The Nemesis Blade (35 page)

Challis’ army
of vertical, glinting spears appeared on the walls, as did blood
and decay in Grinwallin. Fires all over Luvanor. Bodies littered
the Great Hall. Ghosts featured in many, as did faces in duplicate.
The latter two, it was decided, pointed out the dangers of rebirth.
Nobody harked to that warning.

A world
inundated meant only Orb.

Orb invaded by
the same golden race as in other paintings sent shivers of horror
through Grinwallin’s halls. Had the Diluvans succumbed to water or
war … or was it yet to come to pass?

And, ten years
after it began, the dreaming stopped. No more images came. Thus
began the long, protracted period of study and research.

Certain things
did come to light, but not enough to prevent the future foreseen in
bright colour on walls.

Chapter 25

Auguries
; a form of divination based
on ritualistic behaviour, a chance outcome

Waking imagery
; visions

~ Titania
Dictionary

O
n the eve of the eighth millennium
much of what was foreseen since the day Khunrath heard the stones
sing came to pass.

A new race
sailed into Lunar Bay south of Tunin and panic ensued.

In haste King
Alessandro boarded his personal bio-craft and waited just long
enough for the priest Imtech and his political advisor Mokoko to
board before lifting off. Twelve similar craft lifted into the air
after him; the military bigwigs were aboard those.

The thirteen
craft hovered over Lunar Bay and what they saw was pure
nightmare.

There were twenty thousand - not twenty or a thousand
-
twenty thousand
sailing ships on the water. Granted, some were small and
could probably carry no more than ten, but it was an astronomical
number. It was a massive force; even at ten per ship, it meant two
hundred thousand souls.

Alessandro
pulled his craft in a wide sweep and landed on a hill four miles
away. In minutes he was surrounded by the others and minutes after
that they were outside, staring over the mass of people.

“There are
women and children among them,” Imtech said.

“Your point?”
Mokoko growled.

“A war party
would not bring women and children.”

“Unless it
seeks to give exactly that impression,” General Dessar
murmured.

“How many?”
Alessandro demanded.

“Somewhere
between three and six hundred thousand.”

“Too many.
Grinwallin is our only option. Gabriel said armies could expend on
those walls.”

“If we have
sufficient stores,” Imtech remarked.

Alessandro
turned to the priest. “Return to the city and raise the alarm.
Prepare for a long siege.”

“Your Majesty,
we should talk to them.”

“And we shall,
but I am not wasting a month’s added stores in first smelling the
dogs. Go.”

Imtech bowed
and gestured at one of the pilots from the other crafts. Moments
later they were airborne.

“Dessar, who
and where would you say the leader is?”

The old
general had been trying to establish that through narrowed eyes. He
pointed. “The red tent with the taller pennant.”

Alessandro
nodded; he drew the same conclusion. “Nassim, go down there under
flag of truce and find someone of authority to speak to us here.
Take a craft to the edge of the encampment.”

Nassim was the
youngest general, therefore expendable. He did not like it, but did
as bid and the others watched as he landed and then walked in under
a raised white flag.

“They came in
early dark last night,” Mokoko said. “They are too settled
already.”

“Where have
they come from?” Dessar asked. “They are not so different, except
in dress. Surely we should see craft from space, not on water?”

There was no
answer and no one bothered to find one. They waited and eventually
saw Nassim return to his craft. Four men tagged after him, one
carrying a similar white flag. Good, they knew the standards; it
eased matters.

Interminable
minutes later Nassim landed nearby. He presented the four men.
“Your Majesty, this is Trismosin. He claims he is King also.”

Alessandro
warily bowed his head as his counterpart did likewise.

“These two are
his sons, Galen and Ganima, and this is his advisor, Delfreda.”

All four men
were tall and lean, like to the Luvan gathering, and the three
royals were fair. Delfreda was darker.

“Do they speak
our language?”

“We do, Your
Majesty,” Trismosin replied.

“Stranger and
stranger,” Mokoko muttered.

