Mundhir’s pride fell a slight as the Halfbreed pointed out his diminishing health, but he shrugged it off with a nod. There was simply no point in the Prince upsetting himself over the obvious facts composing his predicament, and so with a wave of his hand he bid her to continue.
The Halfbreed tucked one of her braids behind her ear, and suddenly it seemed to the ailing prince that the blue of her eyes beamed ever brighter. Unsure whether the venom had started attacking his senses, or whether it was a simple trick of the mind, Mundhir rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head.
She pointed to the large map before him, fingering the center-most point of Uchfos. She explained to him that was where she would find this ‘Norn’, but was unsure of what it would demand in return for its services. Thinking the journey unsafe – a point that Mundhir concurred with – the Halfbreed requested an escort of either his soldiers, or her former inmates.
As Mundhir mused over the resources he could provide, bearing In his mind the fact that his life depended on the mission’s success, Tarwin made himself heard. The Prince’s focus shifted towards the charismatic and ambitious swordsman, giving slight nods as various ideas were raised.
“The nomads serve no one, and I do not see them unifying against my father,” he said at last, “they have paid a terrible price for throwing down their beliefs in Duranar, and in opposing the Citadel. Six years ago I ran through their encampments with two hundred World Breakers at my back, and we slew many.” He paused, realising he was in danger of casting himself as a butcher, “though for the record, my mission was sanctioned by my father, and I harmed neither woman or child – only those who resisted my attempts to clear them from their homes. There was little honour in any of it, I agree, but I am- I was, a soldier foremost and a soldier does not disobey the commands of his superiors. No, I doubt they will support either side – though perhaps, they will for a compromise?”
Struggling from the simple throne, Mundhir stumbled forwards but was aptly caught by his attending guards. Carefully, they helped him to the table, where he pointed at the Eblistan Plains.
“Perhaps, if I promise them the plains as their own country – undisputed by law or divinity – then they would be willing to forget the slaughter I laid upon them… but then again, my father is a deft statesman, and he may well be promising them the same. My country is a diminished whore, we hold no power, and no population, large enough to call those plains truly ‘ours’,” he said. “As for a position of leadership, well my good boy,” Mundhir grinned, but losing himself quickly to a hacking cough, “for the assault on Ahya, I can think of no one better. You bring a certain cheer to those around you, and Duranar knows, with my absence on the field, my men will need all the cheer they can get their hands on. We will discuss this in a short while, but first let me hear what the others wish to say.”
A piercing shriek echoed suddenly throughout the war room. Mundhir reached to his side for a sabre that wasn’t there, and before anyone could so much as breathe, a hundred mamluks surged into the War Room with their weapons drawn; some wore the grim faces of beaten veterans, others simply stared on with watery eyes. The Prince knew what had happened to them, because it happened to him too, and now he was busy shoving the darkest concepts of his character back into the murky depths.
“I’m fine,” he uttered, “are we under attack?”
The foremost Mamaluk, a man of middle years with frizzed hair, shook his head. “I do not think so My Prince, the shrieking belonged to a lone voice, back towards the Law House; do not fret, Hazim is moving with any that would follow him. He sent us here to ensure your safety.”
“The insect has awoken, then,” the Prince sneered irritably. “Return to your posts, all of you, and have Hazim bring the creature to us. I wish to know why he sent my mind spinning across the sundered memories of my bloodied past, and then I’ll wish to know if he intends to do it again.”
The mamaluk bowed, and with a few barks of command, the War Room emptied quickly and efficiently. Within seconds it was as if they hadn’t been there in the first place, but were instead part of some freak collision between dream and reality. Mundhir admired his men, their discipline and dedication – their love for him.
Then Shorus, the warrior quickly garnering the Prince’s appreciation, grunted and stepped forwards,
“You get only one family, you shouldn't haste to kill all of them because of the sins of a few of them, once you kill someone he doesn't come back!” His words echoing through the hollowed room.
Mundhir nodded at this, but it was a notion he had toiled with already, “my family, the Sadeks, have failed their divine duty in safeguarding the people of Eblistan. If one attempted to murder me, then the others would have known, and so I must see them all as my enemies. It pains me immensely, but the Prophet of Truth has charged me with unifying this shattered world, and I will destroy any who wish to upset my path in this endeavour; even my own blood.”
The battered doors of the War Room swung open, and Hazim entered scowling as he often did. Mundhir bid him speak immediately.
The Captain bowed deeply, “The monster has awoken, but it was not the same as the one we brought with us. I am unsure if it means to do us harm, and so have doubled the guar-“
“Bring it here. If I am to be slain, I’d rather it be by a Hellbeast than mere, stupid poison,” interjected Mundhir.
