One Hundred and One Salhinid Tales

[magical girl salhin]

LX

THE KING AND THE EMIR

Once upon a time, it is related that the emir of Bright Darisbis summoned his vizier one night and said unto him, "I desire to go down into the city and question the common folk concerning the conduct of those charged with its governance, and those of whom they complain we shall depose from office and those whom they commend we will promote." So they walked into Bright Daribis as is their wont and as they had done so often ere, and threading a narrow alley, they came upon an oracle with whom they spake. From the oracle was told a great woe and calamity, and a scourging of the city, but the emir was not inclined to heed it and banished the oracle forthwith.
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Then the scourging of Bright Darisbis charred the city and that which was mighty was brought low. And so the emir was greatly wroth and despairing, and gathering his vizier and his retinue and his soldiery he crossed the City and sought the King's Keep. Through ring after ring he walked, and a thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the emir and his men gained audience before the King.

Quoth the emir, "Justly have I governed, rightly have I led, the good have I commended and the ill I have deposed. Yet, by neither fault nor ill of mine was a star plucked from the firmaments and cast at my demesne. Why, oh King, why?"

Quoth the King, "When the leaves of a tree turn saffron, you would know that autumn nears; when the beasts of my making traverse the plains and the air turns crisp, winter's chill is portented; when a dog howls, Death stalks the night; when the birds flutter from the trees, a predator had leapt beneath the branches; when a gentle man's ire turns quiet, great will be his wroth and punishment; when envoys bring gifts behind sweet smile, the blade is not soon unsheathed; when a coin is stamped fresh, a liege seeks to replenish his treasuries. Know you not then the omens from the ends?"

Quoth the King, "Your evils and your woes may all be gleaned by you if you had only paid heed to the signs, and so why come you now to bedevil my halls with your plight? It is your duty and your charge to guard against the evils of my creation, not mine to husband and shepherd you this way and fro. Go now, and learn to heed your oracles and your seers, the learned ones who have warned you with wise counsel and tidings, as I will warn you of the turning of the age by the sparks of the hot flame. The imperfections and injustices you allege my making of are but reflections of your own imperfections. You may not have acted to bring about those evils, but your forbearance and failure to vouchsafe you and yours invited your woes."

It is said that there are three endings to this tale.

In the first, the emir wept over his folly, for if he had but heeded the portents of the learned he could have acted earlier to save more of the peoples of Bright Daribis. He returned to the charred ruins of his once-fair city, and did what he could to restore it, though his efforts were futile as the strange aberrations of the firmaments overran him and his soldiery.

In the second, the emir retorted that while he may have erred in having failed to heed the warning lent to him, it was still the making of the King that led to the calamity at all. He declared himself in rebellion against the King, and rallied his peoples towards an ambition of regicide, and so it was that over countless generations the City fractured piece by piece.

In the third, the emir embarked on a long pilgrimage to bring about a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.

[magical girl salhin]

Editor's Note: The tale of the Better Sword has been replaced by that of the Imambara, while the initial publication of A Hundred Battle has been replaced by the tale of the Better Sword. A Hundred Battle is therefore essentially 'republished' here, when the 'new' story is actually the Imambara. This is for organizational purposes, as this arc of Stratos is intended to canvas stories and parables relating to war and stratagem. The Imambara may be read here.

LXI

A HUNDRED BATTLES

It is said that after Emir Yamad Trieneos was appointed warmaster to command the hosts of Osman V al-Maribid against the Thousand Clans, he was asked how many battles he thought it would take before the holdfast of Bet Nappahi will fall. "It should take," the emir infamously replied, "about a hundred battles."

Afterwards, just before the emir met Silverknee at the Battle of the Banks, he consulted with the many oracles, astrologians, and seers amongst the Sultan's armies. He asked them if he would find victory or defeat, should he give battle at dawn. For long hours did the learned oracles debate his query, until the greatest of their seers looked the emir in his eyes and said, "Yes."

None cheered for the emir's glory after he broke the back of the Silverknee's hosts, and long before a hundred battles were fought, the Caliphate was gone entire.

[magical girl salhin]

LXII

NAMAHEDU'S FOLLY

During the War of Pearls, Maharaja Ravindra Namahedu had mustered the great fleet of the Caliphate of al-Nasr from Qadira-on-the-Sea to aid beleaguered Al-Nafayya from the assailing fleet of Il Modo. Many triremes accompanied her flagship of Ephia's Mercy, and the Maharaja, confident and bellicose, led her fleet deftly in a bid to board and capture the Modini fleet.

