"Lysoskevos - you spoke of sons. Do none of them follow your path?"
Age makes way for youth. It is wise that the gods made us so. You must make your own way. It is not my realm now, it is Imperator Gnaeus Cornelius Papyrus realm. Were I not to pass, I would choose exile. Do not make it seem like there is choice. I will go upstairs to my chambers now. It has been an honour to meet you all. I am sure my own small tales will be mere footnotes to the fate you carve for yourselves. The caryatids will attend to your needs. I will see you in eight turns of the dial.
Gnaeus nods reverently to the aged Lysoskevevos
"I hope that I can live up to your standards, noble Lysoskevevos. Crassus, once Hrothgar returns to us and we can see to the invaders, who may I call to our banners?"
My sons did not come here with me. All of them fell in fine battle. Allow an old man some secrets. He smiles, and waves to the attendant caryatid. It serenely stoops to pick him up, like a mother with a toddler, and bears him upward, into the chambers above you.
The fauns are fine slingmen, but they live scattered. There are the giants. They are on our way to the woods. I am on good terms with the smartest of them. My first recommendation is that we go to the hidden court, and gain messengers with wings. By ancient oath and pact, the sprites will not alter as much as a syllable of a message entrusted to them, but they do not work for free. Silver coins will buy their service. When we tell them their woods will be next to burn, they will probably lend arms as well, but their ways are fickle.
In the halls of first forms, there are three stone men. They are terrible in war, but will not accept command. If we can but lure our foes to the halls, the stone guardians will fell many of them.
The centaurs are already in the fray, but I fear that ancient divides and rivalries may still keep Thereus from aiding his son and the rebel people. Noble Thereus committed me for treason, and sewed thus my lips, merely for speaking to his son. I sought to broker peace between them. The centaur is the greatest warrior in this land. We are the army of its defence.
Another option remains. Our dead may be risen to serve in battle. It is a final option, as it is a desecration.
I can think of no other allies we can reach in time to save our woods, and I know nothing of the lands in the far lee of the tower. The book on the table will tell you more than I can. I am the most travelled of all my kith, and there is yet much to the realm that I have not seen.
I have done you wrong. I doubted Thereus wisdom when he urged you here. I thought you a danger to the realm, and thought him a fool for trusting you. Now the maker has bequeathed his mantle to you, and I am ashamed.
We are a day and a half away from our foes. We need better intelligence. Perhaps I can go ahead, and see what I can find out. I can turn invisible a few times a day. If you give me leave, imperator.
"Crassus, do you think Thereus would listen to the Imperator? We must find a way to bring your people together to save this world."
Isat paces, thinking hard.
"The dead must rest. Raising them would be sin I won't willingly commit and I don't think my goddess would forgive. The winged fey are another story. You know us all Crassus. Who should negotiate with them? I think we have to pick the best among ourselves for each task - there isn't much time."
We are a day and a half away from our foes. We need better intelligence. Perhaps I can go ahead, and see what I can find out. I can turn invisible a few times a day. If you give me leave, imperator.
Paper nods
"As you will, master Stratos. I hearby name you my Master of Intellegence."
I will head back along the road then. I will leave while you grant Hrothgar his life again. First, I will be spending a bit of time in the library downstairs. He points to the book on the marble table.Imperator, you have homework. He gives a quick smile.
Crassus voice is returning. It is a confident, clear baritone.I must guide you all to the court of the fae, then to the glades held by Thereus. If you go alone, you may lose yourselves. One of the woods is quite deadly without a guide. Even centaurs know that if they stray further than a bow shot inside the unseelie knot, they are never seen again. Stratos may follow the road without incident, but we must go to places that are far from the road. When we approach the fae, take care not to stand on a stray sod, and not to heed any singing you hear. I don't need rest. I can go when you are ready.
Well lets get some sleep. It may be a while before we have the chance again. I hope I can apologise to Hrothgar for killing him. Do you think he will hold a grudge? You know him better than I do.
