The Legends Of The Scrolls

By M.Y. Roger

When Veasty the heiress of Mythia fell in love with Heres, a mere farm boy little did her know she had earned him the wrath of her father. In that year a taunting message came from Aardoo the warlock of Gur-lotta of the mustering of the invincible might of Ibisia, the great foretold war to annihilate the withering race of men was imminent. The allies of men have grown thin, Surrucia was in ruins, Meroc the witch was powerless and a prisoner in Polifna, her invincible armies of Surocs were bound by a black spell Sondon the dark master of Ibisia had cast on them, they were shackled under the cold depth of Mount Mobus, of the five kings that once ruled the realm of men only one remained in Mythia. Men must embark on the futile and precarious quest of reclaiming the scroll from Ibisia, The scroll which is the heart of Sondon’s hoard, for only with the aid of the scroll of Surrucia can the power of Sondon be broken and his foes released. The king offers the throne and the hand of Veasty his daughter to any of his brave captain who is willing to undertake the perilous journey, But no one volunteers for every word to have come out of Ibisia has been evil.
The king finds himself at a dead end, but sees it as an opportunity to get rid of Heres his mortal enemy, and so he banishes him and his father into Ibisia under the guise of finding the scroll. At Ibisia the company learns that there is not one scroll but two, they must first find the dark scroll, which is the key and map to Sondon’s secret vault where the scroll of light of Surrucia lies, but to find the dark scroll they must solve the hardest legends ever which will take them across Ibisia.

Two scrolls for the hope of men.
One to find the dark hoard, the other to raise the Suroc horde.
Eight paths to the dark hoard, beyond each path a secret unfolds.
Across the dark lands the paths are laid.
From the warlock on the stone that never sinks, to the mountain that belches forth fire.
From the viper’s pit to the lair of the iron dragon beneath golden shores.
From the tower of fire at the heart of the leviathan’s pool, to the hidden necropolis visible only at night.
From the den of the fallen one, the dark hoard is revealed.
Let your folly guide you on your treacherous quest.
The tale leads to the forging of the company of the scroll which includes, Heres and his father, Nor and Onor, the sons of the last and murdered king of Maul, who had set out to avenge their father’s death against Aardoo and Horace, who coerce Horace to lead them to Gur-lotta to prove his innocence. Sirrion the last sorcerer of Surrucia who was a prisoner in Basra alongside three Surocs, and Henia their guide, the daughter of Cyran the fallen sorcerer of Surrucia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.Y. Roger
• Release date: Jan 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311240101

M.Y. Roger

Momoh roger is an avid reader and writer of fantasy, nothing excites him like adventures, dragons and battle, sorcerers and warlocks. Momoh lives in nigeria with his mother and three siblings.

Book preview

THE LEGENDS OF THE SCROLLS:

BOOK ONE

THE LEGENDS, THE SCROLLS AND THE DARK QUEST

By

M. Y, ROGER

Copyright M.Y. Roger 2014

SMASHWORD EDITION

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All Rights Reserved.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

In honour of my late father, lore master and teacher. Rev. S. Y, Yusuf.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1 The king’s council

Chapter 2.The Nurdoress

Chapter 3.The summon of the king

Chapter 4.The rangers of Maul

Chapter 5.The medium of Elam

Chapter 6.The peat garrison of Gur-lotta

Chapter 7. Carn-dunn (the door into Ibisia)

Chapter 8 The tower of death (Basra)

Chapter 9.The legends

Chapter 10 The rousing of the lord of Gur-lotta

Chapter 11 The conspiracy of Galadrosia

Chapter 12 The legend of Zagron

Chapter 13 The legend of the serpent rider

Chapter 14 The fall of Mythia.

Two scrolls for the hope of men.

One to find the dark hoard, the other to raise the Suroc horde.

Eight paths to the dark hoard, beyond each path a secret unfolds.

Across the dark lands the paths are laid.

From the fastness of the two-faced warlock, to the mountain that belches forth fire.

From the viper’s pit to the lair of the iron dragon beneath golden shores.

From the tower of fire at the heart of the leviathan’s pool, to the hidden necropolis visible only at night.

From the den of the fallen one, the dark hoard is revealed.

Let your folly guide you on your treacherous quest.

