Emperor of Legendia
Execution at Irasy

The hearts sank into the shallows of fear. Marco felt as if somebody stabbed him in the heart. Half of the warriors lost their hopes and knelt down on the ground and wept bitterly. Peter never opened his eyes hoping that what he heard was just in a nightmare. Zimon was leaning on his staff with both the hands clutching it. He bowed his head down, his tears flooding the ground. Marco expressionlessly stood there staring at Zimon.

“... except one!”, said Olgreg after a long pause.

With a fierce jerk Zimon looked up at Olgreg and asked, “Who?”

Marvelo’s eyes were bulging with anticipation. Marco felt completely numb.

“It’s Marlin... Marlin Wills.”, Olgreg said sadly.

“Just Marlin?”, Zimon asked startled.

“Just Marlin.”

Zimon took a deep breath and wiped his eyes with his sleeve and said, “We are sick and exhausted. Can we kindly receive your hospitality?”

Olgreg nodded immediately, “Ofcourse!” While Olgreg ordered his officer to make the arrangements, Marco stood horror struck besides the king thinking what actually happened. ‘Just Marlin?’, he thought.

The other warriors were asked to accompany the Irasian officer to the guest barracks in the army camp far west of city. Olgreg asked Zimon follow him in the palace. Zimon asked Marco and Marvelo to join. Marco looked at Peter who was waiting for him. Marco shook his head and pointed towards the palace. Peter understood that Marco wasn’t going to accompany him to the barracks so he waved back and jogged away to catch up with others.

As the gates closed behind Marco, he gazed upon a vast garden of trees bearing fruits and blooming flowers. As he walked through the path with garden on either side, he spotted a pool of water in the middle of garden on his left. He heard the quacking of ducks from the pond. As he followed Zimon further, the palace came into a wider picture. With a huge marbled dome at the centre, size unimaginable, the palace wore an elegant beauty of utter astonishment. Twelve thin towers topped with tiny domes circled around the main building. The towers were equally spaced and all attached to each other and the main building as well. Huge glass windows popped on each storey concealed by curtains from the inside. Every inch of palace was profoundly designed. The arched entrance with oaken double doors, pointed at top, was greeted by a sweet fragrance, source unknown. The guards at the doors bowed and pushed open the doors. A long hallway full of chasing archways proceeded. The walls of the hallway were filled with mosaics of the hierarchical members of the royal blood. Marco could not watch them closely as they hurried across the hall. Ornate sculptures of humans were placed by the walls. The hall opened into a vast roofed courtyard where sat two thrones. A scarlet carpet on the marbled floor connected the entrance of the courtyard and the king’s and queen’s thrones. The king’s throne dazzled with pieces of emerald and sapphire, fashion of ivory and covered with gold. The queen’s throne was of the similar fashion except that it was a miniature version of the same. Five steps led to the thrones where on either side of each step laid exquisite golden figurines of peacocks. A group of advisors and court’s members sat on the floor sofas on either side of the carpet by the throne. Everyone stood up and bowed to the two kings and exchanged quick words of greetings. The left most wall was completely covered with a huge portrait of what seemed to be a royal family of the king’s ancestors. Marco felt his stomach lurching when he realized the possibility of seeing his father in the portrait. Something at the bottom of the huge portrait was carved in Irasian language. Before Marco got lost into observing faces in the portrait, Zimon called out to Marco. He followed the kings into another massive room. A long dining table comprising of thirty two chairs was placed in the centre of the room. A spiral staircase ascended at the corner of this room too. The room was a special dining room for the king, his family and personal guests. The ceiling of the room was made of red coloured glass wherein the sky was visible and the sun rays converged and lit the room with bright orange colour.

“A time was there when we had a whole bunch of thirty chairs occupied by our family members together. But things have changed with time.”, Olgreg said.

“How are you O’ beloved Zimon?!”, a woman’s voice interrupted.

“Lady Feira!”, Zimon exclaimed, “I was never this better before I saw.”, he kissed the lady’s hand.

“My lady, accompany us for the feast, won’t you?”, Olgreg asked his wife.

“No, I’m not hungry. I came to greet my beloved wizard and pass my condolences as well.”, Feira sounded unhappy. She gave lop sided smile to Zimon and looked at Marvelo and then to Marco. But she paused when her eyes met Marco’s. Marco noticed her sleek features of the nose, jaws, eyes and lips. Everything about her was like a superior polished quality; her looks as well her talks. She wore a heavy white gown, the ends sweeping the floor beneath her. The gown was embroidered with colourful threads and decorated with shining jewels. Marco felt nervous, facing his aunt for the first time. But she withdrew her eyes away gradually and climbed up the stairway.

“She’s been too depressed since the tragedy of your men...”, Olgreg quietly said.

“I see...”