Rufinus stretches out on one of the couches. His feet dangle off the end. He scratches his belly, and yawns like a bear.
"Red knows about battle rage, Rufinus. I'd say that of all of us, he'd understand the best."
I hope so. Good sleep. This is too soft. He gets to his feet, then lays himself flat on the floor. In moments, he is asleep.
I'll be downstairs, glutting myself on scrolls.
Crassus removes his armour, twisting to reach the straps, and placing his gear close to the stairs. He readies himself to sleep standing up, then looks to Isat. When this fight is over, I will take you to our greatest healer. He will have much to show you. He studied under Chiron, who was first of healers.
In Persian
You are a day and a half from where you started, and the events you saw in the bowl happened as you got to the tower. Time has stood still for you, and you will all get sleep. As stated above, you cannot regain spells inside the tower, but you can rest. Isat and Stratos will have to learn spells outside the tower.
Lysoskevevos must be carried out of the tower, and must learn wish. It is the only arcane spell that can raise the dead. I am reverting to first edition Wish ages the caster.
The book you were given is perhaps best used as a reference work. You can ask questions, and I will give the answer if I think the book would have it. That way, each of our imaginations will cloak the realm in our own cloth, and the book will give concrete facts only when needed. If everything is spelled out explicitly, a lot of flavour would be lost.
Wow. another earthquake. I am shaking around like I am on board ship. Crack on the wall. Probably a five or six on Richter. A lot of tectonic instability here at the moment. Little quakes every couple of days. This was a big one.
Paper readies to assist in taking the aged wizard out of his tower to perform the resurrection
After a night where some slept fitfully, and other slept well, a sivery chime wakes you all. It is disorienting to be outside of time, but your internal clocks tell you that you have been unconscious for seven hours. Someone covered you with blankets during the night. All of your equipment is somehow new again. Only your weapons and armour still bear dents and scars, but the metal gleams. Your leather is oiled, and cleaned. Your clothes are crisp and new. Rufinus is looking confused at a clean linen shirt and leather trews on the corner of his freshly colurful poncho. The expensive clothes that Isat bought in such a hurry are now tailored and somehow finer.
Hrothgar is uncovered, and has been placed on a wooden bier. The bier drifts in the air by the stairs, with no visible support.
Three large wooden bathtubs steam where the couches were.
Lysoskevevos is cradled in the arms of a caryatid, and has a small silver chime in his arthritic hand.
I left the tower. I rested, and the gods in their mercy have granted me another day to perform my art. I am ready. Bathe yourselves completely. Wash from head to foot. The agencies I call to our side to perform the miracle of resurrection are proud. If you have left any piece of yourself unwashed, they will know. Take your time. When you are ready, I ask that all those who will give of their days take hold of the bier. If you will not give of your life to aid him, do not touch the bier, and do not touch the water.
Crassus is gone ahead. I had to give him a mission, or he would have tried to grant of his days. His pride would not have taken a refusal. Centaurs have some of the worst traits of men and horses. Stubbornness and pride among them.
Wash carefully, and decide now among yourselves how many of your years you will spare for your fallen. I warn you that the skein of his life may yet be short. Atropos has little sway here, but it may be that you give of your span, and he yet falls to the sword, or the pest. Be charitable, but not foolish.
Paper
"It is the nature of sorcery that I cannot regain my powers while inside the tower. I wish you to guard me while I meditate. Before I do, there is something I must tell you. This realm is part of a larger realm. It is a private domain, and it has its own laws. It is buried in the underworld. This is a pocket of Dis. The godling that made this place leased it from the infernal powers of that dark realm. Every seven years, the tower will turn red. When it does, you will need to ascend to the top of the tower, and cast yourself from it. You will die. It will be painful. Like Dionysus, you will rise from the dead after three days. It is up to you whether you tell your companions of this price. The infernal charter asked only for a sacrifice to please them. That the king is reborn by the land is a loophole in that charter. That is why I could not pass without finding a successor, for the powers would crush this realm, and drown it in fire and pain if the payment is not made. If you are outside the realm when the time is due, the scepter I gave you will bleed. You will have little more than a week to return. Throw yourself from the tower, and you will die and be reborn. There is a prize to this. Once you have bled for the land, you will not age as quicly here. A passage of seven years will be but a week to you. Your companions will not share this boon. You are young. You may yet live for millenia."