THE 1SYNOPSIS

The epic adventure begins in an age of sorcery, Dragons and a dark tyrant; Sondon whose evil grandiose schemes to extinct the age of men is soon ripe. The tale dates back to eight thousand years after the fall of the old gods, when their curse begins to take hold. Men had ended the tyranny of the gods but from amongst them would rise more treacherous tyrants; Sondon is the tyrant of this age.

When Sondon enslave the armies of Surrucia by a potent spell, it is obvious nothing could resist him upon the earth again, but down in the south, the realm of his old enemies remain awaiting his destruction. Their only hope is to find the ancient scroll of light of Surrucia, which he had stolen. Men must embark on the futile and precarious quest of reclaiming the scroll from Ibisia, The scroll which is the heart of Sondon’s hoard, for only with the aid of the scroll of Surrucia can the power of Sondon be broken and his foes released. After many years of struggles between the waning realm of men and the waxing strength of Ibisia, the time is ripe for the total annihilation of men. When the wizard king of Gur-lotta taunts the king of Mythia, that his doom is near, the king deems the impossible must be attempted. Men must go into Ibisia, find Sondon’s hoard and steal back the scroll, but none of the valiant knights of his realm would attempt the quest, for the throne of Mythia and the princess hand in marriage. The king knows he must send someone even against their own wish.

The tale of Heres a young farm boy begins. When Myrcella the princess and heiress of Mythia falls in love with Heres, a relationship her father detested little did she know she had just earned him her father’s hatred. Heres finds himself banished into Ibisia alongside his father Horace, a treacherous journey with no hope of return. They escapes those ordered to deliver them at Tirbane where a ship is to bear them to the shores of Carn-dunn in Ibisia, upon hearing word of their escape the king hires the best Rangers to fish them out and bring them back to Tirbane.

They meet Nor and Onor the two hidden sons of the last king of Maul, who had set out to avenge their father’s death on Horace in the woods of Comorus. Together they sail across the Isis Sea into Ibisia. In Ibisia they are joined by Henia, a lady, ranger who reveals to them that one last sorcerer of Surrucia locked up in Basra, the prison Cyran remains. They stage a daring rescue for the sorcerer, but find not just him but three Surocs. In Ibisia they discover to find the eight pieces of the scroll, they must first solve eight grueling legends, legends which are keys to finding the pieces of the scrolls.

PROLOGUE

My name is Heres, son of Horace the Hornite from Maul. I was born in the seventh year of the reign of Roc king of Mythia, which is the nine hundred and thirty sixth year of the fourth age; more than a hundred years after the fall of Gibas-tarooth. Horace my father was a great scholar and master of lore who once served the kings of Maul before their line was sundered by the traitor and villain Ekron. I was born in the spring of the mournful year in Moil of Maul, the year Ekron became the warlock of the peat isle after slaying the last king of Maul. My mother was from Porsa, a woman of ravishing beauty whom many claim I took after, for I was fair to behold, but my fairness proved to be the bane that brought misfortune to me. My mother died in the winter when I was ten, then my father and I migrated to Ain, the capital city of Mythia, but not until evil had befallen that nation through Ekron. I grew up in Mythia tending the fields, becoming a boisterous youth who was fond of the sword, and always envied the great knights whenever they rode behind the king. My father was hesitant about me enlisting in the army. He always said that the evil now brewing in the north, was one we would not defeat by swords but by wisdom.

Ain has been the greatest city of our age and home to the great lords of Mythia, for over a thousand years. Her foundations were laid by Alurin the great, who ruled after the fall of Rogoroth the second, the dark lord of Turgron. The grandeur and splendor of Ain upon the vale of Aenon could not be matched by any other city upon the earth, except the nameless and never before seen abode of the dark master of Ibisia, whose rumors fill all with dread. At the foot of the Anuivale Mountains, the city of Alurin was built, and named ‘Ain’; which in the Fundin tongue of old meant the city of conquerors. To many, it was built over the ruins of Saran, the first city of men, built when men first came north. Saran was destroyed by Rogoroth, the first when he enslaved men with his sorcery in the second age.

According to legend, the white marbled walls were hewn from the Grey Mountains by the Nephilims, an extinct race of giants conquered by Alurin; but the city was built by the craft and hands of men. The turrets amidst the strong crenellated walls were built to withstand a siege; for Olod the great seer of the second age had forewarned that unless six tyrants had passed, the race of men would never know peace and Sondon is accredited as the fifth. In the history of man, Ain has remained the only city no invader has ever set foot within its walls, for it was built in the years of the strength of men.