Alessandro
introduced his advisor and generals and asked, “Where do you hail
from?”

Trismosin
pursed his lips and said, “Senluar.”

“I am sorry, did you say
Senluar
?”

“As in the
continent, yes,” Trismosin smiled, showing even, white teeth.

“I do not
understand.”

“In the year
1961 a giant earthquake separated Senluar from the rest of Luvanor
and we were abandoned to our fate,” Galen said. “Yes, that
Senluar.”

“Hush, son,”
Trismosin said. “It took us all this time to find the means to
return to Luvan society.”

Alessandro
gaped. “That is not possible. Nobody survived that event.”

“And what of
the trench?” Mokoko demanded.

Ganima stepped
forward. “The trench is just that - a deep canyon filled with tons
of water. Our ships made the crossing. It was turbulent and we lost
some, but here we are.”

“Not everyone
died,” Galen snapped.

Trismosin
motioned to them. “I am speaking.”

“Yes, father,”
both said at once.

“Thank you.
Alessandro, can we talk in private?”

His Majesty,
King of Luvanor, bristled at the familiarity, but the man,
unfortunately, had a host landed on Tunin’s shores. He nodded.

“My Lord, it
is most unwise …” Mokoko began, to be cut short.

“Offer our
guests something to drink, Mokoko,” Alessandro spat out.

“Forgive me,
sire. Yes, sire.”

The two kings
walked away, descending the rise to a stand of trees. There they
perched on boulders and studied each other.

“We call
ourselves the Senlu,” Trismosin began, “but we are Luvan, like you.
A six thousand year divide cannot change that.”

“How many are
you?”

“Three hundred
thousand men, two hundred thousand women, one hundred thousand
children … or as near as.”

Alessandro
blinked. “How many are left on Senluar?”

Trismosin was
silent and then, “None.”

“None? You all
came to Tunin?”

“Our sages
predicated an imminent eruption of the Fire Ring and thus we deemed
it wise to leave. There is no twice tempting of the fates.”

“Why did it
take so long?”

“To return?
Trees, Alessandro. We had to wait until we had enough trees again.
We obviously have not advanced apace of you.” Trismosin pointed at
the bio-craft.

“Gods, this is
unbelievable.”

“Do you
believe me?”

Alessandro
stared over the sprawling and growing encampment. “How do I believe
you?”

“I look like
you, I speak like you. Why should it be hard?”

“You call
yourself king. How did that happen?”

“I am King, it
is that simple.”

“Luvanor has
only one,” Alessandro murmured.

Trismosin
fingered his chin and said, “Once we had three.”

Alessandro
reared back. “This is Luvanor, not Orb!”

Trismosin
lifted his hand. “I am not here to take anything from you. I merely
seek to bring my people to safety.”

“Your
people?”

“Indeed. They
are my Senlu and I am their King.”

“Then how can
you claim to be Luvan?”

“Because I
am.”

“If so, you
would have to subjugate to me and it includes your people.”

Trismosin drew
breath. “I am not subjugating anyone, Alessandro. We are adults, we
could find a solution.”

Alessandro
spat out, “The coming of a force has been foreseen! And here you
are!”

“We do not
seek confrontation …”

“Then give
your loyalty to me right now. Do so and the Senlu will be absorbed
into Luvan society.”

“And if I do
not?”

“We are in
confrontation. Your people will be little better than slaves.”

Trismosin
reared back. “I was warned this might happen, but I had no choice
but to take on the risk. If you enslave a Senlu, King, you enslave
your own kind. Can you live with that?”

“I cannot have
a man claiming to be a king running around unfettered on
Tunin.”

Trismosin
stared at Alessandro a long while and then appeared to reach a
decision. “Orb had three kings once and they worked well together
for generation after generation.”

“And then a
High King was chosen. I am his descendent. You are an upstart with
delusions of grandeur.”

“Ah,
Alessandro, by some convoluted way you and I are related, for I am
in descent from that High King.”