The Caliphate's fleet had little trouble in capturing the Modini galleys, but much to their surprise, the Maharaja found that he had been played for a fool - the galleys were manned only by a skeleton crew of strange, clockwork homunculi, who awkwardly teetered about and made a shambles of seamanship. Just as the alarmed Maharaja was about to order a frantic withdrawal, the true Modini fleet revealed itself, coming forth from a massive canvas shroud that rendered their galleys near-invisible to the eyes in the choppy waters of the Sea of Pearls.

From their galleys, the Modini launched barrels of flaming liquid high into the air from deck-bound catapults, unleashing armageddon upon the hapless Caliphate fleet. The cargo-holds of the bait galleys had also been filled with Dragonfire, and so the entire fleet was caught in a mighty conflagration, such that many Janissaries died in the smoldering chaos. It is said that the mysterious Dragonfire wielded by the Modini was capable of burning even atop the churning seas of the Sea of Pearls.

Only with the aid of the Caliphate's learned war-mages did the Maharaja manage to escape aboard Ephia's Mercy, with the flagship limping back as the fleet's sole survivor. The Maharaja himself, disgraced and humiliated for his utter incompetence, would be stripped of his rank and banished from the golden court.

Namahedu's Folly, as the tragic battle is sometimes referred to, has since been a black tarnish upon that lineage, such that amidst their hive of pirates and corsairs the only respect and legitimacy they could muster is from the edge of a cutlass.

[magical girl salhin]

LXIII

BURNING THE FERRIES AFTER CROSSING THE EDUTU

It is said that after Emir Yamad Trieneos had led the hosts of the Caliphate across the Edutu, he ordered that all the boats and ferries leading back to be burned, and that the army shall only carry with it provisions for three days.

Quoth the Emir thereafter, facing his men, "Retreat is no longer an option. Kalim and Gamil cannot reach you from across the Edutu. Ahead, through Silverknee and the Barbarians, you will win your lives back, or you will die. We have three days, men. Fight well."

During the Battle of the Banks, it is claimed that each Janissary fought with the strength of ten men and the determination of a dozen, though the Barbarians were so plentiful that they stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. By the time the battle had ended with the Caliphate triumphant, the Edutu was stained bloody for a full week, and so heaped were the corpses that they rivaled in height the walls of Qa'im.

[magical girl salhin]

LXIV

LURING TO THE NORTH WHILE STRIKING IN THE SOUTH

During the war against Iakmes of the Thousand Clans, the Barbarians once caused a great stir and alarm as if they had issued forth to assail one of the Sultanate's holdfast. Upon receiving reports of the Barbarian's movements, the nearest host of the Sultanate were conveyed from the citadel of Ephia's Well to vouchsafe the Sultan's realm.

Upon arriving at the site where the Janissaries were to give battle against the Barbarians, however, there was naught but shadows in the fog and a host of straw-dummies. Alarmed and with great concern, the host withdrew swiftly back to the citadel, only to find that agents of the Barbarian had seized its souks and palaces, and butchered many of the citadel's scribes and merchants.

The devious stratagem of the Barbarian to distract the citadel's host led to a hard-fought and vicious battle, as the streets of Ephia's Well ran red with the blood of its people. It was only after reinforcements from Baz'eel arrived in the form of its airships that the Barbarians and their agents were finally driven off.

[magical girl salhin]

LXV

AS LIPS TO ONE'S MOUTH

It is said that Kha'esh once sought to seize a pair of twin cities that resided at the edge of the emirate's realm. To the first were envoys sent, with many jewels and chests of glittering gold, and scrolls of magick profane alongside strange marvels. Tirelessly did the emirate assure the city of its goodwill, seeking of it nothing more than passage to besiege the second.

After hearing about the emirate's efforts, the second city sent an envoy to the first. Quoth the envoy, "Our cities are akin to the lips of a mouth, such that neither can endure without the other. A mouth without lips will be chilled and as cold as a corpse, while lips without mouth are without purpose. We must beg of you to spurn Kha'esh's entreaties, for within their smiles are hidden daggers!"

Still, Kha'esh was exceeding in its wealth when compared to these two cities, and the peoples of the first could not help but be won over by the emirate's great generosity. Over time, complacency sapped the defiance of the first, and doing nothing at all while the second city is besieged seems like a much better option than to have their own people suffer and die on the battlefield.