“Please,”, Olgreg motioned the king and the commanders to grab a chair. While doing so the sleeve of his cloak slid up towards the shoulder. Marco was dumbstruck with what he saw. Olgreg’s lower arm had the same sign that Marco possessed.

“Marco?”, Zimon interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes.”, Marco quickly pulled the chair and sat opposite to Zimon and besides Marvelo with Olgreg occupying the single chair by the table’s shorter edge.

Marco looked at his arm, but ofcourse, it was covered by the war suite that protected his arms. His body was dusted all over.

“A special feast must be soon reaching you in a while.”, Olgeg said.

“So till then allow me to get myself washed up in the mean time.”, Marco asked.

“No need for that.”, Zimon said. He pointed his staff towards Marco’ face. A bright white light engulfed Marco and Marvelo. Marco opened his eyes to see himself clean and purified. He then understood why Zimon’s cloak was no more soaked in blood though he noticed it this very moment.

“See the advantage of magic, Olgreg? I suggested you long back to practise it.”, Zimon said.

“I was too old by then and too busy. And I would have never learnt it, I’ve told you many times.”, Olgreg passes his hand over his bald head.

“Where is he right now?”, Zimon asked suddenly, leaning forward.

“He’s in the aiding room. He’s been unconscious for three days.”, Olgreg answered.

“He’s injured?”, Zimon raised his eye brow.

“Severely... on the head, perhaps...”

“When did he go from here with his men for the war?”, Zimon asked.

“On the same day when his troops arrived here.”

Zimon was taken aback, “Wait... when did he reach Irasy alone for the first time?”

Olgreg recounted his memory, “As per your information of departure from Legendia, he was here on the fifteenth day of his journey.”

“What?”, Zimon slammed the table, “But the twin stone broke on the tenth day! Accordingly, he must have reached Engeria on the twelfth day or the eleventh.”

“But still twelve or eleven days is far too less time... Almost impossible I believe.”, Olgreg remarked, “It takes around twelve to fourteen days to reach Irasy from Legendia on the swiftest horse with the least breaks.”

“Exactly,”, Marvelo agreed, “It would take around one moon to complete the whole task and return back to Irasy!”

Olgreg stared at Marvelo.

“Oh! This is the second commander of the army, Marvelo Roy and the young lad besides him is the third commander, Marco... Jules.”

“Oh! Now I know all your three M’s...”, Olgreg nodded.

Three men wearing royal uniforms bought huge silver trays, delicious aroma coming from within.

“That’s what I was wondering...”, Marco said as he stuffed a chicken leg in his mouth. “If it takes twelve days to reach Irasy, Marlin could have never made it to Engeria in twelve days.”

“Right-”, Olgreg shook his head, then nodded, “I clearly remember... yes... Simon and his troop arrived here on the twelfth day while Marlin rested here. Boy ... I must say that Simon lad made quite an impression on me just in a few moments of time.”

Marco’s heart smeared with pain as he pictured Simon. He struggled to keep his emotions at bay.

“He was the most cheerful lad we ever had.”, Marvelo remorsed.

“Did you find his body?”, Marco enquired with the least hope.

“Not a single one.”, came the reply.

“What about Marlin? Who bought him?”, Zimon asked curiously.

“The guards informed me that they spotted two Engerian horsemen on the east of River bank, along woth Marlin unconscious on his horse. They left him near the city outskirts while we fetched his horse.”, Olgreg replied.

“Was it the same horse? I don’t believe the creature would carry and travel this long without any rest, that too at such a tremendous speed.”, Zimon snapped and he drained the pineapple juice down his throat.

“It’s kept in the stable under special care.”

“Hmm... I shall have a look on it”, Zimon said and sighed.

“But before... will ya’ not be eager to meet your forgotten friend?”, a familiar voice came from the doorway.

“Crypus!!”, Zimon said happily.

The old bent man beamed at him from the doorway. “Ya’ were never excited to meet me, were ya’?”, Crevol chuckled.

“Shall the mountains crash upon me, lest I forget you my friend.”, Zimon said.

“Oh stop it... ya’ and your big talks.”

Olgreg shared a loud ugly laugh.

“Crypus, I’m sorry. You can’t hear the word victory from my mouth this time.”, Zimon said as Crevol took the chair besides him.

“Ahh..”, Crevol shook his head, “I had already imagined... worried for ya’ after all the unfortunate incidents that happened.”

“You thought I would die just like that. I’m taking you wherever I go.”, Zimon said just to cheer up the mood.

“Ya’ sly saint!”, Crevol growled. “Marvelo, Marco...”, he nodded to the commanders.

“Mr. Crevol.”, they replied in unison.

After finishing their lunch, they all sat down on the spongy floor sofas in the corner.

“Pipe?”, Olgreg offered the royal pipe he smokes out of habit after every meal. No one else smoked.

“Your army has been well served and is given space for rest.”, announced a guard from the doorway.

“All thanks to you, Olgreg, for this service.”, Zimon said.

