Chapter 1: The Call
Something is filling the air with a distinct scent—victory. What a great aroma to wake up to! General Gon Haftakyl yawned with a smile on his face. His army from Meneland has been in battle with one of the little colonies northbound. His troops have successfully blocked all supplies from entering the little town. By today, the village will fall.
“Good morning, my lord,” A small tetrapus boy walked into the tent holding a platter with his master’s breakfast, “Your breakfast is ready.”
“Bring it here, Masix,” His master ordered. Since he was young, Masix has always seen to every need of Haktakyl, whether he could do it by himself or not. This has made Haftakyl a very fat man, but no one dare insult him—not in his presence at least. His subjects fear him as they would a raged troll. They fear him because whenever he is angry, Haftakyl would have the cause for his rage terminated. Haftakyl ruled with an iron fist—a white-hot iron fist.
“How’s the conquest?” asked the steel-hearted general.
“Soon to be yours, my lord,” Masix answered, trying to find favor in his master’s eye, and gaining the master’s favor means staying alive, “Soon the colonites will be your subjects.”
“Good. Good. Go now boy, I’ll be out shortly.”
Masix obeyed. The more he spends away from Haftakyl the more he won’t anger him and endanger his life.
Gon Haftakyl sees his loyal servant leave in a hurry. He knew that Masix feared him. He pondered whether it was for good or for bad. After all, the spark of rebellion begins with the loss of fear. In order to keep his men in check, Haftakyl had to constantly remind them why he was in charge. Though holding the power, he still felt powerless. He wondered if his men would help him up if he fell, or whether they will cheer his enemies to finish him off.
Gon Haftakyl, lord of the eastern border of Meneland, I summon you. Haftakyl jumped. He had only spread his bread when the voice called—it was just a whisper. He rose taking his sword from his side:
“Who are you?”
Do not fear me. The voice came from everywhere at the same time. Haftakyl swung in circles before he realized that he was not dealing a foe of natural abilities. This foe was in his mind.
“Show yourself, magician!” He barked, “I have no patience for your treachery. My seers will be here in a moments notice!” The lord wondered if his voice sounded stern. In truth, he had no such people as seers under his command. He never anticipated that a magician would bother him.
I know your lies, Haftakyl. I am just a messenger with a message. The shadows around Haftakyl darkened, though they should be disappearing since it is dawn.
“What is it?” Haftakyl spoke hoping that his experience with commanding a thousand soldiers and casting fear into his troops and enemies has not yet deserted him.
The mighty Avongel summons you. He has forged six thousand silver chains from the fires of Tophet, and has imprinted upon them power beyond what you now hold. He is just curious in asking whether you are interested in making a deal for this artifact. If you are then travel to Tophet. Do not bring anything but your horse and the supplies you need. Avongel wants to negotiate. Only you are to venture to Tophet, if you are seen with soldiers, you will not see them again. If you want to make a deal, be there in three days.
The room was silent once again. Haftakyl pondered whether he was daydreaming.
“No,” He said to himself, “It was real, and I must have that chain even if I have to trade my whole army to get my hands on it!”
So Haftakyl saddled his steed, a big and strong black horse—Theested—and left for Tophet. He left Masix in charge of his army, believing that his soldiers are in the best hands, since Masix knew him the best, and would not dare fail him.
Haftakyl traveled south for one straight day. He wanted to be there the first and thus giving him a better advantage of gaining the chains. His horse never tired to his surprise for he was a fat man. Little did Haftakyl know that his horse and the horses of five thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine other tetrapi have been aizoned not tire until they had arrived in Tophet.
On the second day of his travels, Gon Haftakyl came across another rider. The rider was traveling in the same direction. Haftakyl realized that this rider may be one of the other tetrapi whom Avongel had called. Thoughts raced through the general’s mind. Thoughts like: What would happen if there is one less tetrapi to collect? Would I, the one who finds his body, receive an extra portion of the chains? How would Avongel know?