Her brazen gates of steel were adorned in the art and craft of old, standing amidst the imperious walls of great masonry that tower over the city. The gates stand defiantly on its post, facing the north towards Turgron where once the greatest foe of men commanded a realm. On the battlements many armored soldiers of Mythia, who bare the emblem of Thundrin on their breastplates, could be seen pacing about vigilantly. The streets of Ain are paved with stones and trodden by the teeming horde of people, many of which live in the purlieus of the city. The proud people sauntering about with the easiness of those who expected no misfortune as if evil was not being bred behind the confines of the sea of Ibisia.

All roads into the city converge at Thurin-hill where the Golden hall of Mythia stands; the ancient halls of the kings that was built by Alurin the first king of Mythia of this age. Now Roc, son of Zocos, is the twenty-eighth king of that lineage. According to legend of old, Hamstad lord of Saran hewed the head of Mugron upon the dale during a fierce battle, and as he lifted the head of his foe, yelling victory, the earth beneath his foot rose to form the hill he later called Thurin in remembrance of his son who fell in that epic battle.

The golden hall was built upon Thurin-hill where everyone could see it high in the heart of the city. The dome of the golden hall is an architectural wonder to anyone beholding it for the first time. The colossal hall portrayed the might, glory and pride of the king and that of his people. My father would say that in the days of Zocos, when there was still might amongst men, the king would hold banquet for tens of thousands of warriors; a thing that now sounds like a fable. Each marbled pillar which rose to uphold the roof of the dome was named either after a king or a brave captain of the wars of old. Their names and valiant deeds could be seen engraved on the pillar. There are twenty-eight daises in the golden hall, and on each dais stands the marbled sculpture of each of the past kings.

Hanging on the walls of the hall were great banners; some dating as far as the first age, embroidered with characters of charging horsemen and marching swordsmen fighting against foul hosts out of Tirgron and Ibisia. It is claimed that the banners of Ibisia and Turgron could be seen also in the golden hall. Upon the marbled floor of the king’s hall was the map of the realms of men and even the known part of Ibisia.

At the top eastern end of the hall, the golden seat of kings sat, only the heirs of Alurin have lived to sit on it. Legend had it that it was the very seat of Rogoroth taken from his throne room when it was sacked by Alurin. The throne was splendid and overlaid with gems made by the most ingenious minds in such matters of art. Behind the throne hung the great banner of Mythia, adorned with gold runes and hemming of silver.

From the balcony of the palace one could see most of the city, even as far as the grey summits of the Rimmon Mountains in the north. And in a murky summer night the beacons of Maul and the tower of light of Gulhur at the peak of the Rimmon could be sighted. While the city sleeps in peace, the king and his brave knights manned their post in the fortress of Gulhur and at Tirbane in Torgarmah.

Roc the king is a brave man with a shrewd mind. He reminds many of the kings of old they now read in lore, he is always on the look out for the defense of his city. A fair king to behold, tall, with a stalwart body, it is rumored that the fear of the darkening days was heavy on him. Whenever he was seen, he moved with an imperious gesture, clad in the richest of all raiment’s, and is fond of riding on his dark steed a magnificent beast that trot like a king amongst horses. Roc was loved by many, perhaps because of his fair appearance but many a time was rash and imprudent in his dealings.

The king had a number of great knights in his service; renowned men drawn from Mythia, Maul, Porsa and Comorus, men who have sworn to protect lord and land by oaths of blood and valour.

Of the entire king’s knight, Thurin-mill from the south vale is the most valiant and respected; a man long advanced in the service of the king and has seen many battles than most of this age. He is said to be the oldest captain in Mythia for he had served Zocos the king’s father in the wars against Cyran, he is said to have been blessed with strength for at his advanced age he

Still possesses the strength to wield a sword. He is mostly seen riding behind the king’s banner amongst the knights, and is in-charge of the city and the king’s personal guard.

Next to Thurin-mill is Amroth the king’s younger brother, the commander at Tirbane, the fortress at Comorus with the strength of almost four thousand men. There are many other renowned captains in Mythia, but a handful compared to the days before the rising of Sondon.