In time, Kha'esh moved then to besiege the second city, and once it had fallen, promptly returned to ransack the first. So it is then that both cities came to be subjugated, for the first was lured by sweet promises and false lucre.

[magical girl salhin]

LXVI

RETURN OF THE WATERS TO EPHIA'S WELL

Across the Smolderpeaks they arrived in a tired and battered host, a motley of the dirty and bedraggled, sellswords and adventurers all fleeing the plight of the Nothing to the Desert. The Janissaries had invested Orentid-held Ephia's Well in a long and wearisome siege after the Prince's Plot was exposed and the Orentid Prince was executed, and so when this army of the desperate reached the Desert did Sorazin Bey ride to take their measure and their purpose with great urgency lest they do hurt and harm unto his men. There, the Bey found them assembled before the Grandmaster of the Cinquefoil Rose, and so were words shared long into the dreary night that would come to change the course of an age, words of demons and dark things, of monsters and the Bandit-Queen. An alliance was struck, a home was promised, and the host of refugees mustered to aid the Janissaries in divesting the Orentids from Ephia's Well.

Before the walls of Ephia's Well did the allied hosts and the Orentids draw out in battle array, like that of a surging sea. The first to open the chapter of the battle came in the form of a flag of truce, in the form of duels and champions bleeding in the sands. An ancient rite of honor, it was said, and there was much rattling of spears and shaking of spears, deafening and proud. "Orentid!" "Kataphraktoi!" "Basilicos!" And it was a strange man, of fey garbs and foreign lands, bearing a claymore near his height, that was first to fall though far from last. A highlander of Glitt, they had called him, and he fell to a flash of shamshir under the light of the moon.

And with his demise did the cymbals beat to battle and derring-do, and there was the thundering of hooves and the blaring of horns as the infamous Orentid cavalry issued from the gates of Ephia's Well. Oh, such a din of battle! "This day no flight!" "Charge, once more!" "Who is for the fighting, let no sluggard come out or weakling!" Onwards ruled the fever of battle, heads growing gray and hotter waxed battle, fiercer until feet slipped on bloodied sands or held firm the valiant, while the faint-hearted fled, and there the fighting lasted on the first day until it darkened and the night starkened.

Four months. Four months of sturdy host on sturdy host, of the clash of arms and the battle-roar. Four months as the Cinquefoil Rose bled and bled and in that crucible became forged into something more than a desperate host, the beat of the cymbals and the battle-drums like that of a smith's hammer striking an anvil in a forge. For four months the Cinquefoil Rose and the Orentids battled, lives spent for the ebb and flow, fighting-men donning hauberks and coats of strait-woven mail and baldricked with their swords come dawn only to be carried back to the carnal pits come dusk.

Quoth Ibtihal, bearing the White Spear, "Soldiers of Baz'eel! Janissaries of the Fourth Legion, Emirs and Beys, loyal soldiers all! You of the Dead Rings! Broken and fearful, ye the dispossessed! Behold now! I myself in all my swollen power! The storm which has claimed your homes is soon to abate. The Dryness of this Well beneath my feet shall soon be replaced with a bountiful flow; the Waters shall return in an onrush. All shall breathe! It shall breathe!"

The prelude to the siege's end came in the form of a furtive meet and a contract signed under the sable cloak, penned betwixt the Grandmaster of the Cinquefoil Rose and a host of mercenaries employed by the Orentids, the Banda Rossa. A hundred bloody skirmishes, and the last battle began with a betrayal, as the Banda Rossa opened the gates of the Krak des Roses, which vouchsafed one span of the walls of Ephia's Well. Through it did the Cinquefoil Rose assail, and though the Orentid were fierce and embittered and bold, and knights began to fall in ever greater number, the assault could neither be hindered nor be cowed.

It is said that the prelude to the siege's end was a duel, much as it had begun. Between the Grandmaster and Ibtihal amidst the great plaza of Ephia's Well, a glittering sword and the white spear clashed even as the last gasp of the Orentid made to meet the Cinquefoil's Knights.

And it is said that when the Grandmaster's blade found purchase in Ibtihal and wrested her life from Kalim and Gamil, there came from beneath Ephia's Well the bubbling of Water. And the Waters came rushing onto the Plaza, and onto the streets, and onto the sands, as if to wash clean the stain of blood. It came in a torrent, and the Waters were restored, and there was much rejoicing. Though the White Spear was lost, it came to be then that the Cinquefoil Rose was gifted the Krak des Roses, and the Waters were restored to Ephia's Well.

