Emperor of Legendia

They struggled through the night. Marching south wards across the desert, the army fought their way through the cold wind. The blowing wind sounded like a child weeping bitterly. They had lost half their horses. They were weak yet they could not afford to waste anymore time as they were in need of food and water; and they needed to take shelter in Irasy as soon as possible. Zimon asked everyone to take a sip each from the healing potions he was left with. Atleast that would keep them going, if not fill their hunger or quench their thirst. Zimon seemed to have lost in another world. He bent his head low and rode quietly over the sand dunes. He was submerged in heaps of sorrows. This battle marked his first defeat. Moreover, he was deceived. ‘Farwohm!’, he thought. Zimon clenched his staff tighter to release his anger. ’I shoudn’t have let his men in.’

“Where could Marlin be?”, Marco muttered, who was riding just behind Zimon.

Zimon remained silent.

“My lord, you were brilliant yesterday. A bunch of three thousand men wiped more than double their number because of your leadership. You cannot blame yourself, master. Had Marlin been there on time, we could have easily outnumbered them.”, Marco tried to console Zimon.

“The stone broke in just ten days.”, Zimon spoke, “The twin stone I mean... that was quicker than usual... so he can’t be late. And breaking of the stone should mean that they could have easily passed Gobbut and Engeria with no intrusion.”

They kept quiet for a while before Zimon spoke, “He was a hero.”

“Sorry?”, Marco asked puzzled.

“Fred...”, Zimon said quietly, “He was so extraordinary. That huge dragon formation of fire from his arrow... a very rare skill indeed! Shaping that huge form of arrow is a sign of very strong aspect of magic. Not just anyone would have been able to do it. I understood that very moment...”

“What do you mean?”

“My doubts turned into fact when he passed away emitting light.”

“Yes!”, Marco started, “What was that about?”

“It happens at rare incidents. Those who are capable of becoming wizards and those who are already wizards emit such type of glowing white light after their death.”, Zimon finished.

They marched for the next whole day advancing with moans and aches in the scorching heat. When they halted for a break, Marco narrated what Zimon said about Fred to Peter.

“He had the qualities of a wizard?”, Peter asked, startled. Peter smiled for the first time. “Full of surprises, wasn’t he?”, with that he stretched his back on the hot sand and closed his eyes.

They spent that night on an empty stomach lying on their bellies, waiting for the sandstorm to succumb. When it passed, Zimon realised how exhausted everyone was. He encouraged them to walk a bit further and finally when dawn arrived, they reached the village of Ranch. A few dozen stone huts lay scattered ahead of them. No sign of life could be sensed in the breezy night.

“Perhaps, seeing this bevy or warriors has frightened them.”, Zimon muttered. Just then he spotted a man peeking through a slightly open door. He banged the door shut when he realised Zimon staring at him. Zimon asked his men to stay back as he approached the door. He knocked it softly. The door opened slowly. The face appeared. His face was painted in white, lips painted red, nose and ear heavily pierced. He seemed scared.

“Zaghoum hayroti shef legha no leghal sareeng?”, Zimon asked.

Marco and Peter exchanged confused looks. The man was startled to hear an outsider speak his own language. He opened the door completely. His attire was rather simple, including just leaves hanging on a thread wrapped around his waist. His bones were sticking out his dark skin.

“Napom.”, the man said pointing at the third hut from his.

“Mejjih.”, Zimon said and bowed to the man.

Zimon walked over to the third hut and knocked the door.

An old dark skinned man appeared, wearing a cranky orange cloth around his hips and a set of large necklaces made out of stones around his neck. He was accompanied by two men armed with a long dagger. The old man had feather crown over his head.

“Hetaal!”, Zimon bowed.

“Hapa Bolpru??”, the chief’s tone seemed aggressive.

“Okum okum..”, Zimon raised his palm to calm him down and spoke to him for a while then.

The chief then shouted, “Nopral! Haliun haliun...”

Men and women half naked emerged from their hidings with their children.

Zimon walked back to his men emerging as a victor and smiled, “Phew... Tough man! He has agreed to serve food only and asks us to leave as soon as we are done.”

Yoyo and Albert let out a sigh of relief. The warriors were offered coconut water, fruits, a few roasted hare and a glass of camel milk. Every one dug into their food.

“What do they ask for in return?”, Marco asked the king.

“A very small gift.”

Marco raised an eyebrow.

Zimon smiled and said, “They want me to perform some magic.”

“You told them you could?”

“No but I don’t look just some normal guy, do I?”

