'
With those words and with one final embrace, Marima and her youngest son parted.
Daryas made his way swiftly through the streets, only stopping once to gaze back at his father's home. Though most of his youth was spent far from the city on his father's estate at Peiraso he was still loth to leave the comforts of the city of Galva, such as they were. 'Anything is better than the cold,' he murmured.
About an hour after he started out he met the son of Ponteris in front of his father's apartment. 'What's in the sack, Daryas?' was the first thing to pass through Hassan's lips.
'Bread,' he answered, 'and some meat, I think.'
'Hmm. How like her,' Hassan said as he lifted his own pack over his shoulders. 'I had to steal all of my provisions.'
Hassan looked back at his home once more before they left, and then he spat with a look of anger in his eyes. Daryas said nothing, he had become quite accustomed to his comrade's bitterness.
'It's unbecoming of a nobleman's son,' Hassan laughed as they walked away toward the western edge of Galva, 'to treat his parents with such disdain.'
Daryas only looked at him with a sorrowful look.
Hassan continued, 'But then again, I'm no nobleman's son. The devil told me so himself. He said to me last week, "I brought you in out of the streets out of the goodness of my own heart. Your mother was not the only desperate beggar in Noras, I could have left her to rot."'
'Did he really say all of that?' Daryas asked, not as incredulous as one ought to be when a friend says such a thing about his step-father.
'Something very close to it at least. Or at least he said something that implied all of that. Nobody ever tells the truth directly, my friend. No, they find much better ways to show you their hatred. Sometimes they'll even say something wicked about you with nothing but kind words. But that's the truth about how Cheft Ponteris feels about his wench's bastard.'
'Now you speak evil of your mother?' Daryas shook his head.
'And why not? Your mother gave you a loaf of bread to fill your plump little belly. My own dear mother is more likely to steal my last crumb and offer it as a sacrifice to Cheft Ponteris, her mighty benefactor.'
By the time these two reached the Gavl River the sun had already risen, revealing to their eyes a great multitude. Many warriors from the surrounding villages had joined the men of Galva on the banks of the river, awaiting the long march to the mountains.
Standing in the midst of them, tall and strong, was Cheftan Faros. His graying brown hair was very light for a Noras, and he kept it trimmed short and clean, but otherwise he looked every bit a Galvahirne. His eyes gleamed with intelligence as the sunlight illuminated his face. He wore a bright green cape, chain armor and a shining steel helmet. At his side he wore an ornate wooden scabbard and over his shoulder hung a strong wooden shield.
There were many other great warriors beside him. Swagar Prostirne the bard and his seven sons came from the northern woods with bows of ivory and arrows of oak, poison dipped. Pater Borirne with twenty young warriors from the western shores of Galva, each armed with new swords and sharpened spears. There was Tiltos the son of the High Priest of Galva, who came with a hundred warriors, ready for battle with wooden shields and battle axes. Also among the warriors were Gergius Gergirne and his son Jebda, also many of the sons of Clinlor and Mallor, who were reknown for their skill in battle. There were also many men of the Cossirne and Vivlirne gathered amongst their brethren, prepared for war.
Hassan and Daryas were put among the archers, of whom there were nearly seven hundred.
'I hate all of this waiting,' Hassan protested. 'If we don't get moving within a few hours we will likely have to spend the night here. That would be a fine thing! We may as well walk home this moment and come again in the morning.'
'At that rate, we may as well wait for the goblins here,' Daryas added.
'I'm sure it won't come to that,' Hassan said. 'Our dear fathers are so eager to see their favorite in battle that they will see to it that we leave on schedule. I wouldn't be surprised to see them come here personally to smack Cheft Faros' horse on its rear-end. How much gold have the Noras spent upon this one commander's education?'
'Probably more than most Noras will see in their lifetimes,' Daryas replied.
'And would it not be a shame if the man's whole life was passed without ever coming to the rescue of our blessed woods?' Hassan laughed. 'I wouldn't put it past our dear parents to conjure up the goblins themselves just so as to comfort themselves for their empty purses.'
'You can say what you will of your own father,' Daryas said angrily, 'But Cheft Biron, whether he did well in sponsoring Cheft Faros' training or not, has only the peace and security of Noras in his mind.'
'I'm sure he does,' Hassan said, seeming almost sad, 'I believe he does. But my own dear father has said in no uncertain terms that if a war does not come to Noras within the decade he might be forced to march down to Dadron and demand a return from the schoolmen.'