“Just a friend’s love, Zimon.”, Olgreg said humbly, “Anyway... so what next?”

“Way to go friends. The war has just begun.”, Zimon replied.

“Tell me... did he really appear in the battle?”, Crevol’s eyes widened as he asked.

“Yes, he did, only at the last moment.”

“What happened?”

“He claims that the treasure has been captured, and being watched under his command. They have... they killed...”, Zimon paused, wandering off in thoughts.

“He says they attacked and destroyed Legendia.”, Marco put it in other words.

“Blimey hell... can’t be...”, Crevol exclaimed.

“Can it be possible Zimon... the treasure? Is it really gone?”, Olgreg asked ghastly.

“I will find out. I will go back to Legendia soon after my interactions with Marlin.”. Zimon said.

“That will waste a lot of time...”, Marvelo started.

“I have my sources...”, Zimon snapped back quickly.

“William, tell me the whole thing! From the beginning... what exactly happened during the war?”, Crevol was interrogating uncannily.

Zimon gave him a look of oh-not-again. Crevol threw his arms in the air and said, “Well ofcourse! Why should I be informed everything?”

“Crypus, if we wake any longer we might just faint away. Marco is already sleeping.”

“Yes... ya’ need rest. I am sorry.”, Crevol said.

“Just a few words with Olgreg. May I?”, Zimon said and looked at Marvelo.

“Oh, yes, Allow me your majesty-”, Marvelo bowed to Olgreg. Crevol also got up cursing his back. Marco was anxious to see his bed when Zimon said, “Not you Marco...”

Marvelo gave back an angry stare at Marco as he and Crevol quietly walked out the room.

“Olgreg, this is Marco.”, Zimon said calmly.

“Oh, yes, I remember his introduction.”, Olgreg smiled.

“Yes. But that was just a partial introduction. Marco, remove your arm shield, will you?”

Marco stared at his king’s eyes blankly and realized the next moment is going to be awkward. Zimon nodded to him gently assuring everything is going to be fine. Marco removed the war suite from his right lower arm and exposed the sign on it. The expression remarkably manipulated on Olgreg’s wrinkled face. The eyes narrowed with confusion. His instincts played with his thoughts.

“He’s an Iras-“, Olgreg paused and slowly turned his face to Zimon with a fear clearly visible, “Don’t you tell me that...”

“- he is your nephew.”, Zimon interrupted the wild whisper of Olgreg.

Olgreg jumped up like a monster leaping for its prey.

“I am Marco Hymes, son of Troswood Hymes...”, Marco said courageously, standing up facing Olgreg.

“How can you bring him in here without my consent?”, Olgreg blurted.

“I did ask for your permission, Olgreg.”, Zimon gave an unwilling smile.

“Is this some kind of practical joke?”, Olgreg said, his temper rising.

“Just calm down, my friend.”, Zimon said raising his palm.

“You said you would never bring him back.”

“The deal was made on his father’s return, not him Olgreg, or I would have never broken a vow.”

“One and the same thing!”, Olgreg said and glared at Marco, “I don’t want his blood...”

“You have the same blood running in your veins, Olgreg!”, Zimon cut him off abruptly, “What are you blaming him for?”

Olgreg was not listening to Zimon, “What have you come back for? You want the throne? Don’t you?”, Olgreg said fiercely.

“He has no greed for wealth nor fame, nor did he come here on his own will.”, Zimon said, “Perhaps, he will rule Legendia instead.”

Olgreg was double taken aback. He looked at Marco’s calm and tired but determined face, and then back at Zimon, “You made him your successor?”

“Indeed!”

Olgreg looked puzzled. He turned his back on them, frustrated with the situation and said, “What will people say when his identity will be revealed?”

“...that a hero has returned. That the son of a forgotten magician, a king, has returned, not to claim the throne but to fight the devilry that rules the pure land of nature.”, Zimon answered as he stroke his beard gently.

“And my people hate to hear of that magician.”

“For making a mistake?”, it was Marco this time, waiting to spit the words out, “Men do commit mistakes often.”

Olgreg gave another surly look at Marco and said, “But such big mistakes are not bound to happen from such idolizing personalities.”

Zimon decided not to interfere in the duo’s debate.

“He confessed and repented for the rest of his life!”, Marco said.

“It was too late. He met the Dark Lord. Infact, he tried some of his dark sorcery. I was so ashamed to hear that my very own brother-”

“You must have given him a chance to refute himself!”, Marco tried to stay calm, “If he had evil in his heart, he would have denied to give up the throne and this city. Ego is the greatest evil which he never had. It is you...”

“-MARCO!”, Zimon yelled as Marco went too far. Turning to Olgreg, Zimon said, “Past is past, Olgreg. Why do you resent on the bitter memories?”

“You better not speak to me! You have violated my trusts.”, Olgreg condemned.

