Emperor of Legendia
William Zimon

Deep in the valley, surrounded by mountains on all sides, a cold breeze swept through Legendia. The main entrance was through a vast slot in the mountains made by the first Emperor of Legendia. And in that slot, stood a long sturdy fort, at the middle of which was a gate called THE GATEWAY OF LEGENDIA. The iron gates were forged by artificers of the highest calibre, so massive that no man could open. The only other entrance to the city was through the mighty River Keto on the far south of the city, which broke through the mountains descending into a waterfall; forming a lake on which a tiny society was built. The superfluities from this lake discharged through a stream into a dark cleft of a mountain on the east, and fell sharply from one precipice to another into darkness. Both the entrances were heavily guarded by watchful eyes. Lush jungles covered the sides of the mountains where wild and tamed animals wandered. Diverse flocks of birds habited in the jungles, where each flight of theirs added to the beauty of nature.

The Great Castle stood on an eminence, situated in the centre of the city. The castle was massive in size. A tall stone fence bordered around the perimeter in a square, with towers of guards at its four corners. Four majestic six storied circular towers supported the main structure. The main arched iron gates greeted shortly into a second cavernous archway, whose oaken doors would swing open with clanging of heavy iron bars. This followed into a courtyard eighty yards in length and fifty in breadth. Grass lawns and exotic flower beds surrounded the castle on all four sides. The entrance to the Great Hall of the castle initiated by a pair of six pillars of rocks on whose entrance stood two huge golden horse statues; their front legs high up in the air. These two golden horses were the sigil of Legendia. The pillared entrance was floored by exquisite polished white marbles.

It was a city of ancient legends. No other city has ever defeated Legendia. The sole reason for such a strength lies beneath the Great Castle; a treasure. There are several myths that speak about the entrance to the treasure’s location. But none other than the king of the castle holds the knowledge to it. It has been told that the knowledge is passed to the king’s successor when the king is at verge of his death. The treasure does not only consist of gold, silver or diamonds. It is much powerful than that; much intimidating, such that it attracts the rest of the world towards it. This has been the only reason for which they try to wage wars with Legendia. But all their attempts to invade Legendia are in vain, for the treasure is used in the war. The treasure contains powerful weapons, magic potions and hidden magical secrets that dominate every war the Legendians fought. Their victory has one more secret; their king.

The king of Legendia, William Zimon known as the strongest emperor of all times has never lost a war under his rule. He has no greed whatsoever to capture other empires; rather he keeps his defence at utmost vigilance. Small cities like Hul and Elgenim, being weak and small, requested Zimon to take control of their cities, which the king did not deny. This assured their protection from the cities from the west which challenged battles against Legendia. The Southern Empire, Irasy is known to have good relations with Legendia and the second most powerful empire known to history, due to the well trained large army and powerful disciplined security measures.

However, the only other empire to fear from was Dark Dume, which yet has never attacked Legendia. Dark Dume has waited long for Legendia to fall or weaken from numerous battles, which never happened. But these matters were yet to bother the Legendians, for they were busy celebrating their victory against the south western cities. This was the fourteenth victory since Legendia was found, seventh since Zimon became the king. The celebration was held in the Great Hall of the Great Castle. Special designations were invited by the king to the Great Hall while rest of the people celebrated all over the city.

The king had a noticeable presence. He could be distinguished from other men even from a great distance. His broad shoulders looked strong on his almost six feet stature. He had a long white beard that touched his belly and silvery hair that rested regally upon his back. His wrinkled fair skin shone brightly. Underneath his white and thick brows, his keen eyes looked dull and tired, but his vision managed to radiate a youthful vigour. Donned in a silky maroon robe, not as exquisite as a king would usually dress, implying his down to earth persona, and yet he dazzled like a true royal figure. He had an aura around him, an aura of grace, intelligence and power which meant that he commanded respect from anyone who encountered him. Right across the king, was a long red table, occupied by three men suited up in blue army uniforms. Behind them were seated around a hundred men, direct invitees, their friends and relatives and their selected guests approved by the king’s council. The king was sitting on his throne. Every king has a throne, but seldom has any king claimed to possess a magical throne. This throne was called Blabber and in appearance it looked no different from an ordinary chair albeit for a polish that screamed perfect craftsmanship befitting none but a powerful monarch. Apart from being a magical throne of a very special king, Blabber was also the main entertainer on evenings such as this. The exciting chatter faded away when the wooden throne shouted, “O’ Ladies and Gentlemen! Please place your bottoms on your respective chairs, so that the king removes his bottom from my head and says a few words.” Zimon chuckled amidst the laughter outburst from the audience and lowered his head down to the wooden eyes of the throne and said, “Blabber, you need to practise a more descent speech next time.” He spoke with elegance; a polite voice carrying a surprising strength for an old, silver haired and wrinkled monarch. Zimon stood up now, smiling and delighted, “On this auspicious day of our lives, we assemble to celebrate the fourteenth victory of Legendia.” The crowd erupted in a roar of cheers and applause. “But before we begin our celebrations, let us not forget to honour the three commanders, who fought with passion and bravery; First and foremost, the First General, Marlin Wills!!”