[magical girl salhin]

LXVII

THE OASIS BEYOND THE HILL

Once, there was a certain bey who was leading the Janissaries against the Enemy. His army had marched tirelessly over many leagues in the Desert, and provisions were running so low that water had to be rationed, and the soldiers were beginning to suffer from thirst. As his men became more mutinous, the bey regarded the map of the region, and pointed to the distance and declared, "Know this! Beyond that hill is an oasis filled with water and trees with delightful oranges!"

Wonder upon wonder spread throughout his army, and they marched with greater fervor. It came to be that they discovered a host of the Enemy between them and the hill. Yet, even tired and thirsty as they were, the Janissaries were enticed by the thought of the sweet, delightful oranges, of the juice staining their chins, and they did battle immediately with great zeal and an ardent fervor.

After the Enemy had been swept aside, the Janissaries ascended the hill only to find that across it was the Enemy's camp, with their own stores of waters and provisions. There never was an oasis beyond the hill, save for the oasis of triumph. With merriment and laughter, the Janissaries celebrated their victory on the stores of their foes.

[magical girl salhin]

LXVIII

THE BEY'S GOLDEN ARROWS

It is said that when Osman VI had ended the Wicked Years, much of the realm yet remained in disorder, and he had to dispatch his Janissaries hither and thither to put brigands and barbarians to sword.

Once, on a certain day, one of the Sultan's bey had donned battle-harness and mounted steed and ventured forth into the wastes with his men to put an end to brigands that were troubling a loyal township. When he arrived at a hill surveying the brigands' camp, he discovered that they were many and his men were few, for he had answered the town's alarum with urgency and so departed before he could muster the bulk of his Janissaries, lest the town be put to woe for his delay.

After considering the brigands' camp for some time, the bey summoned his armorer and procured a marvellous bow and his personal quiver. By then, the brigands had caught sight of him and his men, and began to rally to meet him. Armed with his bow, the bey fired ten arrows towards the brigands, though not a single arrow drew blood.

Afterwards, the bey sent an envoy with a message of peace, and the brigands dispersed with awe and wonder - for each of the arrowhead was gleaming gold, and the brigands knew then that to war against Osman VI was to invite the arrow, but to dwell in peace is to invite the prosperity of the gold. It is said, then, that the bey with his golden arrows halted an army without a single drop of blood.

Accordingly, the peoples of the town came to recite this verse:

He tips his arrows with the glint of gold,
And while shooting his foes is his bounty doled,
Affording the wounded a means of cure,
And a sheet for the bider 'neath the mould!
From that liberal hand on his foes he rains,
Shafts aureate-headed and manifold:
Wherewith the hurt be a surgeon's pay,
And for the slain their funeral defrayed.

[magical girl salhin]

LXIX

THE ENDING OF THE WICKED YEARS

We dwell now in a time of Baz'eel resurgent, when our Janissaries could afford to be conveyed even across the Scald, a mythical feat that would have been viewed with great incredulity even in the days of the Caliphate. Yet, know that just mere decades before, many calamities had befallen the Sultanate, such that tributes had ceased to flow towards Baz'eel and chroniclers had dared to name it the Hungry Jackal.

Amidst these many woes, the Eternal Peace between Qa'im and Baz'eel came to be tested, such that cool sentiments soon gave way to the hot flash of steel. Calamity abounded with calamity, then, as the Remade Armies were issued from the gates of Qa'im and met by the Janissaries, and in these Wicked Years it was as if the Harrowing had been renewed, and there was great unease and many tragedies that were born from the seed of this contest.

It was in these perilous times that our Sultan, Osman VI al-Maribid, rose to meet the challenge of his days. For while he was boy no longer then, he was yet sovereign, and powerless against the intrigues of his regents. None could have imagined then that the Wicked Years would be ended by him in peace, for in the minds of his doddering and inept regents, he was still a boy.

On a certain night when the sable cloak was draped over the Desert, Osman VI stole away from Baz'eel, cowled and hooded. Alone beneath the stars he rode, carried forth by a divine wind, driving four camels to exhaustion as he spirited towards his purpose. On and on he rode and walked, until upon the horizon there came to be the great pillars of smog and metal that was Qa'im, for indeed the Sultan of Baz'eel had dared by his lonesome to steal into the Enemy's holdfast and into the Tantalum Palace itself - and there he demanded to speak to the throne.