I learnt a lot of legends at the feet of my father, tales of great kings and knights which never ceased to amaze me. At the end of a hard days work, I would sit by the bole of the oak tree at the farm with my eyes fixed on the distant woods, which climbed west to the threshold of the Grey mountains; wishing I could have my own adventure, Fighting for glory and honour, fantasizing about fighting in Carn-dunn against Ibis hordes and monsters under the king’s banner. But it was only a mere shadow of thought, for deep inside me I feared the darkness of Ibisia from the disheartening news we all have heard. Another great story I love is that of Fark, Lord of Mythia and Andron of Maul, who withstood Cyran in the south Wold with the fierceness of a wounded beast. The twin kings, they were called, for they fell beside each other when all had forsaken them, in that epic battle.

My father was a good swordsman who fought better than many in the king’s companies. Many a time, I have watched him practice as the sun set in the west, and as I grew older he began to teach me the art of the sword. Many laughed or mocked whenever they saw us practice, but those with a vivid imagination of the last showdown with the forces of the Ibisia knew that was the best legacy a man could leave to his son in this fading age.

One day, as I tended the vines under the heat of the scorching summer sun, a company of four riders cantered to a halt by the farm. From their amour, I could tell they were riders of the king’s royal Cavalry and their sinister horses stamped and neighed impatiently. The riders alighted from their saddles and sauntered into the vine without saying a word, they began to pick the ripe grape bunches. The grapes were succulent, ripe, and indeed very appealing. But these grouchy fellows began to pillage the field as they destroyed more than they could eat. I stormed towards them in fury, and ordered them to go right away, but they continued to pillage as if I was just another tree. I became so infuriated that I impetuously uttered a curse at one.

The rider took off his helm, and I was stunned by the surly look on the hefty man’s face; his long curly beard like mane of an Eastling wolf, and a giant fist that could squash my skull, by his side hung the hilt of a huge sword that dangled in the scabbard. He was not the kind of man a lad my size should trifle with; his stride was heavy as he charged towards me. In a twinkle, his large fist came flying at me, I leapt aside as his blow went wide and settled a hook to his trunk, the rider fell with a thud like a great tree. I unsheathed his sword and placed it sinisterly to his neck, as large drops of sweat gathered on my face, and my heart thumped like a war drum.

His companions charged at me and it resulted into a ferocious fight. I against the four of them, but I dare not kill or maim the king’s riders, for that would earn me a long stay in Shindin, the infamous prison of Ain or even the gallows. But I far surpassed the men in the sword play that soon I had disposed them of their swords and they had suffered many bruises to remind them of me, while I remained unscathed. But just as we were about finishing a horn blared and looking behind, I saw a company of over fifty riders peering at us. They had watched a short part of the fight, and even though it amazed them that a mere farm boy could undo four skilled swordsmen. I could see the evil glint in their eye that they envied me, for I had earned them the jeers of cowards from their company, and that was the day I met Thurin-mill and won his friendship.

I was arrested and taken to the guard post of Thurin-mill in the city, where I found myself pacing a sordid cell until evening, when my father came for my bail and release. I realized that Thurin-mill and my father were old friends and fond of each other, he tried to persuade my father to let me stay with him and earn myself a name in the king’s guard. But my father refused, I was too young for the king’s service he said, though I was skilled with a sword. Thurin-mill paid for the bail and I went home with my father amidst the cheers of the soldiers. Many times he would pay a visit to our old house outside the city on his way back from Comorus. I got my first sword from him, a beautiful blade of Mythia but not as beautiful as the one he had in his scabbard, but my father always paid close attention whenever he visited for he feared I might one day be swayed by the wiles of this old canny soldier.

Our house was situated a few miles to the outskirt of the city, on a hill and it was besieged by the fields and farms that lead to the threshold of the Wislow woods. The house was simple and was more of a cottage with a barn; even though it lacked most of the comfort we wished it was never a sleazy place. The air coming from the woods around was refreshing and salubrious. From the house to the city was a mere distance of two miles. Balgo our old horse was always in his stable and was never ridden save during spring when he was used to plough. I learnt to ride on him, for he never had the stamina or stature of the horses in the Cavalry, and there was always envy in his old dull eyes whenever he saw the horses of the kings men trot past him, Balgo was mostly a dull horse who over ate himself.

