Call me the king! He boomed in a terrible voice. What is this demon? Human speeches are heard. The servants standing at the high front gate went inside.
«My lord, he has arrived. Waiting for you on the street, one of the guards reports to an elderly, long-haired, gloomy man, in a blue checkered shirt, with lush, puffy shoulders like pillows and a gold brooch around his neck.
Is he really alone? asked the old man, putting on a crown in the form of white crystals and a red cap with a yellow circle in the middle and outgoing lines depicting the sun. The soldier silently nodded his head.
«Tell Mandalis to keep the garrison troops on alert in both directions.
«Yes, my king,» the soldier ran away.
A minute later, the gray-haired, bearded ruler went out into the street. He squinted from the blinding sun, trying to see everything around him. Seeing him, an unknown person in a black robe, confidently went to the meeting. Climbing the soft colored carpet that stretched through all the steps, his wildly bulging eyes could be seen through the eye sockets. When he met the old man, he bent down slightly, resting his hand on his chest.
Governor of Shelber, for what purpose did you come to us? The king asked him.
Greetings, lord of the Osiris, wisest of kings. I, Aprod Rift, have come to you at the request of the Most High Governor Shelber Daligen. We need to discuss some political issues regarding the safety of the city.
Well, lets go to my meeting room, the King nodded to the guard and went inside. The visiting ambassador followed him through long corridors. Closing in a small room, they sat down at a round table, which stood at the very window. The old man took off the crown and placed it in front of him. Taking a handkerchief from his chest pocket, he wiped his damp face. What do you want? He asked, scratching the back of his head. This month, we paid tribute to Bil Hamhharaf, regularly pay taxes to the temple of Selim and did not violate any agreement between the Nahmau and the Osiris.
«Keep calm, oh great king. I havent started the conversation yet, and you are already making excuses. It doesnt suit you. Vayelons people are in great danger. Rohvem wants to completely destroy the city, fearing your power. Even though they are our brothers, we will not allow this madness. The forest of the dead in the southern valley has taken too many people from Fimirel to hell, and our people disappear on Shelbers mushroom paths. Nahmau are having their worst times. Its hard to seem like heroes when our own kings left us at the mercy of Jerichan leprosy. Envy, flying up to heaven Vayelon, turned the heads of the governors and priests. We decided to take control of one of the city councils. Whether it is the council of the wisest or the council of the elders, I am obliged to lead this branch within a week. Deliver this to your subjects. Having learned that I am in power, Makhtum will not dare to attack his brothers. Otherwise, he will unleash a senseless war with Shelber.
It all looks like some kind of competition, the tsar looks menacingly into his face. Who from Nahmau will capture the Osirian capital faster. So our obedience is no longer enough for you? Has it ever occurred to you that our people can resist wicked envious people? Fists clenched tightly, his face twitched nervously. And then, we ourselves are already looking at the lands around us. Living in the occupation of a greedy, dying people is not so exciting.
«You shouldnt call my people greedy. In that case, let Biel decide your fate. The countdown has already started. You will not be saved by the numerous hordes of mortals, from the ruthless creatures of Rohvem. Taking out a scroll from his mantle, the governor handed it to the king. Read this and pass it on to the council. Dahligens own appeal. Perhaps it will convince you more than my words. Getting up from his chair, Aprod left the palace.
Sitting on his soft, wonderful throne, upholstered with the skin of a Nile crocodile, with a sparkling ornament on the upper part of the back, leaning his elbows, King Ormon hung his head thoughtfully. At the long table of the council of the elders, he carried a great deal of weight. And, in todays discussion, as a result of controversy and disagreement, supported the side of the envoy from Shelber, but the council did not approve of this position.
«My years are passing,» he raised his bushy eyebrows sadly. «And I dont see a decent youth capable of ruling Vayelon. I have spoiled my children too much. The elders are already forty years old, but they are all helpless children. I propose, to the council, to introduce a new position in the department that is temporarily fulfilling my duties.
We are not against such a position, but it should be occupied exclusively by a local, the senator, sitting somewhere in the middle, waves his index finger. For example me. To give power to a stranger, and even to some governor from Shelber we will not allow!
Well, calm down, the king raised his hands, trying to calm down the shouting advisers. In a week, we have to give an answer. Collect troops. Our answer is war.