None knows what was shared between our Sultan and whomever it was that claimed rulership in the occluded city that is Qa'im, but after the night was ended, to marvel exceeding marvel, the Remade Armies of Qa'im halted and withdrew as one. The Eternal Peace was re-proclaimed and our Sultan returned to Baz'eel in great triumph and to the love of all in the Desert at the calamity averted, overthrowing his regents and taking his rightful seat in the golden court. And so, without a drop of blood shed or the raising of a single blade, Osman VI al-Maribid ended the Wicked Years.

[magical girl salhin]

LXX

THE KING AND THE PHYSICIAN

Once upon a time, it is related that a certain bey had just triumphed over the Enemy during the Harrowing, but the butcher's bill was so great that it ran for many pages and the waters of the Edutu ran red for weeks. Many were the broken banners that scattered the battlefield, and there was much anguish and wailing and the gnashing of teeth as the injured cried for succor and the dying cried for peace.

Amidst all this suffering, a physician had to weigh the measure of lives in bloody triage, and struggled to keep hope even as duty brought him from field to field. A Janissary that had stood resolute against clockwork horrors wept like a newborn babe over the corpse of her fallen brother. A man that had not given an inch in the shieldwall could only stare in horror as the physician warned him that his crushed and broken leg must be amputated. From the dying to the maimed, from the wounded to the wailing, the physician labored but could only save a handful of lives as the rest slipped between the gaps of his fingers as mournful sand.

When the war ended, the physician rejoiced exceeding joy. With tears of merriment staining his cheeks, he returned to Baz'eel, only to find that even in its streets and alleys there was no escaping the diseases and ailments that strike at mortal lives.

On a certain day, the physician failed to save a woman from a miscarriage, and, after seeing to the burial of both the mother and the child, turned to the King's Keep and began to walk. Through ring after ring he walked, and a thousand thousand rings went by, until finally the physician stood before the King.

Quoth the physician, "Oh, auspicious King, sighing has become my daily fast, my groans pour forth like tears, and I feel no peace, no quietness, no rest, only turmoil. My life had I spent doing good and curing ill, and day by day I had labored to heal those whom I can and to lend succor to those whom I cannot. Yet, I have beheld that the innocent have perished, and the wicked had endured; those who plow evil had lived to harvest their profane fruits, while those who have sacrificed and bled and been pure have only faced the reaper's scythe. Between dawn and dusk, I have beheld little fair but a great misfortune for those who must suffer to live."

Continued the physician, "We mortals in hard service in your City, we live like that of slaves longing for the sable cloak, and when we lie down we think - how long ere we must rise again to suffer? I speak out now for the anguish of the many, for the bitterness of the all, and wonder, why have you looked away from us, what have we done to you, that you would not pardon our offenses or forgive our sins, that you would be content to have us reside in a stranglehold of woe? Why, the injustices and the imperfections of your City, why, the evils that you permit be visited upon us all?"

Concluded the physician, "Why, oh King, why?"

Quoth the King, "An ark of salvation had I conjured for you and all your peoples and the thousand thousand peoples of the world, and for all my efforts I can only fear that I would fail. Heavier a burden it is to bear the mantle of your woes and the crown of duty than a mouse may lift a boulder, and yet bore it I have. Is the new dawn I have gifted you not enough to sate? Are the silvery peaks that I have raised, the many marvels and the awesome wonders, not enough to shelter me from your condemnation? You join a choir of earnest resentment that have stretched from the very first dawn and likely will to the very last dusk."

Quoth the King, "Mountains erode and crumble, the water of a lake may dry, and a riverbed may become parched. Summer's vigor fades to fall, and the heavens slumber when the stars are plucked from the firmaments. Doubt is a poison that seeps into the soul, and though we may raise walls to bulwark it for a thousand aeons, in time even the mists are spent. Am I strong enough to bear this burden? Can I rule you well and beneficently that I may ease your woes and troubles? Can I save you all? I do not know, my child, I do not know, but know that there was once when it was a garden, and it was beautiful, and I was loved and I still do love, but now there is a shadow in my eyes when I behold my own creation and I cannot help but notice every imperfection, every injustice. I know not if I can do better, old friend."

It is said that there are three endings to this tale.

In the first, the physician realised that even the King is but man, and what is mortal wrought cannot be absolved of imperfections. There was no salvation to be had from his prayers to the King, and the King forbade it hence. So the physician returned to the Desert, and did what he could to ease the frailties and ailments of those whom he tended, and resigned himself to contentment in the world's anguish.