“My Prince, I refuse to expose you to that, that… whatever it is. Ask another command of me, but not one that involves bringing the Ferryman’s boat straight to your feet,” growled Hazim.
“You are lucky I have known you since we were boys, Captain,” spat Mundhir, easing himself back into his throne. “A lesser bond would not permit me to understand your disobedience.”
“Shove it,” Hazim shot back; a few of the Prince’s attending guards gasped and edged towards their weapons.
Mundhir sighed, rubbing his eyes “Take Shorus to the Elven catapult, and do it now, before your insults stain our friendship further.”
Hazim nodded at the Minotaur, and left without a bow. The Prince could feel the questioning gazes on him without having to look, but dismissed the drama with a brief smile.
“As I have said, the Captain lacks manners, but he’s a good warrior. Forgive him for his foolishness,” he said with feigned merriness.
With luck, Krytaar was on hand to move things forward. Pledging himself to the Halfbreed’s mission, he immediately moved to the pressing matter of his weapons and their whereabouts.
“As we speak, my men are preparing horses for you all – I expected you all to leave me, truth be told, to my devices. Were our positions different, I could not blame myself for seeing the risks of freedom a tad more delightful than the worries of a foreign Prince,” Mundhir said. “Go north, until you see half a tower on the outskirts of Baalor. These are our stables, for the time being, and we have a wide selection of horses. We also have two dozen camels, though they are ill suited for grassy plains they need less coddling than a horse. Your weapons can be found there, also.”
The Nymph started to speak to the Halfbreed, and the Prince felt himself shying away from eye contact wither either. Instead, he focused himself on the map before him, and stared intently at the blackened mass of Uchfos embedded upon it.
Klymi spoke of the forest’s suspicion of the outside world, and its fear of the wars of Elves and Men boiling over into its domain. For a moment, the Prince assumed the mission stillborn, and was preparing to move towards discussing Nillanor, but then the Nymph spoke of her connections to its guardians. With her help, gaining access to the one place in Eulona a World Breaker truly feared was possible. As grateful as he was, that these strangers would risk themselves for him, Mundhir suddenly found his spirits lifted further by the mention of earthly reinforcements.
“You do me great honour, Klymi of Uchfos,” said the Prince looking up at her. “Though I would be a miserable fool to deny you your right to return to your home. I will take what help I can, in repairing this ravaged region, however. In this matter…” his mind ran aground; thoughts suddenly disappearing as the Nymph’s peculiar eyes met his.
By Duranar, get a hold of yourself man. This is a WAR, not a damned whore house.
“Ahem,” he coughed, reaching for a clay mug of water. “As I was saying, whether you feel your place is on the fields before the ruins of Ahya, or in the dense trees of Uchfos, follow your will. Just know my friend, whatever you choose will help Eulona no matter.”
The doors of the War Room thundered open again, and in walked something Mundhir’s mother would tell him about as a child, when he refused to eat the food in front of him.
“By Duranar,” he mumbled with eyes wide.
“Steel yourselves!” Roared one of the Prince’s guards, and an orchestra of rattling sabres took to the air as a dozen men rounded on the beast.
“STOP!” Roared Mundhir, clambering to his feet. He stumbled again, but this time no hands caught him and he fell face first into the table, knocking cups, metal figurines and measuring instruments to the floor in a series of loud crashes.
Within seconds, a half dozen pairs of hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. There were many red faced apologies, but he saw that his men had not stood down in surrounding 9.
“Leave him be,” Mundhir said as he was lowered back into his chair. “Leave him be, I will not ask again.”
Reluctantly, his guards replaced their sabres and backed away, allowing 9 to enter unhindered.
"It seems that I am late for whatever this is, but please inform me of what I missed."
“First,” Mundhir said waving a hand, “explain to me why I found myself cradling the head of a small Elven child In the bloodied fields of the borderlands. It is with great effort that I suppress my past misdeeds, and they haunt me in my sleep enough as it is. That shriek sent me to the depths of the underworld and back, and I swear some of me did not return – are you able to read minds? Are you able to see the past and future? What are you? Who are you?”
The doors crumbled, and in ran the Minotaur, bellowing aloud about the Elven catapult. Mundhir was forced to abandon his duel of words with the insectoid, and found his ear drums quickly being besieged as Shrous told him the contraption’s workings. After thanking the Minotaur for his, albeit over excited, explanation, Mundhir returned his attention to 9.
“If you can read minds, I fear my cause will be incompatible with your existence; the last bastion of freedom, after all, is one’s mind. Speak, and let all here know what exactly it is that you are, and your intentions,” demanded Mundhir, showing the first time his princely face contorted with rage.