Winter in Mythia was mild unlike in Porsa in the north, where it snowed for almost five months, but here it was less severe. I hated the frigid mornings mostly when I had to make an errand for my father with only a cloak over my tunic.

But in the summer we would go hunting and tracking game through the woods, so I became a good ranger. As a boy I was full of escapades that I almost earned myself a name as a miscreant. But I was disciplined; my father always said that my wild side which he had earnestly tried to tame would one day prove useful to me.

CHAPTER ONE

THE KINGS COUNCIL

Dusk was gathering over the city, when the lone horseman came galloping upon the northern roads that descended from Rimmon, clad in a dark cowl with a hood over his head, he raced impatiently through the half-deserted roads like one fleeing from a rout. Nigh the gates he hardly allayed his speed, and in a quick trot he passed through the watched gates even as the soldiers watched in disgust at the rider, through the narrow cloven passages he rode to escape the bustling streets that climbed straight to Thurin-hill, the footfall of his steed sounded horrendously loud in the quiet passages.

The rider rode through the dark shrouded alleys that were dimly lit by flickering lamps which gleamed through windows; finally he cantered at the stair of Thurin-hill. He threw behind the hood revealing his doughty and travel-worn face, and even as he alighted from the horse, it was reined away by another soldier. At the stair Thurin-mill the captain of the golden hall stood in company of other soldiers, they appeared to be discussing some strange prospect, and as he approached Thurin-mill recognized him to be Amroth the captain of Comorus, for he bore a striking resemblance to the king his brother, his chiefly armour was now revealed as he drew his cloak away.

Amroth, Thurin-mill gasped. What brings you so hastily to Ain like a fleeing brigand? the old soldier asked humorously, but the captain’s face remained indifferent for his coming was urgent that he had no time to regard pleasantries.

Only one thing drives a fox out of its hole, trouble! I must speak to you at once before we seek the king. Amroth said in a hurried whisper, and together they climbed up the stairs into the fortress.

The door opened to reveal a large half empty room, whose wall was adorned with weapons, armours and strange banners from every realm under the king. A shelf stood hidden in the shadow away from the flickering lights of a hanging lamp, through the open window a cool nightly wind was breezing and one could see much of the city in the tranquility of the night. Amroth helped himself heavily into a chair, while Thurin-mill poured him a drink into a mug from the shelf.

Have this, though the mead in Mythia is referred to as inferior to that of Porsa which you have grown fat on, but a weary man like you have no choice.

Amroth took a long sip, and dropped the half empty mug on the table with a heavy rap, across the table Thurin-mill was now seated and was caressing his long wooly beard, haste was written all across the graven brows of Amroth and he could see fear in his eyes.

As the captain of Thurin-hill you must hear this first before we consult the king. Yesterday at dusk a ship sailed near Tirbane from the northern, it was not from Maul or Fysia as we had thought, but out of the Peat garrison, the first Asp ship to be seen since the fall of Surrucia. Thurin-mill’s face straightened as he sat up in his chair with much anticipation. Though we saw none of that foul race of the north in the ship, they sent us a package and before we could ready our ships after them they had sailed away into the darkness.

And what package was that? He asked anxiously. The fey pallor on his face was now growing whiter.

It wasn't a hewn head as is accustomed of the Ibis, but a letter smirched with blood. Amroth said, and reaching into the folds of his cloak he produced the brown old parchment and left it on the table. Thurin-mill was visibly shaken as he stared in consternation, his hands trembled to open the letter and it appeared he now contemplated it, finally he touched it.

Has it been opened before? Thurin-mill asked.

Aye! It is written in the uncouth runes of Ibisia which we all lack the skill to construe, but nothing has ever come out of thence than death.

I feared your coming had evil, because you rode like a deranged person. I cannot read an Ibis hand, but I know it has one aim to instill deep fear in our terror-stricken hearts, to deter us. I guess there is one that I know who could help decipher that for us, an old acquaintance of mine who served in Maul, a great soldier though he has long forsaken that path and now looks towards tending his field.

If he lives in Maul, we must find fresh horses at once and ride all night. Amroth snapped.

No need for that, he lives just outside the city walls. Amroth sighed in relief and sat back.

I cannot wait to find out what evil is written there, and I will neither eat nor rest until I know. Amroth said.