Marco laughed. He said, “What language did u converse with them in?”

“My lad, there are sixty eight different languages in this world.”, Zimon replied as he gulped the milk down his throat.

“And you speak all of them?”

Zimon asked smiling, “What do you think?”

The tribal men of Ranch circled Zimon and sat down. Zimon waved his staff pointing to one of the men. The man rose up high in the air. He started screaming out of joy. Everyone cheered and jumped up trying to get hold of the flying man’s leg. Peter laughed at their behaviour. Zimon then broke a glass into pieces and moved his fingers above the pieces. All the shattered pieces flew back together retaining its original form. The Ranchians gasped. The chief laughed and clapped. A number of other small performances won their hearts and the chief changed his mind and insisted Zimon on resting in his village. He could not offer any enclosed shelter but he offered a large cattle shed for the army, and his own room for Zimon. Zimon thanked the chief and asked everyone to get some rest before they start off again. Marco joined the men in the cattle shed. It smelled of dung and was not at all cosy enough but still better than the hot sand underneath and scorching rays above. He could not remember when he crashed on the hay and dozed off like a baby.

Refreshed by the sleep, the warriors filled some of their unbroken bottles from the well and set off in the evening after thanking the people of Ranch. They covered quite a distance now. They even jogged for a few leagues without stopping. They crossed the desert through the night and marched until the dawn. When dawn arrived, they sensed a change in the environment. The sand dunes were long gone and green fields appeared. They were at the southern borders of Salaha.

“Be quick and swift!”, yelled Zimon. Three days passed by.

It was night again and the hunger started to dominate. They were passing through a forest so they halted and hunted their own kills. Peter and Marco were successful in catching a squirrel. Albert and Yoyo collected a large variety of fruits. They rested for a while before starting off again past mid night. As they proceeded into another dawn, they spotted the city outskirts. Unlike Legendia which was submerged in a low land, this city was built on a great height. They could notice the fortress heavily guarded by men at every five yards. The fortress was beautiful and magnificent. The entire fortress was built of large carefully squared sandstones. Along the walls were built a number of semi circular towers, its roofs pointed into cross arches. Overlooking the high western edge of the fortress stood a large keep protected by massive rectangular towers. A short bridge led them to the main gate which stood between two round towers. A guard saluted from above the tower and motioned to open the gates. The iron gates were arched with metallic thorns protruding from them. The gates opened sideways to the inner part of the city, pulled by large mechanical chains. Marco felt a hint of nervousness and excitement as he slowly entered his native land. Zimon was greeted by an official silently. The warriors followed his lead. They spotted numerous farms stretching out to the east. The sweet aroma caught up in their nostrils. Acres of gardens and blossoms bloomed everywhere. They were soon walking through what seemed a residential area. The atmosphere was a lot different here. Houses looked like mortuaries, no children on the streets, no men on work, no shops busy and no warm welcome for the king.

“Do they already know about our defeat?”, Peter asked Marco who shrugged back at him. After a long walk, they were now ascending to a hilltop where they could spot the vast palace. The curved ascent was lined up with pine trees. Tall stone towers loomed behind the huge gates. A beautiful calligraphy of Arabic painted in white was inscribed in the boundaries of the metal gates. The words seemed to repeat one after another. Zimon explained Marco that the words read ‘Irasy’. The two of them stood in the lead followed by Marvelo and then rest of the men. The official with Zimon called out for the guards to open the gates. Marco’s heart beats were clearly audible to him when an old man covered in a beautiful velvet gown appeared behind the gates. Two men covered his head with a silky golden cloth to protect him from sun rays. He seemed worried and confused.

“Zimon, my friend!”, Olgreg strode towards Zimon and hugged him.

“Good to see you, Olgreg.”

“You look so worn out.”, his soft Irasian accent clearly revealing itself.

Marco simply stared at his uncle. This man had no hair on his face. His skin was wrinkled heavily.

“We lost... Olgreg.”, Zimon muttered.

“I’m so sorry, Zimon... so sorry.”, Olgreg cried out aloud.

“It’s not the end though. Don’t worry.”

Olgreg looked at Zimon in dismay and mumbled, “It’s not that...”

Zimon’s brows furrowed, “What then?”

“Marlin...”

“What about Marlin? Where is he?”, Zimon snapped.

“At the beginning, Marlin met his army here in Irasy.”, Olgreg explained, “And they left for the battle from here itself.”

Zimon waited impatiently.

“They are dead.”, Olgreg announced hesitatingly. The Legendians broke into gasps and murmurs spread across. “All of them - !”