Zimon pointed to a strong built man with a short brown beard and moustache. The crowd cheered heartily. “The Second General, Marvelo Roy!!”. The thin man with slanted nose and a scar on the right cheek turned to wave at the crowd. The crowd applauded back. “And lastly,”, Zimon let out a sigh of amusement while beaming at the crowd, “the Third General, our young lad with exceptional abilities, Marco Jules!!!”, the last two words coming out almost in a shout.

Zimon amusingly pointed to the young man of twenty four, handsome and elegant; his silky black hair neatly combed sideways. His light brown eyes lightened up with happiness and he grinned to himself. Tall with a lean fit body and a nice light tan on the skin made him a perfect bachelor in the town. But this time, the crowd did not respond the same way like they did for the others. Only three or four claps could be heard faintly. It did not embarrass Marco; he was used to it. He was not from Legendia. He was certainly born in Legendia, but his parents were from another city, who were given refuge in Legendia. But what really bothered the people was that Marco was given a post in the army and there uneasiness did not end there because he was honoured as a Third General, the third highest rank in the army. Marco checked his lower arm of his right hand. There was a mark on it, engraved deep into the skin; a burnt mark having a mesh of five intersecting circles forming into a large circle. He was told that it was a birth mark, which he never believed. It was Zimon’s grace that no one stood up against him.

Zimon continued, “And I have the utmost relief in announcing that once again we have returned with no casualties at all.” Another roar of applause and amused screams followed. “Now I shall let you all enjoy your feast!”. With that ending note, Zimon clapped his hand once and hard. The ceiling of the Great Hall parted from the middle and a hundred plates darted down in a circling fashion. The plates were filled with meat and rice and puddings and breads and fruits. Glasses of fresh juices and special potions followed the plates flying down perfectly in to the hands of the audience. The excited audience let out gasps of amazement as the plates and glasses landed in their grasps.

An old bent man approached the king. Zimon beamed at him, “Ahh! What do we have here? My old rascal... Crypus Crevol.”

“Ya’ always have something up your sleeve to amuse your spectators!”,Crevol said pointing to the flying plates and glasses.

“Some magic isn’t it?”, Zimon said nodding and raising his brows. Crevol laughed and Zimon conjured a chair from the thin hair. As Crevol sat down on his newly appeared chair he asked, “How long did it take for ya’ to prepare all this?”

“Oh it’s just a piece of cake.”, Zimon smirked.

“Yes, sure! I buy that, my friend!”,Crevol laughed.

But Crevol knew that Zimon had to stay awake the whole night and perform every step over and over again for a huge number of plates and glasses to land in perfection. Crevol knew Zimon as if he was Zimon himself. When he would observe Zimon, his blue pupils would gleam under his thin grey brows. He would frown quite often, which befitted his appearance of having a crooked nose. He had no hair, was short, and had a thin jaw, with a chin so prominent and sparsely populated by white hair. He had narrow features in whole.

As they had just started to settle in, Marco walked up to the throne and said, “My lord, Mr. Crevol”, he nodded. Crevol nodded back. “My apologies my lord, I have to return. My mom is sick.”

“Oh my!”, Zimon straightened up, “I shall ask the healers to reach Nancy Jules for aid.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lord. You’re too kind but she just needs some rest.”

“If you say so, my lad. Send her my regards.”

“I will.”, Marco bowed down gently, “I adore your show you put up there with the feast.”, he smiled and turned away.

As he walked away, Blabber squeaked. “What is it?”, Zimon asked.

“The boy looks up to you, you know.”, Blabber said.

“Well you have a keen observation Blabber.”

“May I ask you something William?”

“Yes Blabber”

“Why do you have a soft corner for the lad?”

Zimon gazed at Marco as he disappeared, “Some questions need to be answered when it is time or it might unbalance the world.” He looked at the wooden eyes and smiled.