'I can never tell whether you are telling the truth, my friend,' Daryas laughed. 'To hear you talk, one would think the noble Cheft Ponteris were naught but a goblin himself.'
'One would think that, wouldn't they,' Hassan said, trying to sound more sarcastic than he truly felt.
With great pomp and circumstance, Tilthan, the High Priest, commanded an altar to be built on the western shore of the Gavl. He spoke over the solders, sprinkling oil and perfume upon them as he walked from one end of the line to the next. 'In Pelas name,' he said, 'be brave
, be strong, be true, whether in life or in death. The Noras send with you their prayers and their blessings. Return to us,' he seemed to plead, 'and we will reward you as well as we may. But if you fall for our blessed woods, then will Lord Pelas furnish for you a place of honor in the world beyond the Frozen Sea where nothing sorrowful dwells.'
The people seemed encouraged by the cleric's words. After he finished, a little fawn was led to the altar and sacrificed according to their customs. The body was burned and the priestesses fanned the smoke toward the hill of Dadron; toward the throne of Pelas. The blood of the victim was sprinkled on the armor of Cheft Faros and he ate, with Tilthan, the meat of the sacrifice.
When he had finished, the captains shouted and the horns blared. The Galvahirne were marching to war.
For six days the Galva army marched south along the western shore of the Galva Lake. Their going was slower than Cheft Faros had anticipated, mainly due to the amount of attention such a force drew from the towns and villages that were clustered along the banks of the lake. Nearly every child in the region it seemed was gathered along the edges of the road to watch the marvel pass through their lands.
Cheft Faros led the army beyond the populous lands where the sons of Galvahir are beloved to the wilder places where the road narrows and the people are distrustful. The folk here shut their doors and hid away in their log houses as the army passed, fearing they came for tribute to the Noras Council. They had to travel more carefully and therefore more slowly to navigate the more difficult road along the southwest lakeshore.
Along the northern shore of the lake the people came out to sing and praise the warriors, for they have much to lose from the goblins and much to gain from the preservation of the Noras Council. But around the southwestern shores of the lake the people are poor and hungry. As far as they are concerned, the only reason the Galva Army ever marches is for the collecting of taxes. These sorry folk have little to lose from the goblins, and nothing to gain from the aloof Council of Noras. They were wise enough, however, to show respect and to offer a word or two of gratitude to the passing soldiers.
In the north, where the people are wealthy and filled it is easier to love those who guard the storehouse. But when that storehouse is filled to excess with bread pulled from the your own dirt-stained hands, it becomes more difficult for you to love those who guard it under lock and key for lazier mouths to consume. In the eyes of the peasants, the Galva Army serves the Galva Council, who in its turn renders its allegiance to the Noras Council, not the Noras people. They certainly did not serve the poor.
As they passed through this land Hassan seemed to take pity on the people, though his words were dark and Daryas could not fully understand his meaning. He said, 'What a sorry lot! Though they can hardly be blamed for it. One doesn't have control over their birth do they?'
'Certainly not,' Daryas agreed. 'That is one thing at least for which no man ought to be blamed.'
'True enough. That is assuming, of course, that they are not all soul fools,' Hassan said with a tiny grin. Daryas paused and said nothing. Perceiving his friend's confusion, Hassan laughed and said, 'Then you have not yet learned about 'soul fools'?'
Daryas looked at his companion in amazement. 'Soul fools?' he repeated in disbelief. Hassan only laughed all the more.
'You are going to explain yourself, aren't you?' Daryas demanded, looking slightly insulted.
'In time, my friend, in time,' Hassan said.
Just then the orders were given that the army was to stop for the night. They had come to a level area and Cheft Faros ordered a camp to be made. He said that it would be 'better to camp now where it is flat, than to press on like fools and be forced to have these three-thousand men sleep on roots and stones.'
Fifteen days after their departure, Cheft Faros combined his army with the warriors of the towns and villages of South Lake so that they now numbered more than five thousand. The men of South Lake were more hospitable to the Galvahirne than the men of the western lakeshore.
The bonds between Galva city and the villages of South Lake are strong. For they are the keepers of the Gavl dam and they are the last major settlement in the Noras Highlands before the slope grows too steep for human dwellings. Not forgetting that they also profit nicely from the furs and lumber that are sent down the lake from the northern forest.
The army settled in their tents in a clearing just southwest of the dam. From where they camped they could hear the roar of the Gavl waterfall, where the excess water from the lake drains into the lowlands and pushes its way through the land on its way to meet the Falsi River in the south.
