Glimpses at Naherus (1)

 

By Samuel Sebbowa Bunnya, Uganda

“We all want power.”

His words were not shocking. They were a simple truth laced with sarcasm. That was how they all looked at the man; how they all heard the master. He is a simple truth laced in waves of sarcasm. He was a sinister old man with silver locks that extended beyond his waist; with pale skin that was dotted with age and ugly scars from lost battles. There was nothing but ancient power about the man.

It was whispered among the followers of Naherus that the man had been bathed in the fires of dragons and come out alive before he was made master of the Paladins. His dark sunken eyes were the only thing that bore fire in his haggard face. He never smiled and his face was lined into a fierce scowl most of the time. The only time that there was some semblance of joy in it was when one of their mortal enemies, the Varyyin, fell from the skies.

“Some say he last smiled when Eoron lost his daughter in the Battle of Failith,” Hash-shas whispered into his ear. The man seemed to have a death wish. No one dared to speak in the presence of the master unless asked to. “Even the great council smiles more than this old croon.”

He has ears at the back of his head. Rohorg remained silent and prayed to the fallen god. I hope that he lets you go on. Hash-shas whispered all the rumors that went through their ranks about the master. Since his first day among them, he had heard the fables about the old man. He had not seen most of what the rumors said, but he had heard the stories and the fervor with which they were said. I fear his ancient rites more than anything.

“Do you have anything to say, master Hash-shas?” the master’s strong voice startled both men.

“No my master.”

“And do you Rohorg?”

What am I supposed to say? He was still new among the Paladins of Naherus. He lowered his head and looked at the brittle floor of the tent. “Nay master.”

“Good…good,” the master said.

He had the folds of material sliding over the floor. The master was coming to him. Please do not punish me. The master was well known for his intolerance of foolishness. He was better known for his sharp tongue and harsh whip that he kept in the folds of his trousers for days. Rohorg did not want to risk the old creature’s wrath. He did not want to witness the magic of the man for the first time in such conditions.

“Tell me insect,” The master stood over him. He could smell the wilting flesh and sweet essence radiating off the man. “Tell me what you saw in your dreams.”

Rohorg had not thought to meet the master after letting it slip about his power of Dream Wakes. He had thought nothing of the dreams for the first few weeks until the previous night, when he had seen the visions of the future; a future shrouded in blood and fire; dark wings blocking out the sun and putting the order to its crypt forever. How am I to tell you of our downfall?

“Do not be afraid, child.” The master placed his bony hands on Rohorg’s cheek, forcing him to look into the dark depths of hell. A small surge went through Rohorg as the old man’s bony hands trailed his meaty cheek.

Rohorg remained silent for a moment. “It was nothing.” He did not want to be the one to let the man know that their holy order would fall.

“Do not lie to me, Rohorg,” the master said. His fingers trailed down his jaw, more of his magic sipping into Rohorg. Rohorg shuddered. “I know what you know. Thanks to the great master, I can see when a man lies to me.”

“I do not lie master.” He could not feel his fingers. What magic is this? He tried to turn round but his body was no longer his own. “I promise you my master, I do not lie.”

“I will see what you saw in you dream walk,” the master said. How? Rohorg’s eyes flicked to Hash-shas who had grown silent as the master stood over them. “Do not be surprised youngling,” the master said. “I am more things than any of you know.”

His tone frightened Rohorg. “I swear master…the dream meant nothing.”

“Then why hide what it is from me?” the master lowered his face to Rohorg’s. “Nonetheless, I will know what you saw before the end.”

“What end do you speak of master?” Hash-shas asked.

“There are very many ends my weak-minded brothers,” the master said. There was a small twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Which end do you speak of my master?” Hash-shas insisted.

The master let go and all feeling returned into Rohorg’s body. He turned his eyes to the old man whose scowl grew fiercer. He watched the man walk to Hash-shas. His steps were slow and deliberate. It struck a fear in Rohorg’s heart as he watched the old man. He did not see it happening as the man’s hand moved over the older brother’s heart, plunging deep into the folds of the soft silk shirt and hard muscles of Hash-shas’ chest. He watched in horror as the master pulled out the other man’s heart without any strain.

“Your end is one of the many ends brave soldier,” the master said. “Go join the chains that bind our great master to his prison. Soon we shall be reunited.”

 

To be continued…