In the second, the physician despaired and joined in the King's despair, and pledged himself to the King's Court that he may serve by the King's side in the dying of the world. There, he made mockery of those whom he once aided, and whiled himself with comedy at the people's expense to make gentler the bitterness and pain which festers in his own soul.

In the third, the physician departed the King's King and left on a long pilgrimage to quest for a just and perfect creation. We can only assume that he failed, or that he strives to remake the world to this very day.

[magical girl salhin]

Alejandro Benjázar was renowned as a famed storyteller amongst the refugees who arrived in Ephia's Well. The man was slain in a senseless and tragic incident, and his works cut short. A small curated selection of his Thousandfold Tales has been edited and reproduced for this arc of Nasim in his honor and memory, that his works be not forgotten. - Seriyah

// with Don Nadie's OOC permission

LXXI

THE TALE OF TWO RIVALS

Once, in a distant City, there were two rivals. Baruk and Hakim were their names, and they seemed shaped from birth to be in opposition and rivalry even as they shared a love of scholarship. Baruk was slim where Hakim was sturdy, and dark where Hakim was pale. Where Hakim was short enough to resemble a half-man, Baruk was towering enough to match a Stonefolk.

Hakim was a man of delightful temperament, struggling with that which eludes him with a tireless vigor. Once, when an assistant shattered his pottery, he merely had a gaily laugh and discovered that he could mend it with lacquered gold to spin fortune from misfortune. In contrast, Baruk beheld the world as if it conspires trickery against him, and he was exacting and meticulous, with a fondness for organization that could rival that of an Avukat.

On a certain day, tidings reached them both that an explorer had unearthed a temple in the depths of a distant swamp. Both Hakim and Baruk rushed to the temple.

Quoth Hakim, "I must be there before Baruk, lest he stomps over every inch and portion, and ruin that which ought be preserved!"

Quoth Baruk, "I must be there before Hakim, lest he breaks or throws everything that he thinks is not of import, instead of categorising it properly as he ought to!"

And so they both set to the swamp with their escort of guards and assistants, racing to get to the temple before the other. It came to be that they arrived at the same time, only to be greeted by the foulest of misshapen foe-things, monsters bearing the grotesque visages of frogs, uncanny in design such that it was as if their twisted maker had profaned them in flesh only to then discard the detritus. It began with a shrill song, and then violence with a barbaric zeal, until both Hakim and Baruk had themselves and their men driven together into the temple.

Quoth Hakim, "Woe! Woe unto me, that you should be here! You will lose that which is import with your dally masked as care."

Quoth Baruk, "Fie upon you, fie! You will break that which is worn by time with your carelessness!"

Yet, circumstances forced them to an uneasy alliance, and in a whispered conference they pried further into the secrets of the temple.

Quoth Baruk, "You oyster-brained fool! Don't you know your Erugitic ideophonograms? Obviously only this door will lead us towards the main hall, while the rest are evidently traps!" The learned man then chose the only door that wasn't deadly through expertise and observation. And Hakim could not respond, for he had to admit that he had forgotten most ideophonograms.

Quoth Hakim, "You monkey-headed imbecile! You always need to move the moment you step on something and hear a click! It's always traps" Quick-witted and acting swift, he saved Baruk from where an arrow would have had struck him with grievous wound had Hakim not interdicted it with a shield..

And so they made their way through the ancient halls and corridors, avoiding traps and solving riddles. And when they arrived at last in the central chamber of the temple, they realised then that singly they would surely have faltered, but working together the two rivals had endured to the temple's prize. There, they found a chamber of the once-mighty, left to dust and ash now, of empty thrones and empty tables, with naught but a stele.

Upon the stele were carved these words:

Oh, you would who would come to this place, take warning by that which you see of the accidents of time and the vicissitudes of fortune, and be not deluded by the world and its pomps and vanities and fallacies and falsehoods and its vain allurements, for fortune is a flattering, deceitful and treacherous thing, and it is but a loan to us all which it will borrow back from all borrowers; fortune is like unto the dreams of the dreamer and the sleep-visions of the sleeper, or as the mirage in the desert that entices the thirsty.

Fall not into its snares but be warned by my example, for I once possessed four thousand horses and a haughty palace, and I had to wife a hundred daughters of kings and amassed treasures beyond all the competences of the Desert; but there fell upon me unawares the destroyer of delights and the sunderer of societies, the murderer of the great and the small, and verily did the they descend upon us despite our abode safe and secure, and when I saw that destruction which had entered my dwelling I summoned a writer and bade him indite these admonitions and tales on this stele, for despite my army of a thousand thousand bridles and men of warrior mien, there is none of you who can ward off that which befall me, but warn you so I shall.