The following morning Daryas finished the last of his mother's dried meat and then sat down next to a small fire.
'You are never grateful, I've noticed,' Hassan said after some time had passed. Daryas just looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. 'You slept late, as usual. And now you are sitting in front of a warm fire that you did not build, eating the last morsels of meat and bread from your mother.'
'Would you like me to put the fire out and make another one?' Daryas said somewhat agitated.
'Nothing of the sort, a "thank you Sion" will suffice.'
'But I thought that you made the fire to be kind.'
'Of course I did! Daryas! That is precisely what I am saying.'
'That you made the fire out of kindness?'
'Indeed.'
'Kindness, and nothing else?'
'Right.'
'And you are certain that there is nothing else?'
'Why are you so irritating today? Do you miss your mother?'
'It's only been two weeks, Sion. But I would not be surprised if even you feel starved for your mother's company ere we make our return from the mountain.'
'I'm sure you're right, Daryas, but for now, and for the foreseeable future I am not planning to shed any tears.'
The two companions sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was at its highest and all around them tiny drops of water fell from the thawing branches.
'Perhaps the Winter is giving way to Spring early this year,' Hassan said after a while. 'It has to happen sometime, right? So why oughtn't it happen the year that we have to march into the mountains to fight ape-men?'
'There will be no early Spring, Sion. You know that as well as I. There never has been and there never will be. Not until we are long gone and our bad fortune with us.'
'You really are far more gloomy than you should be.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, for one thing, you come from the most respectable family in all of Noras. There is not a soul that would not trade everything they own to have your blood. I've heard, and these are only rumors of course, that Cheft Grendas once offered your father his entire estate as a dowry, if your dear older brother would marry his daughter. He was willing to give his great wealth in gold and silver, as well as his best hunting lands and houses just to be able to say that he was kin to Cheft Biron!'
Daryas looked doubtful.
'But then again,' Hassan continued, 'that may have just been his way of trying to rid himself of his spoiled little girl.' Daryas laughed. 'Have you ever met her, Daryas?' Hassan's tone changed suddenly. Daryas shook his head. 'Now that is cause for gloom, comrade, for there is nothing fairer to look upon in this cursed forest than that lovely gem. And certainly, to be deprived of her sight is a terrible burden for any man to bear. I know that myself. The truth is, my lot is even worse than yours. You see, you've never seen her, so all you have is that emptiness that accompanies the ignorance of bliss. But me, I've climbed the mountain and greeted the sun. Everything else feels cold and dark now.'
'You seem positively smitten, my callous friend, how did that happen?' Daryas said with renewed interest. It was not like Hassan to speak seriously about anything.
'I must confess, though it brings me pain in the admission, that I am in fact a mortal man and despite all those nasty things you and your friends whisper about me in the dark, I am capa
ble of love and affection.'
'This changes everything, Sion,' Daryas laughed.
'Ah, that is what I want to see from you. But you will not be laughing when I tell you the rest of my story.'
'Story? What story?'
'My love story… Oh, I hadn't yet begun telling it!' Hassan put his hand to his forehead and laughed. He looked at Daryas and began to speak. But nothing came from his lips. His face sunk and he looked away. The fire that had, for a moment, burned in his eyes died away and he looked around the camp now with a cold, blank expression. The two men sat like this for a few minutes, just watching the other warriors bustle about the camp; a man struggling with a tent here, a man cooking a fish in a pan there, and everywhere, young men were keeping themselves busy with errands, important and petty alike.
'Thank you for the fire, Sion,' Daryas said after some time.
'Take no thought of it,' Hassan responded. 'I just did it to be kind, that's all. You don't have to thank me.'
Cheft Faros spent much of the day organizing the troops and planning for the next stage of the campaign. He set three captains over his army: Cheft Rahm Cossirne, a famous warrior from the northernmost region of Noras, and Cheft Lonos and Cheft Vilav, both of Galva-la.
There was considerable excitement in the camp that evening when the news was spread abroad that Cheft Rahm, Noras' most experienced warrior, was marching with the Galva army.
Cheft Rahm was well over sixty years old. His pure white hair was hung upon his shoulders in neat braids. His beard, which hung down almost to his waist, was also braided and neatly managed. His face was very wrinkled and he bore a terrible scar across his forehead, but his eyes were wild and young, with no hint of weariness.