Before Zimon could explain, Marco said, “I will not stand as the cause for hatred in your friendship, but I must say,”, turning to Olgreg, “that I surely dreamt of having a compromise with you as I do not deny that what my father did was wrong.”

“I deny accepting you under any circumstances.”, Olgreg snapped.

“Wait Olgreg!”

It was Lady Feira. She was descending down the spiral stairs, “I knew it was him... the same eyes...”

“Feira! You know what you speak of?”, Olgreg bawled.

“Very sure about it.”, she smiled.

Marco’s inner feelings smiled back at her grace.

“A complete replica of his father, isn’t he?”, Feira beamed.

“Hmph!”, Olgreg shrugged.

“Olgreg,”, Feira turned to him, “It’s been ages. I haven’t seen them... And... and Eulbethra? How is she? How is Eulbethra?”

“She’s very much fine, by grace.”, Zimon quickly answered, “Like-wise, by the appearance of every day light, she hopes to meet you.”

“Olgreg,”, Feira looked at Olgreg, “it’s enough. You can’t ignore them.”

Olgreg merely snubbed away.

“Stop this malevolence of yours!”, Feira spluttered.

“I’m not harming anybody!”, Olgreg blustered.

“It’s more than just harming that you’ve done to them.”, Feira yelled and ran back up the stairs.

Zimon let out a deep sigh. The scrawny old man did not turn to face Marco & Zimon.

“Meet you in the night, Olgreg. I...”, Zimon waited for Olgreg to turn but he didn’t, “...have no intension to create violence between us. I won’t instigate this topic again if you don’t want to.”

A cranky silence took a toll in the dining hall.

“Hamidh!”, Olgreg finally called out.

A guard came running in, “Me’y Lord?”

“Show the king his room... and the other one to the barracks.”, Olgreg gently said.

“Thank you.”, Marco said heartily. He was too grateful to put an end to this day, no matter if it ended in barracks.

Zimon and Marco walked out of the dining hall. The beautiful tiny figurines gave lurid golden and violet colours. Marco gave one more look at the huge family portrait. This time he spotted Olgreg with the kind hearted Lady Feira.

“Hamidh, mumkin istanni barrah.”, Zimon said to the guard.

“Na’am.”, Hamidh bowed and left the two alone.

“Marco,”, Zimon said, “you must act prudent from here on. Create an impression on your man. The advantage here is that Lady Feira is already on your side.”

“My mother’s name is Eulbethra?”, Marco asked.

“Well I was discussing something else,”, Zimon shook his head, “Anyway, yes that’s her real name. She was well known across the world, as Eulbethra, the glowing diamond it means in Irasian tongue.”

Marco nodded quietly.

“So, the ...”, Marco paused to put it in the right way while Zimon waited patiently, “the sign on my arm... is it on every member of the family? Or..?”

“As per Irasian custom, when a prince is born, he is given this mark. This is done by hot forged steel shaped in the form of mark. The prince becomes king and gives birth to sons. The sons get the mark and so on so forth. When you were born, your mother wanted me to convince Olgreg to let her imprint the royal mark on your arm so the legacy would continue... as you see, Olgreg has no child. He agreed without much pursuance anyway.

“Now it is time to rest. My pain has no boundaries today. The sorrow has struck me deep in the heart. Now fly to your nest.”

Marco felt the pain too. He actually blamed himself for this situation as it was his idea after all to let the two thousand men go separate ways.

“My lord?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks...”

“For what?”

“For supporting me... for everything.”

Zimon smiled.

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

The noon hour had passed with the emerging of a peaceful evening. Marco walked out of the gates. He was the only one wearing the war suit. He kept on asking the passer’s by for the location of barracks. Limping with a sore headache, he reached one of the hundred barracks in the place called Jeesh Madinah meaning Army Town. The training was a fairly larger one, almost in par with that of Legendia. He could spot the dust eruption far into the fields realizing the late hour training of the Irasian army.

“In there!”, a soldier pointed towards the door of barrack number 204.

Marco nodded in acknowledgement and walked into the barrack. “Aahh!”, Marco moaned as he climbed the stairs into the dark room. The candles had been lit off. The wooden beds cranked as one of the Legendians shifted his sleep, mumbling frantically in his dream. Marco saw peter at the far end, sleeping peacefully. Marco took off his dress and examined his right arm, in a dusty mirror. The pain was gone but the scar of the cut was clearly visible and quite astringent. He put on the clean robe kept on an empty bed nearby and crashed on the hay bedded bed. Everything went dark in no time.

His hair was tangled to each other. His beard was carelessly spread across his chest. Zimon woke up in the silky night robes and gazed through the palace windows. Dawn had welcomed him. But it was fairly dark yet. He put on warm socks and wrapped a muffler around his neck. A huge fog was formed all over the city. The temperature was ice cold. With a cowl on his head, Zimon grabbed his staff quietly, brushed his beard and set out of the palace. The guards were sleeping on the gates. Zimon knew where the king’s horse stable was, located in the vicinity of the guards close to the walled fence of the palace. The stable keeper was sleeping on hay placed neatly besides the stable, shivering under his blanket. A lantern glowed on his side. Zimon hit him with his staff gently.

