The Fickle Winds of Autumn

The collar of Xuil jangled on Vlicien’s chest as he walked. Its dark jewel glinted as he strode between the tall, flaming ceremonial bowls that purified the entrance to the Chamber of Ancestors.

He bowed solemnly to the elaborately carved altar on the wall, and felt the collar’s resentful grip in the flickering glow of the cavernous room.

Perhaps its tight iron links had been meant for one whose neck muscles were not as large and powerful as his - it always left an unpleasant smudged ring around his taut grey skin, so that for several nights afterwards, it was still possible to see he had been called to a formal occasion.

Perhaps its restricting size was a deliberate act to remind him of his father’s hold over him?This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Perhaps it was there to teach him that he was not a king - and that a prince must bear the burden of his royal duties and responsibilities - that he must feel the taunting sting of his enemies - with no power to call his own.

He flexed and stretched his neck against its uncomfortable constraint.

How like his father to constantly remind him of such a lesson - to suppress his true abilities, to impose a deep humility on him.

The thick columns of hollow skulls looked down on him from their niches in the rough stone interior.

If only he could become Garzaan like them and earn his place in the Chamber.

If only he could be given a chance to prove his worth and enter the stories of the Khaldaan.

The collar pinched and gripped again.

He turned to the centre of the room. Ylukvas, the thick-armed warrior, bowed his respects; his bladed axe caught the rolling light from the trestled bowls.

Here at least was someone who took him seriously - someone who would listen.

True, their earlier discussion had not gone well, but Yulkvas remained a worthy tutor along the warrior’s path.

“But if my father would just trust me - even with a small army,” Vlicien said. “We would easily overpower the puny humans at night when the Compulsion of the immortal ones is upon us. We would crush them and take back our ancestral lands. With planning and daring, in a few weeks, all would be ours - we could wipe the humans from the upper-world, and reclaim all that was ours and punish them for their centuries of scorn.”

“Patience, my young prince!” Yulkvas replied. “You may have almost completed the Shul’ad-naz and become a full warrior, but you still have much to learn. Your father is a great king - trust his judgement - he protects his people and keeps them out of harm - he does not seek unnecessary trouble with the upper-worlders and their ways. He understands the value of peace over war.”

“But we could be so much more,” said Vlicien, “with our strength and skill with the bladed-axe, we could take more territory from these weakling over-landers, instead of merely skulking here - we were created to rule this world not cower in its shadows.”

“Your years approach fullness, highness, but your words betray the strength of the demon within you - their bonding lends us great power, but be careful not to allow their hatred and blood-lust, their darkest desires to consume this world, to conquer your own senses and emotions.”

Vlicien turned and paced the smoothed floor towards the turbulent pool of lava which bubbled and protected the far wall.

Even his faithful mentor and friend did not seem to understand or trust his judgements.

How many times could they keep repeating this same old argument?

Walvaan, the god of the lava, the giver and taker of life, rippled and boiled in the pit below his feet.

His rolling orange shadows searched across the dark walls and paid their respects to the staring rows of skulls.

“You must be careful not to follow the anger of your heart,” Yulkvas continued, behind him. “Your father and I have seen the results of war - we understand the true cost of battle - and do not forget the strength of the human magik - it is far greater than anything in our own understanding.”

Vlicien breathed in the rich, invigorating sulphur fumes - they tasted of power, of glory, of conquest.

But how could he ever make his father, or Yulkvas, understand their burning potency?

His eyes strayed along the great arc of stone which bridged the lava pool, past the sacred locked barriers of Joul, to the niche in the farthest wall, where the strange metal of the Great Tooth glinted and sparkled at him; beckoning him to power.

It was close.

If only he could reach it and wield it.

But the barriers prevented him.

And his father had not yet trusted him with the passing-key.

“If my father truly wishes me to learn and become a great king,” he said as he turned back to face Yulkvas, “then why has he not yet shown me the secrets of Hekubate’s Tooth? With its power, we could unite the clans and sweep away all before us.”

“Your father will judge when that time is best,” Yulkvas replied.

“No - he will never allow it - he keeps finding excuses to prevent the gift of a passing-key. It is only my father’s stubbornness, his desire to cling to the old ways, that prevents our glory. His fear is greater than his shame - he does not hear the other clans mocking us, or feel the sour sting of their words. He does not trust me.”

“The sting of their words are as nothing to the bitter pain of losses in a great war - diplomacy and patience have always been a king’s greatest weapons.”

“Then why do I need you to instruct me in the ways of Shul’ad-naz? Why learn the blazing light of combat if I can never use it?”