Dark clouds were gathering in the sky. Peals of thunder and striking lightning fell right into the tower of the majestic temple of Selim, in the deserted city of Fimirel. Abandoned stone cottages surrounded a single residential structure stretching to the very heavens. Gloomy, dark building. This dizzying cone-shaped structure is even taller than the skyscrapers of Vayelon. And, most importantly, it moves. Each floor, like a huge disk, in the form of a semicircle, planted on top of each other, slowly revolves around its axis. And at the top, segments of a sharpened fiery roof. It glows bright orange. With the help of kinematics and changing color rendering, the illusion of flowing lava is created. No wonder this tower got the name Volcano. Queen Fimirel Bil Hamhharaf lives here. An insidious witch who for the sake of power killed her father, and then her brother. She hates men, and therefore killed her son in order to make her daughter the receiver of power. Even all members of the council, in Fimirel, are exclusively women. The only man in the entire Rohvem Valley who can argue with the distraught ruler is High Priest Makhtum. He heads the most important common shrine of the Nahmau. This is the divine, first common religious temple of Selim Birhatten, and, according to the law, no one has the right to take away the power of the chief priest over the spiritual community. Initially, this temple was built as a palace for the kings of Rohvem, even before the Fimirel tower appeared. But, the building turned out to be too chic, breathtaking, in a word, grandiose. Such a large-scale and magnificent complex that the then ruler Mastakh thought that only gods should live there, and decided to transfer the building to the clergy. A couple of centuries later, when the ideology of the «Law of Svurt» was popularized, the temple was slightly rebuilt, made it even larger and more fantastic, suitable for all spiritual levels. It is strange that the greedy queen did not even try to take possession of this building, because it is several times more beautiful than her palace. Perhaps, she still had some kind of upbringing, and respect for faith, otherwise, if she were blinded by power by a naive dictator, she would have been overthrown by her own advisers and caretakers. Hatred of the opposite sex, the future queen accumulated from childhood. A talented girl has always been ignored and not taken seriously. Her father called any of her suggestions nonsense, although he himself ultimately accepted them and said that these were his brilliant ideas. Now, the touchy lady hates all men in the world, and even her wife Liger is afraid of unpredictable passion and crazy fanaticism, having long planned to escape from the city, to the neighboring village of Dagbu, following the rest, adequate residents.
Today is the brightest night the Knight Masod has ever seen, standing at the farthest outpost of Vayelon. After feeding his horse, he quickly went to the tent to hide from the beginning of the downpour. A strong wind has risen. The catapults standing in the field rolled towards the fire and almost caught fire. The horses whinnied in fright. Two thousand people, already on alert for the second week, on the southern border of the Osiris, tirelessly watch the rugged terrain of Rohvem. Grabbing an earthenware pot, the guardsman began to have supper, quickly eating flour cakes with berry filling. The comrades sat closely with each other, telling different stories. Suddenly, outside there were the shouts of the guards. Everybody out! Faster, faster! Under construction, under construction! Stand in front of your tents! General Mandalis has arrived!
Whats happening? Does the general show up in the middle of the night, in such terrible weather, without warning? Masod goggled eyes, barely chewing on another pie. He carefully pulled back the curtain, peering through the small window of his tent. «Move your ass, guy,» his comrades hurried out into the street. There was complete confusion. It was not just his retinue who came with the general. With him came an army of at least five thousand people in full combat readiness.
Roll up camp, prepare your horses and sharpen your arrows! shouts the commander of the outpost. By the decision of the council, in a day, we move forward to capture Fimirel and liberate the Osirian villages.
Delight appeared in Masods confused eyes. Under a raging downpour, in the middle of the night, for the first time he felt the greatness of the army gathered here, and his irreplaceable, great role in the fate of an entire people. Gaining strength, the warriors, as it should, slept for the last time. In the morning, two knights gathering brushwood in the vicinity of the camp noticed movements in the distant bushes and reeds, a swampy peat land.
Hey you, stop!! Shouted one of the soldiers to a black, human silhouette, moving behind the tall grass. Come here, or Ill come to you myself! he unbuttoned the cover and took out his blade, with a decoratively curved blade and a chopping handle. «Wait, dont get excited,» his partner stopped him, grabbing his shoulder. «Its just an old priest. He doesnt hear you. He picks berries, I guess. Leave the poor man. How do you know that this is a priest? he was indignant, pushing his friend aside. «Maybe the spy from Fimirel changed his clothes. We are obliged to check, having run up to the very hummock, surrounded by impassable thickets, they have not found anyone. At the same moment, screams were heard from the camp. «Its begun,» the soldier muttered to himself. What started? his partner is perplexed. Savages, attacked again. Acadian and Sumerian tribes, admirers of ancient traditions, along with the Nahmau, consider these lands cursed. During the time that we are here, they have already persuaded us three times to get out of here, in response our commander only laughed. The turn has come to answer for our stubbornness, with a smile, he twisted his long spear and ran towards the screams.