Together both captains took their leave, they rode through the city in silence without any company for their mission was clandestine, at the fringe of the city they took the south westerly roads towards the Wislow woods.

I can still remember vividly that night Thurin-mill rode to our house in company of another man. The waning gibbous moon was rising over the grey range of the mountains; a cold wind was rising as I sat on the porch thinking of my forth coming date with Myrcella. In the gleam of the light that flickered through the window, the shadow of my father moved in his room. My heart missed a beat as I now feared he was searching for his sword which I had taken to the farm in the evening for practice and had not returned; moments later he came through the door and stood by the porch. I sat in tension and would not look up at him, he cleared his voice in the fashion he was fond of before a tirade, when we heard the clatter of horses hooves in the darkness approaching the house, now he will go back to fetch his sword I feared, but even as the riders approached like wraiths hunched up on saddles, they called out in peaceable terms and from the familiar voice we could tell Thurin-mill had come.

They trotted to a halt at the porch, hailed each other warmly and shook hands with my father. What brings this old soldier to my abode in the dead of the night, like an emissary of the enemy sharing bounty? my father asked.

Can’t I behold the face of a friend without a reason? Thurin-mill asked laughingly, but the other rider appeared sinister upon his saddle.

You didn’t come to see my face Thurin, the sun has long gone to sleep something different has brought you here. Now come in for at first I thought Heres had come to some new trouble since he has now become lord of that order. The riders leapt off their horses and I reined them away but hurried back to eavesdrop on what was about to transpire, like my father I had a mixed feeling and premonition about Thurin-mill’s riding in the dead of the night in company of another rider that was chiefly clad in armour and wore long boots of supple leather, the riders went in at my father’s beckon. They sat before him, but I remained outside by the window listening attentively to them.

Whatever we say here tonight must end here, it is secret, and no ear outside here must hear of it. This is Amroth captain of Comorus the king’s brother. Thurin-mill said in a whisper as he looked around for me, at that my heart jumped into my mouth, my father sat back the cheerful look on his face died, and Amroth spoke.

I have ridden for two days from Tirbane, if you know it is the great fortress of Mythia that overlooks the sea in Comorus. I need your help for all our fate is now tied to you. Amroth’s deep voice implored. Thurin-mill brought out a strange brown parchment and pushed it across the table to my father, with much reluctance my father received and unwound the parchment and took a long frightful glance, what he beheld startled him as a terrified look crept over his face.

It is of Ibisia…! He gasped, Thurin-mill nodded affirmatively. Then was my first fear allayed even as a greater fear roused from the sound of the word, Ibisia How did you come into possession of such a foul message?

That I cannot disclose to you, all I want is that you decipher it, for we lack any with that skill. Amroth said.

An Asp ship of Ibisia brought it. Thurin-mill whispered.

An Asp ship from Ibisia! my father exclaimed.

Even the king has not heard of it. Amroth added.

The runes are of Ibisia and it is sealed in the name of the warlock on the rock that never sinks. He said and stared deeply into their weary faces:

The warlock on the rock! Amroth exclaimed. What does that mean?

It sounds like a legend. Thurin mill said.

It is the legend of Ekron, the rock is his stronghold called the Peat garrison, the ibis call it Gurlotta.

Hurulk mansk illrik alvol iden Mythia, aril Maul halak izin gildal.

Harokal Sondon malzal illik Galadrosia, halmul illas illik inark halak.

This is what is written in the black Ibis speech, now may I translate it to you in our own tongue, though grave and evil words they are but I am certain that you must have prepared yourself for it. They nodded silently, and after a sigh he began.

"Here is written in the Ibis characters according to the mode of Ibisia: The end has come for Mythia, Maul and the realm of men, the dark master now musters the might of his lands, his war is nigh and it will cover all in its darkness, the dark days are drawing nigh, the warning of Galadrosia I now repeat."

He paused and looked straight at them. It was sealed by the hands of Ekron, and from the blood that is smirched on it, this is no mere prank. My father said, and he wrapped the parchment back and gave it to Thurin-mill, who raised his head from the sheet he had been scribbling on.

Alas! The fears of our fathers now dawn on our age. Thurin-mill gasped. What is your counsel master Horace; they say none can rival your knowledge of Ibisia. My father sat still like a statue in his chair. The night was now old, though my legs were waning fast like the moon but I could not go without hearing the last of this secret meeting.