“No. Everyone
died on Senluar.”

“They did not, and among the survivors there was a royal son,
the
eldest
royal
son at the time, and his name was Gabriel, named for the king who
claimed Grinwallin from the brotherhood. I am the eldest son of an
eldest son and so forth. If you want to compare bloodlines, cousin,
then I am the rightful King of Luvanor.”

Alessandro had
paled and now blood rushed to his face. “You lie!”

Trismosin
smiled. “Have you heard the claim the rightful king of this blood
is a reincarnate?”

Again
Alessandro lost his colour. He had heard; it had never been
proved.

“I see you have. The rebirth of our ancient Diluvan ruler
skips a few generations, but now and again he resurfaces. My father
was such an august rebirth and thus were the ancient tales of Orb
made new again on Senluar. You see, there was always a High King,
until the triple birth, but that division did not negate the
position. Every few generations
the
High King would come, and in this way our history
was not to be lost. Orb suffered too many inundations; this was a
sure way of passing the knowledge down beyond flood after flood.
Now we can sit here and argue the finer points and our perceptions
of truth until we are both purple in the face, and it will alter
nothing.”

“You seek to
usurp me with these fantasies!”

“I am not
after power. I seek a home for my people. If you demand an oath of
me I shall give it, but the Senlu are not to be enslaved.”

Alessandro
stared at the man who was his nemesis. “And let us assume you speak
the truth about this royal reincarnation …”

“Then in a few
generations one may come who is not as understanding as I am. He
would demand his share or he will take it all. If you want to call
anyone a usurper, it would be you and those of your line.”

Alessandro
rose. He motioned to Dessar. “We return to Grinwallin. We prepare
to go to war with these Senlu. They are not Luvan. They are
usurpers who seek to supplant our society.”

Dessar nodded
and smiled.

Alessandro
bent to Trismosin. “The walls of Grinwallin will be your undoing,
traitor.”

Trismosin
gazed up. “It need not be like this.”

“Second
thoughts?”

“My father
told me Orb fell to the rising waters and then he told me a golden
race came sweeping in from the heavens to annihilate survivors. I
tell you I have seen those golden men return into our orbit. I have
seen the extinction of your Luvan society, cousin, and I have seen
Grinwallin lie in ruin, the stones silent until a man clambers from
an abyss. We could prevent all that, you and I, if we listen to one
another.”

Alessandro
shook as if in a fever. “It cannot be.”

“You know
whereof I speak, I see that. Let us work together.”

“No! You are
the one who brings doom!”

“I am not him;
that one comes later. But this day, if you turn your back now, you
set us on that path, all of us.”

Alessandro
stiffened. “You have five minutes to get off this hill with your
sons.” He walked away.

Trismosin
closed his eyes and then sighed and rose. “Galen, Ganima, Delfreda,
let us leave these unbelievers.”

A moment later
the four Senlu walked away with heads held high.

The road to
the abyss was paved with Alessandro’s greed.

Trismosin did
not start the war; the war was brought to him and the Senlu were
forced to defend.

They fought
well, hardened by long years on rough and hard Senluar, and pushed
Alessandro’s soldiers back. The day came when Trismosin and his
men, his sons and most of the women stood before Grinwallin’s
walls.

The Senlu had
to fight or they faced enslavement. The Luvans had to fight for
they believed they faced extinction.

For thirty
years Senlu and Luvan fought. On the great plain, running
skirmishes on Tunin, besieging Grinwallin, forced back by concerted
onslaught, on and on it went, round and around, and never did one
Senlu set foot in the city.

Grinwallin
could not be breeched and it seemed she could not be starved
either.

Alessandro
died and his son did not attempt to seek truce. The war went on.
Trismosin died on the battlefield and his sons fought harder.

Then the fates
decided.

Disease swept
over Tunin and men, women and children weakened by long decades of
fighting began to die of something other than the sword and bow. It
spared neither Senlu nor Luvan.

Galen, old and
bitter, surrendered in order to succour the last of his people.