“Uhh, Huhh!!”, the keeper jolted up, eyes wide open, “What? What happened?”

“Marlin’s horse... where is it?”, Zimon whispered.

“Oh .. oh.. Lord Zimon. It’s you.”, the keeper said still shivering, “F..follow me your majesty.”

They passed by many horses lined up under one roof, separated by wooden fence. The two reached a nicely built house like inner stable. It had a door with a lock on it.

“Oh..oh.. vain al-muftah.”, the keeper said to himself, putting his hands in the pocket and producing a bunch of keys.

“Excuse..”, Zimon pushed him aside and with a blink of an eye, the lock opened up. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“You may go back to your sleep. Sorry to disturb you.”, Zimon said, smoke exhaling from his mouth.

“No, no.. my lord. My duty, it is. Thank you.”, he bowed and walked back, “brrr..”

Zimon walked and waived his hand in the air. All the dust and hay on the floor moved aside to the wall. The brown horse stood near the window side with half open eyes.

“How are you, dear?”, Zimon placed his hand on the horse’s head right in front of the eyes.

The horse went into a trance. The horse let out a low neigh.

“Weak, eh?.. I see..”, Zimon spoke, his eyes closed.

“How did you make it? Tell me..”, Zimon whispered. The staff in the other hand emitted a faint blue light on the apex. The horse seemed to restrain itself from a force and was moving to and fro restlessly. He gave a louder neigh this time.

Zimon opened his eyes wide and stared at the horse unblinkingly. He removed his hand from the horse. A wide smile spread across his face and shook his head, “I can’t believe it. Poor thing! You drank it all?” He shook his head again, smirking and walked away.

“Wake up! Wake up Marco! You alright? Wake up... C’mon!”

Putting all his effort, Marco managed to open his left eye, “Whaz iz it?” Whaz happen? I’m sleep.. uhh!”, he yawned stretching his arms.

“It’s too long now... wake up. I need to talk to you.”, Peter said shaking Marco in the bed.

“Long? It’s so early in the morning!”, Marco almost whispered, eyes still closed.

“Marco! You’ve slept for two whole nights!”, Peter blurted.

Marco stretched his eyes wide open, “Two nights?”. He suddenly sat up and the blood rush caused his head to spin. “Man... I was so tired.”, he moaned.

“Yeah it’s alright. I woke up last morning itself. I mean all of us except you.”, Peter said.

“And... you were saying?”

“Oh yeah.”, Peter knelt down besides Marco, “Marlin’s fine now and fully conscious. And you won’t believe, Lord Zimon has arranged the meeting with him in the huge public hall, where everyone can see and hear what they will discuss.”

“The king will speak to him in the open?”, Marco asked, amazed.

“Oh yes. Anybody interested can watch the scene!”

“But why? Why would he do that?”

Peter shrugged, “Maybe he wants to honour his heroic survival.”

“When does it start?”

“Just about now.”

“What?”, Marco jumped out of the bed. “Ahh... my back... So we must hurry up now. Wait... where can I get something to eat?”. Marco’s stomach growled.

Peter chuckled and pointed out the window, “Follow me.”

Marco followed him to the door and Peter turned and shouted in Marco’s ears, “Marco!”

“What??!!”, Marco replied agitated, covering his ears.

“What are you doing?”

“Er... following you out?”, Marco said, confused.

Peter folded his arms, “Well... shall I take the privilege to help you put on your pants then?”

Marco saw that somehow during his sleep, the pant slipped off his waist as it was not of his size. Marco said sheepishly, “Umm... Excuse me, will you..”

Peter and Marco soon grabbed a table and filled their bowls with hot milk. Albert and Yoyo waved at Marco from a distant table. Marco greeted back and dived into his bread hungrily.

“Marvelo was acting a bit weird yesterday.”, Peter narrated.

“You met him? Like what?”, Marco asked grabbing an apple.

“I mean, he called us for a meet yesterday. So I asked if I need to wake you up.”

“And-?”

“He was a bit aggressive or I must say sort of rude when I took your name. He gave out asking me to concentrate on my work and to let you go to hell... if he still sleeps carelessly,”, Peter mimicked Marvelo in a growling manner, “... and he walked away.”

“Yeah, not surprised.”, Marco said, “Actually I sensed his jealousness when Zimon asked everyone to leave except me while chatting to Olgreg.”

Peter whistled back, “Speaking of Olgreg, what’s the story lad?”, he gave Marco a nudge, “How was the homecoming? The Unsung hero from the past, the true heir of the throne, the nephew back from the dead...”