At his side at all times stood his nephews Ander and Silos bearing thick wooden shields and spears. 'To look upon these mighty Cossirne in battle is to look upon the face of Death,' Faros said as he announced them to his army amidst a thunderous applause.
After three days of preparation and council, the army left South Lake. Their going went well and by the eighteenth day of Frohest they passed through the gates of Belnan, the Bridge City. Here they rested for two days and replenished their supplies.
Cheft Faros received reports from many scouts in those days. Most of these reports were encouraging, so by the time their departure came the army was in high spirits. It was said that there were no more than two-thousand goblins, most of whom were old, hungry and weary. 'The Galvahirne will have very little trouble with them, I imagine,' one of the scouts assured the Cheftan. There was now talk throughout the camp that they may be home by the summer sacrifices. These scouts were then sent up the river toward Galva to repeat their report for the Council.
But old Cheft Rahm shook his head and corrected them, 'It is better to hope for less in war. I'd rather despair of hope and by preparation win the victory, than trust too much in arms and numbers and come to an ill-end.'
In Belnan they were able to quickly cross over to the southern bank of the Falsi River and follow an old road west along the shore. For the first five days their going was without much difficulty, for there are many towns and villages built along the shore of the mighty river. Cheft Faros was in high spirits as they passed through this region.
These lands were known simply as the Riverlands. Some of those towns were quite prosperous during Dadron's Golden Age. Even now they still thrive on the abundance of lumber and skins that make their way south from the forest, though they now live with considerably less opulence. It is no surprise that the Cheftan would be encouraged here. For the Riverlands are good and quiet lands where the Galva Army are twice beloved. The people of this region have much to lose from goblins and their proximity to the Great Mountain makes them vulnerable. Every evening the sun passes over the peak of Mount Coronis and casts a dark shadow over their lands. A shadow under which they imagine is hiding goblin marauders of every sort.
As they traveled west the road became more difficult. Very few travelers use the path to the mountain and so it was overgrown in many places. Cheft Faros had to stop the march, sometimes for several hours, and send strong men ahead with axes and saws to clear a path for their beasts. There were not many of these - no more than two-dozen horses, and probably no more than thirty or forty mules and donkeys laden with food and equipment. There were also six small carriages filled with arms and tools each drawn by two strong horses.
Beyond this they came to a place where the land seems to suddenly climb up into the sky. The place is called the 'Stairs of Coronis' because from the bottom of the rise it gives the traveler the illusion of a straight and steady path to the peak of Mount Coronis itself.
Here their animals had the most difficulty. So much so that they sent several of the more feeble creatures back down the hill and divided their burdens among the warriors. Their progress was also impeded by a sudden turn in the weather.
Frohest is called a deceiver among the Noras because the month so often begins with warm weather, teasing men with the idea of an early Spring and then turning suddenly and burying them beneath a deep snowfall and bitter cold.
Daryas complained as he struggled along, 'It seems that it will be another one of those years of treachery.' Hassan walked beside him, but with considerable more ease.
'Treachery?' the son of Ponteris laughed. 'Do you have a deal with the Winter, my friend, that he can betray you?'
'You know my meaning,' Daryas snapped back. He seemed to be having a much harder time than his comrade. Thus far Hassan seemed unaffected by the rigors of the march and the steep and tangled path they ascended. But Daryas looked very exhausted and it took no small amount of cajoling to draw him from his bedroll each morning. He complained of soreness and twisted ankles, while Hassan complained of nothing. Though he knew it not, Daryas carried a much heavier burden than his friend. The Noras, and the Galvahirne even more so, take great pride in their endurance.
Their path was enough to challenge even the greatest of these sturdy men, however; a fact that soon began to take its toll on their progress as well as their bodies. The wind picked up, and snow had begun to fall, making the path slippery and dangerous. 'Lord Coronis knows no spring,' Daryas grumbled.
An Indistinct Warning
On the last day of Frohest, the army halted suddenly at midday. A strange man was seen approaching the army from the west. He walked right up to the vanguard without a hint of fear and demanded, 'Something hot to eat, for I am weary of dried venison.'
His bravado, more than anything else, brought him past the guards, through the ranks of the Galva warriors, and right to the feet of Cheft Faros.
'I have come from the mountains, my lord,' he said boldly when he had bowed low to the ground before the Cheftan. 'And I bring news and council.'
'Council from whom?' Faros asked suspiciously.
'From Cheft Biron,' he replied.
'Cheft Biron? You must be mad. He is at his estate in Peiraso, but you have come from the west; from the mountains.'