Finally.
Hrothgar:
Everything else is as it should be, except that you clearly saw the wrathwraith in the circle. You know that it is one of the first inhabitants of this place, and that it is an ambassador from some dark power.
One of the centaurs seemed to see you. He gave the sign to ward the evil eye, and seemed happy that you did not recoil from it. Your axe came with you, still in your hand, but you are naked otherwise. The blood price was paid. You died. that is why the others could lift the axe.
Welcome back.
That night, Isat dreams.
"Is it time for me to join you?" - a humble plea.
There is no answer, but he had not expected one. Her spirit runs so strongly in him that he already knew. He smiles.
"I knew lady, but was greedy for your company. How much may I give to bring Red life?"
The snakes wrap around him, and he opens his arms to them, offering himself freely to their piercing bite. Venom courses through him, sucking away life. Seven snakes. He nods.
She pulls him to her and whispers his name. And then his new name. He is content.
Isat wakes and bathes, cleansing himself of any impurity before answering Lysoskeveos.
"Seven years are granted."
I killed Hrothgar. I will give him five years. I would give more, but I am fifty years old. I cannot spare as much as a younger man. Where is Modius?
I thought you sent him somewhere. He left after Paper and Lysoskevevos last night. I thought they bade him come. He followed short after they went downstairs. He was quiet, but I thought he was trying not to wake you. Did Paper not summon him?
Maybe he went to help set up this ritual. His kit is gone. Or he went to scout out the enemy. He knew that Rafi. Did he tell anyone where he was going?
Perhaps he has had a sudden rash of piety, and is going to save his soul from further peril at the hands of all this Greek wisdom and knowledge.
As to Hrothgar. I appreciate that he may be a useful ally in battle, but the man is likely to meet a violent end. I will not give of my span of years to a man who squanders them for bawdy and pointless pursuits. I already have too short a time to learn all that is left, and one philosopher is worth a hundred men at arms.
What?
"A man at arms may keep the philosopher alive to think."
Beyond that, Isat says nothing to persuade Stratos to reconsider his choice. The matter is to great for anything other than the most personal decision.
Paper reflects on what the aged sorceror has told him about his stewardship. He decides to keep it to himself for the moment.
Turning now to the dying great one, Isat takes a hard professional look.
"Lysoskevevos, is there any way my skill can help you? Your body can be helped, to free you for the performance of the rite, I believe."
Paper keeps watch over Lysoskevevos
Isat examines Lysoskevevos carefully, but can see that there are two issues at play. Even if he were able to cure the cancer, the man is simply too old. He has reached the end of his life. His heart beats feebly, there is no strength in him. He continues solely by an act of will, and the sorcery of the magical tower.
As the only donors, Isat and Rufinus grasp the bier. It moves easily, drifting on nothing. A caryatid, the same one from yesterday, carries aged Lysoskevevos in its marble arms. He is dressed in fine white linen robes. Paper is carrying the staff of office.
Hrothgar is dressed, and unshrouded. His corpse is slightly bloated, and the pulp of his face is crusted and oozing. boughs of lavender have been placed on the bier as a matress, but there is a carnal odour despite them.
His axe is not on the bier with him.
With the bier ahead, the procession moves down the stairs and onto the black slab at the base of the tower. As the gravity strengthens, Lysoskevevos grunts in pain. He waves Isat on.
The slab slowly descends to the mountainside. you leave at the same time you arrived. No time has passed. The smoke of distant fires moves again, as if a painting has come to life.
As soon as you are off the slab, Lysoskevevos speaks.