“The martial system should only ever be a last resort - a means of self-defence and not an act of careless attack, my prince. The path of the warrior teaches self-discipline, not violence - to clam and harness the powers of the immortal demon who dwells within us. If you have not yet learnt this, then I have failed you as a teacher.”

“But how can I be patient and show self-discipline when my father treats me like one of his servants? It is more than any true Nizul can stomach - let alone one born of royal blood. Even now he calls me here to the Chamber just to taunt and frustrate me, to parade me beneath the watchful gaze of the sacred Garzaan - without ever allowing me the opportunity to prove myself or join them in their glory - see even now how their brave skulls mock me.”

The flaming bowls of oil, which purified either side of the altar’s intricate flowing designs from their high trestles, briefly dimmed and flickered their venerated shadows across the glistening white skulls.

“You are wrong, my prince, he bids you here in formal collar to show you…”

Vlicien recognised the sound of his father’s footsteps approaching from the corridor, even when they were mingled with the flanking echoes of his two guards.

The group entered briskly past the purifying essence of the tall flaming bowls.

The high jewels of the rich golden collar of Xal glinted around his father’s neck in the rumbling orange glow of lava and torch-light.

Clearly his father intended this to be a formal meeting - but to what purpose?

Vlicien slapped his fist to his chest and bowed his allegiance.

“Hekubate live eternally within my king!” he said.

His father nodded an acknowledgement.

“Prince Vlicien, we meet here so that our ancestors, the worthy Garzaan, may witness the occasion and hear our words.”

“Yes father, I feel the weight of their gaze upon me.”

“The greatest honour any Nizul can achieve is to live for all eternity here, to bask in the restless warmth of Walvaan, and reside by the power of the Great Tooth.”

“Yes father, I am aware of their honour - but when will I get my chance to join them? To prove myself in battle?”

“A king’s life is one of servitude, not glory.”

“But a king must also lead - a king should unite the clans and gather their strength to push back against the scourge of the humans.”

“You may hate the humans, young prince, but we were once as them - and uniting the clans is no simple business. Stability is more important than a dearly bought expansion - especially as our numbers are now so few.”

“But father, we are the ruling clan of kings - we should force the others to obey us - we wield the Tooth, we have the power to name the demons that are bonded to the Nizul - if all join under one command, we will cleanse the humans from the surface and reclaim our lands.”

The king let out a deep breath and looked around at the walls.

“Many of your noble forebears died for such an idea,” he said. “There is the skull of Manaaz who died fighting by my side - and there Yuris, who protected me at the cost of his own life - a true and worthy Garzaan. Be mindful, young prince, of the bitterness of the wars - that we were powerful when the bright eye of day withdraws and the Compulsion surges through our bodies - but under the cursed ever-watchful eye of, Yinjus, god of light, the humans fought back, and reclaimed much that we had just taken - at great cost to our warriors. The humans number more than the stars at night - we cannot hope to extinguish them all - and we lack the power of their magikants.”

The king’s fist pressed down onto his shoulder; his father’s eyes stared straight into his.

“No,” said the king, “the foolish ways of war must not be sought. And besides, we gave our word in the truce - we are only better, more noble and pure than the humans, because our words are never broken.

The proud blood of the Nizul surged its frustrated resentment through Vlicien’s chest.

The same old stories.

The same old excuses.

If his father could just see - if he would just try.

“But these were the old wars, father, with your old methods and plans - I am not so bound up in the old traditions, their ways do not encumber me, if I could just…”

“No Vlicien.” The king’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “You were not born in the time of the last war - you did not see the true cost - we must not lead the clans towards the folly of death on your royal whim, warriors should not die just so you can play at war.”

“Forgive me father - my loyalty is to you - it’s just that …”

“Silence! Am I not the king?! Let me hear no more about your boyish dreams of conquest - we must protect the clans, not get them killed in a war we cannot win. Learn from the bitterness of our defeats and understand the value of patience and survival. You should become more like Yulkvas - that is why I presented him as your tutor- there are times I have even wished that he had been my son and not you.”

“Yes father, you have often made me feel the weight of your disappointment.”

“Extinguish the vanity of conquest from your thoughts. I had summoned you here to gift you a passing-key - but I see from your talk of war that you are not yet ready to wield the Tooth. Perhaps we will try again another time.”

Vlicien flexed the muscles across his shoulders; the king’s hollow footsteps rang out of the chamber; the chain of Xuil bit into his flesh.

The resentful blood that shamed through his body knew that his words had not been those worthy of a prince - but wasn’t that the very problem?

For too long, the Nizul had stubbornly relied on the old methods - they had trusted the pathway of Shul’ad-naz.

That was why he had been forced to act.

In time, his father would see it - they would all see it.

And when they understood, then they would be proud of his actions; then he would truly earn a place in the ranks of the Garzaan.