'My lord judges rightly,' the man said with a bow, 'But I come from Cheft Biron all the same. I am Revere, the Galva Cheftan hired me to scout out the goblins of Coronis and it is concerning these that I have come with news. If I am not mistaken, it is to these creatures that you are marching even as we speak.'
Revere was a thin man, but he did not look frail; his face was clean-shaven and he had short-cropped brown hair. His gray eyes seemed to shine out from under his dark brown eyebrows. He wore a pair of leather trousers and a tunic made of animal skins over which he wore a thick fur cape. On his head he wore a thin fur cap with several small feathers sewn onto the side in a sort of pattern. His only weapons were a dagger with an ivory hilt and a very small hatchet, both of which were hidden beneath his cape.
Cheft Faros was more than a little annoyed by this man. He refused to answer any questions about himself; he simply called himself 'Revere'. 'Hardly a proper name,' Faros later complained.
'My Lord,' Revere spoke with a sense
of urgency, 'The goblins are camped on a high plain, some forty leagues west of here. There were only about a thousand of them by my count. Truly nothing that your force could not handle.'
'And their defenses?' Faros asked.
'I saw none sir," the man continued. 'I saw not so much as a single blade nor heard so much as the clink of chain-armor the whole while that I was watching them.'
'Then we seek another camp, for these are just common goblins.' Cheft Faros seemed to be growing impatient. It was not for the burning of hunting camps that he had gathered such a force and marched through half of the Noras forest with such haste. 'Yet I suppose it would be foolish to let them alone.'
'Indeed, sir,' the man hastily agreed. 'There were some things that gave me pause however. Things that the eyes and ears of your scouts have overlooked.'
'Well don't speak in riddles, man,' Faros suddenly seemed very annoyed. 'Biron sent you to assess the danger, and that is what I want from you. Is this encampment a threat to Noras or is it not? What else did you see there?'
'I beg your forgiveness sir,' the man began to apologize, but when he saw the look of frustration in the Cheftan's eyes he cut himself short. 'I see that my master has no patience for my foolish banter.'
Cheft Faros seemed to calm down a little after that.
'In the camp, sir, there were not only no weapons to be found, but there were also no women and no children.'
This last detail seemed to get Cheft Faros' attention.
'As my Lord is well aware, goblins seldom leave their females and young behind when they go on hunting trips or even on raids. This detail I find most alarming. Normally, the goblins will travel in family groups, so that their children can learn to hunt as they do. Of course, this requires the cooperation of the women, without whom the children would be nothing but a hindrance. I got the impression, my lord, that they were not in the mountains to hunt or to raid at random.'
'So if they are not here for raiding or for hunting, what is their purpose?'
'I cannot say, my Lord,' Revere replied. 'All that I can say is that whatever their purpose is, it is most un-goblin-like.'
'Un-goblin-like?'
'Yes,' the man nodded smiling slightly, 'Very nearly everything that goblins do is reducible to their instincts. So when we see that they have gathered together so many men without women or children and without even weapons it defies every rational explanation.'
'What are you so pleased with?' Cheft Faros asked, now openly angry.
'I must apologize again, my Lord,' the man said looking at the ground. 'As a scout, I have come to understand quite a bit about these creatures. And anything so new and unexpected is bound to arouse a certain excitement for those who "study" goblins.'
'Enough of that,' Faros responded. He clearly wanted to finish the conversation as soon as possible. His eyes began to wander about the room impatiently. 'What do you mean when you say that this situation defies any rational explanation?'
'What I mean, my Lord, is that since goblins are not rational creatures, they must live at the mercy of external causes and their own instincts. So when they behave in such a different manner than they usually do, there is no way to explain it rationally. Except with the idea that they are, in fact, acting rationally.'
'Rationally?' Faros asked quickly. 'Do you mean to tell me these goblins are rational creatures? That they are ruled by reason?'
'Pelas forbid!' Revere laughed. 'I've said nothing of the sort. They are acting rationally; that much is certain. But I've never said that they were rational themselves. They are simply being ruled by reason.'
'More riddles,' Faros complained. His anger swelled within him and his face began to look quite red. 'Get out of my tent!' Faros yelled. His face turned bright red and he seemed to glow with rage. 'I hope you are pleased with yourself. Now get out of my sight, or I'll send you to the goblin camp tied and bound. Then we'll see just how rational they can be.'
The man bowed low to the ground and stepped out of the Cheftan's tent and into the cold. 'I've done my job, my lord,' he muttered as he left.