The battle unfolded. Hundreds of wild hunters, calling themselves «blackheads,» hunted down the generals troops that had come that night. Reinforcements came to the Sumerians from the north. They are superstitious Acadians with three leaders at their head. The Osiris, organized a tactful defense, under the command of General Mandalis himself, who is also a member of the council of the wisest in Vayelon. The victory was won with minimal losses, however, this event disrupted all the plans of the command. Having sent messengers to the city, with the news of an immediate offensive, the general did not wait for the coming of night. An impressive army of seven thousand people at that time, crossed the borders of Rohvem and moved in the direction of Fimirel. Black silhouettes, again crawling in the reeds. When the soldiers directed their arrows at them, warning of an attack, they were frightened and jumped out of the nasty, seething quagmire.
«You cant get through here,» one of them creaks in a hideous voice with a terrible accent. It was Sabarets. A representative of an almost completely extinct ancient people. They were called Sabars by Osiris. This word means «transparent heads», which was true. They are so different from other people that their organisms do not coincide with the general human DNA. The processes on the coccyx, which they can even wiggle, indicate the presence of full-fledged, albeit short, tails. With blisters and black abscesses all over his face, he was certainly not a priest of the great temple. These creatures worship their unseen gods. The Sabarian people are not aggressive, but disgusting. Selfish and rebellious. Even the greatest kings of Mesopotamia could not conquer them. The longer you look at these people, the more you get the impression that they are not people at all, but some other, peculiar kind of mammals. Bald, wrinkled heads, with transparent skulls, seem eerie, twisted in shape. And their terrible wrinkles. They, like protruding fatty discs, run like a ladder across the entire face and neck, merging with the chin. Completely blue eyes, without pupil and eyesore, with which they perceive not all colors. But, these are not freaks. These are their genes. Burns and blisters, of course, are not from birth. These are various diseases and scars from their difficult lifestyle. In long, dirty shirts and village bast shoes, six fornicators bowed before the Osiris, promising to help them. But, is it worth believing these geeks, when it has already been historically proven that they completely lack the instinct of self-preservation. «Oh, great commander,» they began to communicate with the general. «You shouldnt go through these swamps. No wonder the blackheads are so alarmed. We also lost a lot of our brothers there. Be so kind as to go around this strip of evil from the east. Just ten kilometers from here.
Dont worry, buddy, our troops are already going that way, as well as from the western direction. Or did you think we would only strike with one group of troops? «If we were savages like you, we might have done so. But, we know things like strategy. Here, take the money, and get out of my way, he threw a tied bag of coins at the feet of the elderly Sabarians, and the column moved forward. Having overcome a small ditch and a bog, the soldiers figured out a passage in an ancient wall lined with stones, which was completely covered with moss. This wall stretches for tens of kilometers, from the eastern to the western forests of Rohvem. The primitive masonry is not at all high. Two meters, and in some places even lower. They say that once it was three times higher, it just sank into the swampy soil.
As far as I know, this wall was built for some religious reason. Riding a horse, the commander of the outpost unhurriedly gallops next to the generals carriage, sheathed in camouflage. He, silently, smiled, and thoughtfully stared at the horizon. Before them was an endless field. The green grass was not so damp and tall anymore. The ride has become much easier and faster. The ground is more replaced by stones, with rarely sticking out blades of grass. But there are no ravines or hillocks. Absolutely flat field, on which you can already gallop. The foot of the infantryman stumbled on a snag sticking out of the ground. This is a broken, through and through rotten wooden log, which has been lying here, perhaps, for more than one hundred years. Throwing it aside, the soldier cleared the way for the carriages passing by behind. It must have been some kind of signpost before. There, to the side, a couple of meters away from the log, lay an inconspicuous flat stone heaped on its side. On it, in the Nahmaut language, only three words are carved: «The forest that does not exist.» Without changing the route and speed of movement, the convoy continues to go south. The grass and leaves underfoot are already completely dry. As if it had never rained here in my life. Jumping out of his capsule-shaped iron carriage, Mandelis suddenly stopped the troops. Holding the map firmly in both hands, he peered into one place. His hands shook.