Marco shoved the remaining chunk of apple into Peter’s mouth, “Will you cut it out already? It didn’t go so well. I’ll explain you later.”

Marco finished the second bowl of porridge as a bunch of Irasian soldiers jogged hastily past them.

“So shall we head for it?”, Marco said and gulped down the water hastily.

“Morning sir.”, it was Albert, “Are you heading to the Public Hall? I and Yoyo are heading there right now.”

“Yeah, we too.”

Peter and Marco joined Abert and Yoyo, accompanied by three other soldiers. Marco looked at the three faces. One of them with a young face said, “I’m Debril, Sire. General Marvelo’s front line soldier.”

“And, I’m Jack, your batch sire.”, the fat man besides him said.

“And I’m Reiford, sir. From the marksmen.”, the third one said.

“I see... never met you all personally.”, Marco said.

They passed a cattle farm. Sweet fragrance attacked their nostrils again. Abundant greenery hit their way.

“Isn’t Irasy beautiful?”, Peter asked.

“Sure it is.”, Reiford replied while Marco merely smiled at his motherland’s beauty.

They walked in silence while they passed by a few children playing by the street corner. The children were playing with grim faces, noiselessly and lost in their own thoughts.

“Never dreamt that life would witness such dreadful moments.”, Yoyo murmured sadly.

Peter sighed, while Marco chuckled and without looking at Yoyo said, “This is just the beginning,”

“Simon was my best friend.”, murmured Jack in anguish. Marco turned to look at Jack whose eyes were lowered on the ground. Marco took a deep breath and gave an unwilling encouragement, “Everything’s going to turn out fine in the end. Have faiths my lads, have faith.”

A huge crowd of men and women came into sight as they descended the city lanes. A large queue lined up in three rows to enter the public hall. The public hall was incredibly huge, fairly square in structure and profoundly huge. The hall was built out of red bricks and painted with lime mortar. A tower shot up from the front, at the middle of the front wall, right where the main entrance was situated. The tower was capped by a pyramid shape, on top of which laid a crescent mooned steel object.

“Man! What a turn out!”, Peter exclaimed.

They managed to squeeze in the hall. Marco realized the ground floor was full so he and rest of his company hurried up to the first floor, just in time to find a space for six to stand in on the front-left corner. They could view the possibly long rectangular stage at the far end of the hall, which was veiled by huge velvet curtains. Peter elbowed Marco to point Marvelo standing not far from them. Marco saw the thin man. His scar on the right cheek glowed as he turned to glare with disgust at the men pushing him to and fro.

“Such a chaos just for...”

Marco’s sentence was interrupted by the lifting of the curtains on the stage. A dull green coloured light brightened the stage from the sides. The silence broke off into roars and applauds as William Zimon made an entry into the stage. Peter blankly stared at Marco. Zimon cleared his voice to speak. Zimon had enchanted the stage with voice enhancer spell, which basically helped the voice to echo into the whole hall.

“And what a delight it is to see all of you assembled for this grand arrangement. Without wasting much of your time, I would like to remind you that we assemble here to here the tragic and heroic story behind Marlin Will’s survival.”, Zimon said. He had an uncanny smile across his face.

“No wonder,”, he continued, “grief and sorrows took a toll on us when his men did not turn up for our rescue. I grieve not for our defeat but for those who had to sacrifice themselves for the sake of goodness and Legendia. But we shall never lose. The Dark Lord will be destroyed and that’s a promise!”

His words were replied by gentle claps.

“Now I would like the welcome the man himself, our hero,”, Zimon pointed his staff to his right, “Marlin Wills!”

Silence took another toll on the audience. A ghostly sound was heard, that emerged from the open doors of the hall, as the crowd quieted down. The bearded man with anxious eyes, limped across the stage towards Zimon.

“He’s injured..”, Peter said in an undertone.

The Legendian men broke into applause and cheered for the first General. Marlin was wearing a grey army suit, the uniform that higher officials in an army wear. His head was wrapped around with a blood stained white cloth. A sword hung in the scabbard attached to his waist belt. His eyes met the king’s eyes. Marlin still looked very dull and tired, as if his soul has been sucked away. It seemed that Marlin was unable to maintain his balance on one foot.

“Have a seat Marlin.”, Zimon noticed.

The crowd silenced again. The duo sat down facing each other, with their sides facing the crowd.

“Marlin,”, Zimon’s voice echoed, “You have not yet recovered completely, but forgive me, I am running out of time.”

“Oh no, my lord... no... it’s alright.”, Marlin’s voice trembled as he spoke.

“Marlin! We all want to know about your tragedy. I gathered this whole crowd so they can hear it from your own mouth. Most of us present here today, lost their brothers and friends and protectors. They deserve to be told their heroic story. We all want to know how a hero saved himself from the fierce foe who killed every single Legendian, yet failed to kill one!”, Zimon’s voice echoed with the most curious inflection!