And so the stele continued: presently know this - once, there were two cities...

[magical girl salhin]

LXXII

THE TALE OF TWO CITIES

Once, there were two cities...

One was High Kulkund, etched into the face of a vast mountain range, a city of many-pillared halls, mosaics of silver and bridges of glittering gold, where it is said that diamonds encrusted the ceilings of their atrium to reflect the very stars. The other was Deep Kulkund, mined into the deep bowels of the earth, where grim-visaged dwarves dug and dug and dug in mansions buried where light does not scar. By ancient compact, they were shorn in twain, the High Dwarves in their halls and the Deep Dwarves in their depths.

As High Kulkund developed art and trade with the Salhinid Caliphate, Low Kulkund developed tools of war to do battle with strange things that lurked near the cornerstone of our creation. One prospered and one bled; one grew complacent and the other became embittered.

On a certain day, the King of the Depths sought an audience with Queen Ygritte II of the High Dwarves, to plead for his cousin's charity. But lo! This was taboo, to the ancestors, and traditions spurned the very notion! And thus, the Queen refused, and the Deep King returned, having prostrated himself for naught and he was bitter, and full of hate.

It came to be, then, that the Deep Dwarves, feeling that they had bled and bled and bled to vouchsafe their cousins up high, feeling treacherously betrayed and left to fend for themselves while their cousins prospered, were outraged. Accordingly, they began a long and eternal war against High Kulkund. On and on did the war rage on, and perhaps it might have locked the two in an eternal stalemate, until the Thousand Clans fell like a hammer upon High Kulkund to the anvil that was the Deep Dwarves. Caught between the two great powers, High Kulkund was shattered, broken, and its people rendered a diaspora.

And much was lost, but not all, and not forever.

Generations later, some of the dispossessed and displaced of High Kulkund came upon a key, a piece of their ancestral home. The way back to their ancient home was treacherous, however, and they bled dearly for it before they eventually reached the door which their key opened. It had been secured by the centuries, protected by ancient compacts and mechanisms and, thus, protected from the savage Barbarians and the envious Deep Dwarves.

Onwards they went, until they gazed upon the Hall of Assemblies, which had been spared the destruction of the rest of the City. And they gazed upon the ancient statues of the dwarven monarchs and the luxurious mosaics of the speaker's floor and the greatness of the High Throne where court had once been held in bygone days.

And in the lectern, was a simple speech, the Last Speech of High Kulkund pronounced before their King, and the speech was a tragic one, for it sought to reconcile brother with brother, and of noble dignity.

And in that speech, it told of a tale, about how once, there was only one language...

[magical girl salhin]

LXXIII

THE TALE OF WHERE LANGUAGES CAME FROM

Once, there was only one language, and that was the Tongue Which Was Truth.

It was spoken by all and the only language there was, for no other letters were carved nor words uttered, than those contained within this one language, and this language was the truth. There were no gaps in meaning, no tension between intent and symbols, and all was perfect and all was one and the same. And the word 'water' meant 'water in essence, and so did the words for anything that can be imagined, and there were words for everything and all things.

And because the language was shared by all, all could speak with all. One could entreat the clouds to halt in the sky, or for the river to reverse its flow, or to ebb such that one may cross a stream without getting one's feet wet. One could ask the trees to lower its fruitful branches, and even Death and Time could be asked to gently cease, if one was capable of being particularly courteous!

And there was no strife, no suffering, no injustice or imperfection, for none of these could take root upon soil so abundant in goodness and kindness and when each understood the other with such perfection.

But alas! There came to be a man who spoke this language, and he loved dearly a dame. And he loved, and loved, and loved, with all the facets of love which is akin to possession, like a fire's want for wood. And alas! He was a jealous man, and he said, "Why am I to tell her that I love her, when those same words had been used a thousand thousand times by a thousand thousand others?" For he did not want to share her, not even in words, and he wanted the words to be his alone as much as he wanted her.

And so it came to be that the man worked and worked, toiled and toiled, thought and thought, for it was no easy thing to invent a new tongue which wasn't true for all, when there was a language that was true.

And without asking the stone for permission, he took a stone.

And without asking the tree for permission, he took a piece of bark.

And without asking the bark or the stone for permission, he pierced one into the other to write a symbol. And the bark cried as the stone did while he worked, for they had been turned not into beings, but into the instruments of another's will.