“That... was deep!”, Blabber chuckled.

Crevol said to Blabber, “Your old man has a lot of things in his tiny mind, ya’ know. A chamber of hell lotta secrets.”, he elbowed Zimon teasingly.

They were oldest friends the people could imagine; childhood friends. While Crevol used to live in a relatively poorer society of fishermen, called the Brimble Society, Zimon used to enjoy the luxuries of his royal castle. Although Zimon’s parents forbid him to wander in the Brimble Society, he was curious to know the other side of his father’s kingdom. He used to sneak out from his castle during his father, Alen, attending meetings. One day he stumbled upon a boy, bald and thin, near the lake. He was learning how to fish. Zimon never learned fishing. He was curious so he called out to the boy and asked if he can stay. The boy said he was delighted as he had no friends to stay with him and watch. Zimon was amazed at the techniques the boy used to narrow down the scope of swimming for the fishes by placing a heap of stones in a semi-circle, and the boy splashed his hand into the water and there it was; a struggling fish in his grasp. Zimon asked his name. “Crypus. What ya’ called?”, he asked. “William.”, he said. “Ya’ look rich to be here mate.”, the boy said. “Yes... I’m from the Castle.”, Zimon said. Till this day Zimon remembers the look on Crevol’s face at that moment.

Now Crevol is supposedly the wisest man in Legendia, a counsellor to Zimon, and a teacher of the Grand School.

“William,”,Crevol said in a bit serious tone, “the thirty years have been…”

“I can count.”, Zimon cut his speech abruptly.

“I was just reminding.”, Crevol sighed.

“I know.”, Zimon pressed the corners on his eyes and yawned. “I was wondering about it last night myself too.”

They were silent for a while. As soon as the people finished their feasts and they were on their feet, the tables and chairs, plates and glasses vanished except for Blabber and Crevol’s chair. A group of musicians entered from the corner door; some carried long thin wooden pipes called auros, some carried a stringed instrument called chelys and some had tambourine. All together they started playing themselves, music ringing throughout the Castle. Everyone was dancing merrily. Marlin Wills toppled over as he tried show off his moves to a group of fancy ladies. Kids mocked at him. “Off ya’ fellas! I’m gonna kill all of ya’!”, he grunted.

Beautiful petite orange and yellow birds emerged from the pockets of the men and filled the hall. “Spectacular!”, Crevol remarked as he gazed upon the art of magic.

While the birds sang in soft chirpings, Crevol leaned closer to Zimon and asked, “So no news of him yet, eh?”

“Not that I know of.”, Zimon replied, “But as he promised, he will probably turn up some day”, he took a deep breath, “I’m sure. But don’t worry. I will choose the best of my weapons from the treasure.”

“He is a master of devilry. Ya’ have to make haste”.

Crevol stared at Zimon for some reply but the king did not respond, “So then I ask for permission my dear friend. I prefer to sleep early. Night fellas.”

Zimon smiled, “Night Crypus.”

“Bye, Mr. Crevol.”, Blabber squeaked.

As Crevol disappeared, a man in blue robes with yellow stripes entered wearing a knee high boots and a black bandana covering his head. He was accompanied by two Legendian guards. He bowed to the king and raised his hand to give a scroll.

“Hail Lord William Zimon. I hearby come to the King of Legendia, to deliver the scroll from the Lord of Irasy, Olgreg Hymes.”

Zimon took it from him and motioned him to leave. The man bowed and turned away. The scroll was sealed in a sigil of a sword with some Irasian inscriptions on it.

Zimon opened it:

Honourable King of Legendia William Zimon,

I and my people wish for the success and strength of Legendia. May your kingdom be blessed with such victories forever. As you were concerned for Irasy, my city was not affected by the recent battle. I have been very busy with the strategy formations and preparations of the army for the past few days. And I’m forced to remind you of the promise made thirty years ago.

I have been working well on the possible outcomes in the coming days. My army men might be of no use unless they fight in concordance with yours. My sources confirm that the men of Dark Dume shall pass through the deserts of Salaha. It is advisable to engage in a battle with them in Salaha as there will be no civil casualties.

I have already arranged the arrival of your men in Irasy after the battle. If you have other plans, please let me know at the earliest. I seek for your reply soon. I shall try in my best to convey any news that I deem of importance. Till then, let’s hope for the best.

Blessings!

Olgreg Hymes

In Representation of the King of Irasy

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