Once this begins, it will happen inexorably. There is a chance that Hrothgar may be disoriented and confused by his ordeal. If he did not cross the Styx, he will remember all that has happened to him on the far side of death. He will need comfort, and understanding.
I trust you all to do what must be done to keep safe my legacy. Were my sons alive, they would not be better guardians than you. I see that the prophecy is fulfilled in my span, and that is as much as any man could ask.
The sorceror lifts his hands, and starts an intricate series of movements. Each seems to flow into the next like a dance. He speaks a stream of syllables. Each clear and distinct. His brow is furrowed.
A wind seems to whip from him, tugging at you fitfully, but it subsides as soon as it started.
Hrothgar abruptly sits up. His remaining eye opens, but there is no soul within. He cups his hands in front of him, palm up.
First Isat, then Rufinus cut themselves, and bleed a little into the cupped hands. Strangely, their wounds heal themselves after a few seconds.
At once, Isat's face takes on new lines. Around his eyes, a slight dark ring forms, and his brow wrinkles. He ages seven years in as many seconds.
Rufinus calls out in sudden pain, as his arthritis takes on new dimensions. He sags a half inch, as he ages five years. Some of his hair drifts to the ground, and what is left is now uniformly grey.
Hrothgar is not wounded. He looks as he did a moment before the fateful accident. He gives one sudden gasp, and stumbles forward from the bier, eyes wide.
A rattle comes from the throat of the old mage, He gasps and is suddenly still.
Hrothgar is among you again.
"Red."
Isat's smile tells its own story. "You're back. Stay still a moment, I need to look at you."
After doing what he can for Hrothgar, he turns his attention to Lysoskevesos. Knowing that there's nothing he can do to help the ancient wise one, his profession and inclination still demand that he help if he can. Among other things, Isat is stubborn.
Hrothgar simply needs to breathe and relax. Lysoskevevos has aged to death. The caryatid carries him to the vacant bier, and lays him upon it. Crassus is close by, and trots back toward you all.
"Red."
Isat's smile tells its own story. "You're back. Stay still a moment, I need to look at you."
After doing what he can for Hrothgar, he turns his attention to Lysoskevesos. Knowing that there's nothing he can do to help the ancient wise one, his profession and inclination still demand that he help if he can. Among other things, Isat is stubborn.
"By Odin! I live! Again!" Hrothgar exclaims, tears flowing from his eyes. "I'm back!"
Hrothgar inhales deeply.
"But the eternal battle... Valkyries... even now they fade from my mind's eye."
"Isat, what has happened?"
Hrothgar
Everything else is as it should be, except that you clearly saw the wrathwraith in the circle. You know that it is one of the first inhabitants of this place, and that it is an ambassador from some dark power.
One of the centaurs seemed to see you. He gave the sign to ward the evil eye, and seemed happy that you did not recoil from it. Your axe came with you, still in your hand, but you are naked otherwise. The blood price was paid. You died. that is why the others could lift the axe.
Welcome back.
"The axe... my axe."
"No longer does it scream for blood. The debt has been paid with my life."
"But to wield it again... I don't know."
"Isat, what has happened?"
"There are two versions. The long one needs a lot to drink and time to tell it. The short one is that we are the heirs of a mystic kingdom. The late ruler lies before you," Isat looks towards Lysoskevevos and then at Paper.
"The new Imperator is none other than Paper. It's traditional for a new reign to be accompanied by troubles and this is no exception. Our kingdom is under attack from old acquaintances. Rafi has found a way through. You are needed. Try not to die again. Is that enough to be going on with?"
He grins and hugs his old friend. "It's good to have you back Red. I can't tell you how good."
"Yes. Yes. It is good to have me back."
He grins.
"I do have that effect on people. It's an inherent ability, I think. Hehe. I can't help it."
Hrothgar stands and starts pacing unconcerned by his nakedness.
"Paper is a king? What is the world coming to?"
"Paper is a king? What is the world coming to?"