Though the veteran of a thousand battles, Haftakyl knew next to nothing about magicians, and had no knowledge of one fact: Magicians learn to mind-read early in their training. And Avongel, being one of the first Magicians, known as the Gardeons, has the ability to read thousands of minds simultaneously, but the defiled Gardeon did not bother. Deceit and corruption are parts of his plan, and Haftakyl is making progress.
A fat stranger rides nearby. What are his intentions? Did he also hear the voices? The messengers of Avongel? Is he looking to fight me? I’m not here to fight. I just want to know whether such power exists. The thoughts of the other rider are heard by the king of corruption, but he isn’t pleased. Avongel forged six thousand chains, but summoned ten thousand tetrapi. He knew not all will have the strength to make it all the way. Some will not want the power, others will die on the way, and still others will b slain by other summoned tetrapi like Haftakyl. The other rider is one of those who will have the fate of the later.
Gon Haftakyl stops under the shade of a tree. He checks his hip for his blade, and after he was sure he could swing it faster than the other tetrapi could reach for his blade, he went out to greet the tetrapi.
The fat man stopped under the tree. Why? I can see him again. I’m not sure whether his fat hip is able to hide a blade, but I must be cautious. He walks towards me? Is he greeting me?
The other tetrapus dismounts his steed. Haftakyl lifts his hands into the air as a sign of welcome, or in Meneland, the sign of being unarmed.
So he is greeting me. Should I return his greeting? He reminds me of a famous general of Meneland—maybe Gourus or Haftakyl.
The tetrapus stops and observes Haftakyl. After he was satisfied, he put on his hood and walked towards Haftakyl.
Haftakyl waits impatiently under the tree. It was the trait that got him into the position of general, and it was this trait that has got him to be feared by both his enemies and his soldiers.
He sees the tetrapus walk toward him with the gesture of acceptance—his arms were set in a clasp in front of him. When the tetrapus was in hearing range, Haftakyl spoke.
“My brother, what reason brings you so far south?”
“It is probably same as yours, tetrapus.” replied the tetrapus. “Did you hear the call as well?”
“Aye,” Haftakyl responded, “And I intend to get that prize.”
Now the two were near enough to see each other.
“Masix?” Haftakyl announced shocked, “Why have you come here?”
“General Haftakyl? You heard the call?”
Now the general’s plans changed. How does he expect to kill the one person he had trusted; the one person he had raised as a son?
Haftakyl collapsed on the ground. Masix went over to him to help him.
“Get away from me, Masix!” commanded the general. Many alternate plans of action raced through his mind. He especially noted those that would not harm Masix.
He wants your chains. The voice crept into Haftakyl’s mind. He will kill you and have your chains and your army. Kill him now or else you would loose everything.
Haftakyl shakes his head in disagreement, but the voice became louder.
“Master, are you alright?” Masix had stood still for to long and reached to help Haftakyl.
“Get away from me! Don’t call me Master!” Sweat filled Haftakyl’s brows as he struggled to find an alternative, but the voice kept on insisting that there was only one way. He swatted Masix’s aiding hand away and covered his ears, hoping to stop the voice.
Soon, he knew that there was only one way to stop the voice. Haftakyl’s eyes shown with horror, fear, and anger all at once, while a smile covered his face.
“Master, are you okay?” inquired his faithful servant son.
Without warning and with the speed of a swooping bird of prey, Haftakyl’s blade thrusts through the one he called son. Shocked was all over Masix’s face as he collapses at his master’s feet—the man he trusted, but Haftakyl strangely felt happy—the persisting voice had stopped and better, he will have an extra chain.
In the
Haftakyl mounts his horse and rides toward Tophet once more. He pays no attention to the body that lies under the tree. The body had once meant something to him, but now, the body holds no meaning. The years he had spent raising this tetrapus holds no meaning anymore. All that matters now is power—the chains.
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