The audience maintained a pin drop silence.

“When I departed from Legendia..”, Marlin started, “I found all my roads and paths were very clear. I did not care of my health or of my sleep. I just made sure that I reach Gobbut and Engeria’s common border in no time.

And I reached there on the ninth morning.”

“And do you know that it is almost impossible to reach Engeria in nine days?”, Zimon asked without a flinch.

“Very much aware of it, my lord... I took a short route from the jungles of Lake Palm.”

Zimon nodded and waited.

“I was somewhere in between Ham and Lake Palm on the sixth day,”, Marlin continued, “I had tied myself to the back of my horse in case I fainted. But we both did a good job as I found my horse heading straight to Engeria without much trouble.”

“How can a horse run for days and nights without rest?”, Zimon asked. His way of asking was quite resentful. Zimon’s behaviour shocked the audience.

“My lord, the horse was allowed to take a nap three times a day, but very short ones. In those three times he was allowed a subtle amount of food and this continued till the ninth day when I found an abandoned hut to take a long nap. I just crashed on the ground and slept. But... but...”

“What?”, Zimon asked fervently.

“But I opened my eyes only to see myself sitting in front of Makhone!”, Marlin spluttered.

“You met the king of Engeria?”, Zimon asked.

“Yes, his men picked me up from the hut along with my horse to Engeria. They told me that the hut was actually a secret place used by their city’s spies and informers. It was the tenth day.”, Marlin said, pausing to expect a reaction, but continued when Zimon did not respond, “I told Makhone that I was a trader from Prussia and was returning back home. But they had already inspected by belongings and there wasn’t much room left for lies. The king certainly did not believe me, but he let me go. Less did I know that he had left watchful eyes on me. I checked my pocket, only to find out the stone had already broken into pieces. It must have happened when they were carrying me when I passed out. I knew instantly, that you must have set out with your army. In the time that I had in hands, I tried my best to know if Engeria and Gobbut are participating in the war. I visited the barracks and met their senior Generals. I managed to enquire about their future plans and actions reasoned by any intrusion of my trading. They said they had been off training since the past year as the city was low on revenues and their taxes were raised as a result. I carefully observed them and found out that it was true. Not a single soldier practised on the field. As Engeria was the head of the empire, I didn’t deem it to be important that Gobbut be checked as the emperor was still the same.

“I returned back to Irasy on the fifteenth day. Regaining all my strength, I was all ready again as soon as I met Simon Scorpio here.”, Marlin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “It was all a trap my lord... I forgot one important detail. My sword bore the name of Legendia on it. It was inscribed in tiny letters but never crossed my mind as I was always used to this detail. They must have found out my identity. We were all so glad and happy. Just then-

“A dreadful incursion took place. We were attacked from all the sides right on the reigns of Gobbut.”, Marlin’s voice was raising with every word, his narration supported by heavy gestures of hands and expressions, “Someone hit hard on the back my head.”, he turned around to show his skull’s rear to the crowd, wrapped by a huge white cloth stained in blood. “I could barely see anything but I heard the shrieks of my men as they were bought down. We didn’t even have the time to get hold of our weapons. We were outnumbered. All the bodies were ruthlessly mangled. Makhone ordered to spare my life so that he can play with my emotions. He laughed and mocked at me and sent me back unconscious on my horse to Irasy, so that I would tell the story of our defeat.”

Marlin started weeping profusely, “Blimey hell!! Why? Why did I live? Had I been killed right on the spot... I just couldn’t bear the loss of my people. All because of me... I’m so sorry.”, he addressed desperately to the crowd, lowering his head down. He wept bitterly and harder.

Zimon kept stroking his beard gently. Everyone waited. Peter and Marco sensed uneasiness in the air. Slowly, Zimon stood up and starting clapping his hands, harder each time, with a smile on his face. He blurted, “And I declare Marlin Wills as the best cooked up story teller ever.”

The crowd gasped and before Marlin could react, Zimon swung his staff fiercely and hit Marlin right on his cheek bone knocking him off the chair.

Marlin moaned in pain, “My lord... my lord... what have I...”

Zimon landed another blow on the injured leg and bellowed, “Dare you act naive after all this!”

While Marlin screamed in pain, the crowd stood up in horror. Women started to shriek.

“Have you forgotten Marlin, that this wizard can also speak to animals?”, Zimon shouted at the Commander lying helplessly on the floor.

Marlin screamed in dismay.

“You traitor!”, Zimon blurted in uncontrollable anger, “You betrayed us!”

Zimon pointed the staff to Marlin and moved it gently to the chair. Marlin gently floated up back onto the chair.

“Give me a chance... my lord.”, Marlin whispered as he shivered, “Let me explain.”

Zimon looked down and turned towards the awestruck crowd. He slowly picked up his head, “This man has betrayed us and is responsible for the death of all his men.”