Tell the king that the dark days we have long feared will come in his reign, and there will be wars. Though it will take awhile for the whole might of Ibisia to be mustered, but if it has then we shall not avail much. It shall be our doom, tell the king to begin to muster as much might as possible and prepare armaments for our enemy has never been idle.

Every single word you have said will be relayed to the king; you might even be summoned before him. Thurin-mill said.

Without further deliberation the riders gathered themselves in heaviness and rode off into the night for the city. Even when I entered he was still lost in thought that he sat pathetically in his chair with a hand under his chin. He looked up at me when he realized I had for sometime been staring at him.

Heres. He called and feigned a smile, not two hours ago he was as cheerful as a groom, but now he appeared pale and weary with grief like a groom whose bride had just scuttled away with another man.

I heard everything father. I said. He sighed deeply and his head fell. You cannot continue to shield me from such matters.

When I didn't hear any sound of you, I knew you were eavesdropping on us. The end is near Heres; indeed the dark master has not forgotten his malice as we had hoped. We are all helpless in his overwhelming darkness, ever since Surrucia fell and its host banished, the enemy has never been at rest, he has relentlessly plotted our downfall and now his dark plot is almost ripe. He said.

Is there no hope? I asked frightfully. He looked up and deep into my eyes with gloom.

There has never been any hope, except a fool’s hope from a path that we have long deserted, men no longer remember that path, perhaps there is only a handful that still remembers that path.

And what path is that father? Is it that of the scroll for indeed there is no hope there, since none can sack the horde of the dark master without binding him first, which is definitely impossible. I said.

Go to bed Heres, and do not ponder over this thing, it is for us that are old, your life is still before you and it is bright. He said, but he lacked the reassurance in his almost wavering voice, and even as I walked away I looked at him sidelong as he clasped his bent head in his knotted hands in grief.

The guards by the door drew it apart, and bowed as Amroth and Thurin-mill walked into the upper room, and by a window that opened towards the north the dusky shape of a man stood. His hair and robe flowing in the cold draught as he backed them, peering into the distant night,

Hail! Lord of Mythia, Roc my brother. Amroth called, the pitiful face lifted and turned even as they paid obeisance.

I was told that you sneaked into Ain, brother. The king said, and embraced Amroth warmly which his brother could not reciprocate.

Is it the refreshing breeze, or your habitual watch over the Rimmon as if Rogoroth still commands a realm before you, that makes you watch over the night like a guard in Fagshold? Thurin-mill asked.

The king grinned. You can never tell what tale the night brings, sometimes I believe I can read the will of the enemy from the stars, they say the same constellation we see here are also seen in Carn-dunn. The king paused and continued to gaze into the night, even as Amroth and Thurin-mill contemplated with incredulous looks on who would break the grim news to the king.

A strong shadow of fear has been growing in my heart of recent, evil stirs in the north I can feel it in the earth, Sondon has not been idle neither has any of his servants been slumbering. The king said as he turned to them. What brings you to Ain, are you now tired of your watch over the Isis?

My lord I’m afraid I have only come to confirm your fear. Amroth finally summoned the will to speak about the matter at hand. The king faltered against the wall as Amroth handed over to him the Ibis parchment, the king walked over to the sputtering torch. And like everyone who had come in contact with the parchment, he unwrapped it with a sense of dread as if a curse would be unleashed if ever opened.

This is of Ibisia! He exclaimed almost hurling away the scroll. Thurin-mill waited until the king had regained his composure, then he was given the interpretation. He read and pondered for a while with grave fear which pelted his heart.

This is the repetition of the warning of Galadrosia. He muttered even as he now appeared to be standing aghast. And it was not written to warn us but to scorn.

My lord it is the hand of Ekron who now hails as the wizard king of Gur-lotta, the same Ekron who brought the line of Andron to an end in Maul. Thurin-mill said.

How did you find this? He asked, raising his face which was gnarled by fear.

Yesterday my lord, at dusk an Ibis ship sailed south to Tirbane and left the message in the water. Amroth said.

Long have I feared this, too long have I imagined that evil was stirring in the north, now the dark master knows that we have no allies in Surrucia, and dissension now grows amongst us like rot. There is now no power left in us to withstand him not even his vanguard, it now seems our doom has been hastened.