Paper grins back at his old friend
"It is good to see you pried from Cerberus' jaws friend Hrothgar. Or were you in the clutches of one of those yodeling fat women on winged horses you Germans are so fond of?"
He smiles even wider at Hrothgar
"And I am not a king. We Romans dislike the office, we tend to kill them. I am rather Imperator, in its ancient formal sense, not the modern-day Eastern potentate Emperor like we have in Constantinople . I am Leader of the Realm. But I will need a strong arm like yours at my side old friend."
"Get some clothes Red. Your manly beauty is imposing, but you'll need some kind of protection from the nettles."
He turns to Paper, "What are the appropriate rites for Lysoskevevos? We need to honour his passing."
Isat bows to the old man, lying in the caryatid's arms.
"Lysoskevevos, the mother surely holds you. Your last work is complete and by it, Hrothgar will surely help maintain your kingdom."
Here are your clothes.
I smote you in my madness. I am sorry. I don't know if you remember what happened. If you want vengeance, wait until the common foe is dead. I will not run.
"Lysoskevevos, the mother surely holds you. Your last work is complete and by it, Hrothgar will surely help maintain your kingdom."
Paper reaches into his pocket and removes two silver coins and places them on Lysoskevevos' eyes
"Rest well, noble wizard, your long watch is over. May Charon ferry you to Elysium, where you can sport with the heroes of the ancient days."
He looks to Crassus
"My first order as Imperator is to fashion a fitting tomb for Lysoskevevos' body. Then we shall deal with these scum from Constantinople."
The great one wished to be buried in a tree under a grove in one of the woods here. I hope it is on the way. We have little time to waste.
Barbarian. Your life was purchased dearly. Isat gave seven years of his life to you, and Rufinus gave five. Possibly half his span.
We have enemies at the gate. Swear your fealty to Paper. We all did so, and oaths are needed to keep peace. You spoke of the price to pay to your axe, well there is blood aplenty to whet its appetite. Rafi and some fat priest have marched an army into this place, and are killing our friends. This is the man who burned Paper's home to the ground, and tried to kill us.
Paper grins back at his old friend
"It is good to see you pried from Cerberus' jaws friend Hrothgar. Or were you in the clutches of one of those yodeling fat women on winged horses you Germans are so fond of?"
He smiles even wider at Hrothgar
"And I am not a king. We Romans dislike the office, we tend to kill them. I am rather Imperator, in its ancient formal sense, not the modern-day Eastern potentate Emperor like we have in Constantinople . I am Leader of the Realm. But I will need a strong arm like yours at my side old friend."
"King, Imperator, what's the difference?"
"So does this mean that you know have the keys to the harem?"
<Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, grin>
"Get some clothes Red. Your manly beauty is imposing, but you'll need some kind of protection from the nettles."
He turns to Paper, "What are the appropriate rites for Lysoskevevos? We need to honour his passing."
Isat bows to the old man, lying in the caryatid's arms.
"Lysoskevevos, the mother surely holds you. Your last work is complete and by it, Hrothgar will surely help maintain your kingdom."
"Oh, sure. Let's avoid females rioting."
<Starts to clothe himself>
"My life was a vain pursuit in knowledge and power for its own sake. Thank you for granting purpose that I did not know I lacked."
I will go directly to spy on our enemies. If I see Modius on the way, I will not confront him. I may be able to learn something that will sway the tide.
Stratos draws a few sigils and signs on his hands, then passes them over his body, as if he were wafting smoke toward himself. He vanishes from sight.
Don't worry. I can be quiet when I need to.
"I doubt the caryatids are your kind of woman, Red."
Isat performs the ancient rituals for the dead, annointing Lysoskevevos's body with a sweet smelling salve and arranging the corpse with dignity.
When he finishes, he bows to Paper and the caryatid. "Bear your old master to his final resting place. We will bury him and honour him by scouring this kingdom of foulness."
Turning back to Red - "A pity you never met him. He was ... astonishing ..."