Zimon furiously turned to Marlin, “The bottle that fell from your pocket on the day you were leaving Legendia, was not beer. It was the wake potion! And you stole it from me!”

Zimon took a deep breath and calmed down before saying, “Now speak the truth or else...I know other ways to...”

“Yes my lord, yes... I will... I will speak the truth...”, Marlin breathed heavily.

“I...I had the wake potion,”, he whimpered, “I took it from your bag you gave to me when we were fighting our last battle against the south west empires. I needed it to succeed in my plan.”

Marco felt a terrible weakness in his knees and he knelt on the ground with a thud, witnessing the scene from within the railings, eyes unblinking and grieved. Peter quickly knelt beside Marco and embraced him by the shoulder.

Zimon frowned, “What plan?”

“Two months before our last battle, I was asked to visit Sooryu under your order. I met a man called Qwazim there. He filled me with greed for wealth and power. He told me he would introduce me to Dark Lord. At first I didn’t believe that there would exist one, after all this time.

“I agreed out of curiosity and ignorance. When I met the Dark Lord... He was mighty. He had fearful eyes. I was under a trance. I thought that you never made my life as luxurious as I deserved. My strength was limited too. I wanted more power through wealth and my own kingdom.”, Marlin paused as he weeped bitterly, “Yes, my lord. I wanted your throne too... which the Dark Lord promised me. I used to provide him all the information of our plans. He would give me a hundred gold coins each time... I was bathing in money in no time. I had lost it... succumbed to money and power.

“When you asked one of us to check the cities of Gobbut & Engeria, I made sure it was none other than me. They were already with the Dark Lord, which I had always known. He promised me that he will share a respectable amount of Legendia’s treasure, if I succeed in failing any of your plans, which in our case was attacking his army from behind.”, Marlin was sweating all over the face amidst the blood trickling down his cheeks.

“I used the wake potion and also gave it to my horse and we rode continuously for six days. We halted just to eat and drink. I reached Engeria on the eighth day. There I kept my horse. A messenger awaited for me there as discussed by the Dark Lord and me in the last meeting. The messenger took me to Dark Dume. I gave the Dark Lord the tidings of our plans. The messenger flew me back to the reigns of Engeria on the next day and I set out for Irasy. On my way to Irasy, when the tenth morning came, I broke the twin stone as per the Dark Lord’s orders. I then reached Irasy on the fifteenth day. The wake potion had finished by that time and I fainted here for two days, its affect being adverse on the body... so did my horse. We...”, Marlin’s voice and body was trembling vigorously by now, “We all left for the ... when Simon arrived I mean... we all left for Engeria. I rode behind the whole army while I gave the leadership to Simon, feeling weak being my excuse. When we were passing through the city outskirts, and hidden by the tall grasses of the field, I slipped away without anyone noticing. And I joined the army of Makhone, who were hiding all around the trap. The trap was the tall grass itself. When they were sure that I reached into the safe hands, they... they attacked our men from all the sides.”

There was a painful silence in the hall. No one twitched a muscle. “They all died...”, Marlin wept bitterly, “I broke my leg on my will... asked them to hit my head with a rod too... and pretended to be fainted on my horse on reaching Irasy.”

Marlin knelt down to Zimon whose eyes were red as blood. “Master, a terrible mistake. I made a huge mistake. I know I can’t be forgiven.” Suddenly Marlin screamed in horror, “KILL ME, MY LORD, I DON’T DESERVE TO LIVE!”

“Kill that filthy monster Zimon!”, it was Olgreg whom Marco and Peter did not notice before. Olgreg was climbing up the stage when Crevol reached and calmed him and stopped him from going onto the stage. The crowd erupted in anger and started throwing their stuff at Marlin. Marco was already in tears.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”, angry voices echoed the hall with these repeated words.

Marco heard Marvelo growl as he punched the air with anger, “Kill the Traitor!”

“S I L E N C E !!!!”, Zimon exploded his lungs out. The crowd silenced at an instant.

“Marlin will live!”, Zimon answered to the crowd, “This is his punishment. He will regret for what he has done for all his life. He will curse every moment of his life. People will spit on his face every now and then. He will live and the souls of all the four thousand martyrs will haunt him forever, cursing his every breath. You, Marlin, will be a living corpse. A LIVE CORPSE!”

Zimon without looking at Marlin, turned and walked towards the backstage on his right. With a sudden jerk, Marlin leaped up and pulled out his sword from the scabbard and Peter shouted at the same time, “He’s attacking the king!”

Before any muscle could move, before anybody could react, before Zimon could turn around, Marlin stabbed the sword straight into his own throat tearing out the neck flesh and piercing out from the back of his neck. Marlin stood there with blood splashing all over the stage and the sword stuck in his throat. Marco closed his eyes in disbelief. The crowd howled with grief and Marlin fell down with a huge thud...

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