And by using something else, the man carved a symbol which was, he thought, a symbol of his love. Just for her and just for him.

But so it was that the stone was angry, and made a language for the Stone.

So it was that the tree was angry, and made a language for the Tree.

And so it was that the trees, the clouds, that Death and time, that peoples and animals coal, grains of sand, the dust which accumulated behind bookshelves, foam, laughter, tears... they each made a language for themselves, for mistrust spreads like wildfire. Nothing would ever speak again the Tongue Which Was Truth with one-another. A chasm, forever, would exist between word and meaning, between what one means to express and what one says, and how or whether it is understood.

The man, of course, delivered his symbol to the woman. The first word in the first humanoid tongue. A word for love.

And the woman loved him not. Instead, she sighed deeply and told him a tale:

"Once, so many ages ago that the world was young..."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXIV

THE TALE OF HOW THE RINGS FELL

Once, so many ages ago that the world was young and the names of things were fresh...

The King of the Disc saw fit to raise the Walls. And thus ring after ring rose, all built around the walls encircling his castle. Like the waves in a pond, concentric and eternal, they rose. One after another. And these Walls were magic, and thus no enchantment could jump them, no trickery. Instead, each Ring had its key: a riddle, a challenge, a feeling, a word. No Ring would open like the ring before.

And so, the world was peaceful, and each ring tended to their own business. For within a ring you may learn things which would otherwise be impossible. Alas, it did not last.

It came to be that a darkness festered in the edges of the Disc. Prince of Shadow, they called this darkness, this Nothingness. From the edges, it would crawl and slither and slime, ever forward, ever forward. And those who suffered it were swallowed, and changed, and destroyed forever.

And for a while, it seemed the Walls held it at bay. And then the Walls, too, began to fall to this Nothingness. And so it was that the Nothing kept creeping closer and closer, until it came to the shores of the Old Ward, in Ring 99.

There, in the Old Ward, lived many, including the valiant knights of the Houses who, for a long while, tried to fight the Tide, to hold it back. A thousand tales there are, of their battles, of their noble victories and their innumerable defeats. One day, eventually, the beleaguered houses of these woeful knights sought to evacuate their peoples. They came to build this miraculous machine powered by the hopeful dream of escaping this tide of Nothingness, that they may break asunder the path ahead to ferry the innocents, the women, and the children, through.

Some stayed behind. To cover the retreat. And Ring after Ring more and more knights stayed behind, to cover the retreat. As the machine and its refugees moved forward, the Nothing was always lurking right behind them, always a fateful night away from devouring them whole. And so it was until this host of refugees sought to cross the Smolderpeaks, the tallest mountain in the Disc! A volcano without peer where, it is said, giant birds, strange monsters and dragons lived.

And close to the Peak, while trying to cross, this miraculous machine finally broke.

In despair, they battled their way through the shadowed tunnels of the Smolderpeaks, bleeding and dying to carve a path for the host of refugees behind them. And at the peak of the mountain, they huddled and stood, and formed a valiant shield wall, prepared to pay and shed their very last lives in defiance against the Nothing that would take them as the Prince of Shadow stepped forth.

But lo! Upon the horizon!

At first? At first people thought it a falling star! A light far, far away, in the distance!

But no!

For soon they heard the echoes of trumpets, the echoes of hooves in the air! And soon, too, they could tell who he was: the King of Kings!

Old he was, like the world, and weary, too! But old and weary, he had unsheathed his sword, mounted his horse! And from his Keep, he had issued forth!

And there, at the top of the Smolderpeaks, the King of the Disc faced the Prince of Nothing.

And it is said that their blades did not meet. That battle did not ensue. Instead, the King of the Disc and the Prince of Nothing beheld each other and shared words in a tongue that predated the tongues of men and giants alike, and  they came to an understanding that shaped the very foundations of our Age of Ash.

With that understanding, the King permitted a gaily laughter, and seized the Prince as if that calamity was but a trifle, embracing him like a lost-long son. And then, together, the King stepped forth from the Smolderpeaks, and fell, and fell, and fell. In the moment that came thereafter, the Nothing dissipated altogether, and there was neither body nor crown or sword, just a remembrance left behind, as ephemeral as memories in the minds of men.

After, it came to be, that there was a great rumbling as the horizons were sheathed in ash and dust. From the King's Keep it billowed outwards, and outwards, each Wall trembling, each Wall faltering, until each Wall fell to the ground.

And atop the Smolderpeaks, a weary and woebegotten knight sighed and said:

"Once, there was a little boy..."