When he had gone some distance from the Cheftan's tent, Revere began to chuckle, 'It is up to you, Master Faros, to choose the most reasonable course. I have given you your warning; such a warning as the wise will regard and the fool will disregard.' He laughed to himself, 'Which of the two this man is, I care not. If he cannot understand it, then let the goblins take him, for he is no more rational than the creatures he fights.'
When Mityai's account had come to this point she was once more interrupted by her master. Pelas stood still for a moment as if lost in deep thought and then suddenly shrieked in frustration. 'Mityai, you fool of fools,' he said with a stern voice. 'Did you not understand what this braggart meant with his indistinct words?'
'No my lord,' Mityai answered with a tremble in her voice. 'I could tell that he had not been forthright with Faros, and I could also tell that the Cheftan knew it.'
'If the Cheftan has less than half of your wisdom he would have stopped his army right then and there, and marched no further until he had taken council with the Cheftans of Galva once more. For the only thing that makes a goblins deviate from its brutish instincts is a Conjurer.'
'A Conjurer!?' Mityai said, stepping away from Pelas.
Pelas stepped toward her swiftly, his regal cape swaying in the air as he walked. He raised his hand, Mityai covered her face with her arms and bowed low to the ground. The dust in the room swirled about as if a great wind had come through, though every window was shut tight. The fire roared to life for an instant.
'Mityai, you daughter of wickedness!' he shouted. His voice rang through the hall and shook the foundations of the house. The servants of the hall trembled and rushed about to see what had happened, but when they entered the hall they saw nothing but the bright burning fire and they heard nothing save the crackling of the logs and the leaping of sparks.
Among the Noras the Conjurer was more to be feared than any other evil. Combining the natural strength and cunning of so many mindless goblins with even just one truly rational overlord is more dangerous and deadly than an entire army of rational human beings. 'A Conjurer has at his disposal an army of ruthless servants who give no regard to good or evil. They will descend to whatever depth of evil they are bid,' Pelas explained. 'And what will become of your beloved Cheftan's son?'
'I- I did not know,' Mityai said with fear, still covering her face with her hands.
'If the hour were not so late I would thrash you here and now. I would send you so deep into the pits of hell that even your swift immortal feet would be sore pressed to find their way to the surface ere the end of this age of the world.'
Mityai lowered her hands and stood up. 'What can I do, my lord, to redeem my errors?'
'You must hurry to Daryas' side, and pray that he is not dead already. Had I more time I would send a warrior to him, to guard him from his foes. But in the meanwhile, you must do what you are able.'
'But my lord, there is still the matter of Old Man Sleep, his claim on Daryas must not be denied!' Mityai protested, somehow finding it within her to question her master.
Pelas rose up and seemed to fill the whole room with his anger. 'Mityai, fly to his side, and leave the matter of Daryas' nightmares to the wise.'
With that she departed, slipping out through the window without a sound and speeding through the city more swiftly than any bird could fly.
Old Man Sleep
'The girl is right, my lord,' came a tired old voice from a darkened corner of the room after Mityai had passed from their sight. Pelas turned and beheld Old Man Sleep himself, seated on a bench with his long gray robes folded about his feet. His head was bald, save for a few kinked gray hairs growing just above his ears. In his eyes could be seen the memories of ages long passed; ages of the world that none but his own unblinking eyes could remember. He looked weary and frail, though his grip was still firm. 'There are laws that rule even you gods,' he continued, 'though l
ately you do not like to admit it.'
'What does it matter to you, Old Man of Dreams?' Pelas said irritably.
'You know as well as I that my claim on mortal eyes is irrevocable. Yet you have allowed this youth to be so tormented that his will has been forged into iron. He will not yield his eyelids to my commands.'
'It will only be for a time that he is so vexed. But it is necessary, for I gave my oath that the prayers of the Siren would be fulfilled.'
'Very well then,' Old Man Sleep said in his slow toneless voice, 'But do not forget, Lord Pelas, when Old Man Sleep is long denied, then my brother Folly must be satiated. If you do not allow me to close this boy's eyes in rest, he will lose his mind entirely. And then he will be of no use to anybody. I leave you with this last warning: Once Folly has had his way with a man's head, our younger brother Death is never far off. Be careful that your grip does not grow too strong, lest you crush the thing you wish to protect.'
With that the old man vanished from the room and Pelas was left alone in the Council Hall, with the fire slowly dying away behind him.