It started when the lord of the land opened the red curtains and let light sweep into the room. The liquid sunlight descended like a cavalry charge from the window—a column of radiant rays—then was flanked by darkness. Battle erupted. Voices screamed. The light and the darkness fought brutal and bloody, neither letting go of a step of ground without fighting with everything they had. Plump blurs of black, formally known as shadows, were the light's targets, though the shadows' minions—the lesser darkness—were sent ahead to stop the light. Then a stale mate was formed at the window. The light could not advance, nor would it retreat its ground. This battle between forces was seen by the common, giant observers as a mundane beam that stretched from the window to the ground. The task of lighting the entire room was of course impossible, yet the light tried to vanquish the shadows still.
To each side of the window, the curtains—normally guarding against the light—were withdrawn. They permitted the light into the room—betraying the darkness.
“Enough! I can't stand this talk of tedious battle and betrayal! What of flanking enemy!? Nothing! You're boring me to a slow, torturous death. Send your rubbish to the commanders.”
“Pardon, sir? Excuse my shrewdness, but I haven't said anything yet.”
“Hm? You haven't? What are you talking about?”
“I just got here. I haven't said anything, your Excellence.”
“Well, weren't you talking... just now? You were saying how the cavalry were attacking, and those others—the
guard—had laid down their arms to let the rebels through.”
“No, I didn't say anything like that.”
“Surely, I'm not hearing things?”
“I do not know that, your Greatness. I only know that I did not say such things as you say I did.”
He sighed. “Very well. Well, what do you want then?”
“I apologize for the confusion, my Lord. Though actually, I am here to talk about the rebels, I just haven't talked about them yet.”
“Am I having visions of the future then?”
“I don't know, but what you said about flanking and such doesn't fit the description of the news I bring.”
“Then it was no more than hallucinations, yes?”
“If you say so, my Lord.”
The well-dressed lord sat down in his chair and a mucky shadow was thrown across his face by the sunlight falling on his hair. He was an important man. The most important man. He was Alexander-Julius.
Across Alexander-Julius's desk, the armour-clad general put a fist to his chest in salute. His light skin stood out starkly against his black armour. The silky black hair of this man disgusted the lord, though Alexander-Julius wasn't going to kill him on the spot, as he did the others. This man was of some little use.
“Nayfonn,” he said in a harsh tone, “Did your hair get blacker since I last saw you?”
“No, sir. It is but the same shade as yesterday, the day before, and as the day you last saw me.”
“Do you dare lie to me?! Is it your wish to die as the other trozals!”
“I'm sorry. I did not lie, nor did I mean to offend you, Lord.”
“Is it so?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Are you sure thy trozal nature don't drive thee to evil? Lies and treachery?”
“Not such, Lord, for I am not a trozal.”
“Pardon?” Alexander-Julius said lightly, astounded apparently
“I'm not a trozal, your Lordship.”
He leaned forward in his velvet set. “I was afraid you had said that, for it was not a second ago that you did assure me that no lies spread from your tongue. But here you tell me thou art not a trozal.” He burst out with maddened rage, “You lie so crudely! You stink of dishonesty! You are what I say you are! No more! No less! Know your place, filthy cretin upon the land! You of a false soul! Worthless dog of black and slavery!” He slammed his hands against the desk. Both men were still while the tension in the room reached its peck. Finally, Alexander-Julius released the tension by leaning back in his chair, and a loud creak could be heard. “I say you are a trozal, so you are, and will not question otherwise. Now, do you know your place?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The big man humoured his underling, “Really? What is your place, Nayfonn?”
“A trozal, sir?”
“And...” He waved his hand in a circular motion.
“To do your bidding?”
“It is not I...”
“The bidding of the Moon Titan great; the Eternal Lord in the Sky.” Nayfonn added with excitement.
“Good enough.” Alexander-Julius cleared his throat of a small piece of decency, “But it took you quite some time. Although, I can't say I expected anything more from such a useless trozal.”
Alexander-Julius opened a drawer down by his knee and fetched a red fruit that resembled a giant raisin. It was a bit soft, with thick fur and an unmistakable, revolting smell. He took a disgusting bit of the fruit and an overwhelming odour could be smelt from as far as outside the room. It was something like sour goat milk with pure cinnamon. “Now,” he said as he obnoxiously chewed on the orange-yellow insides of the fruit. He swallowed, but his voice was just as obnoxious, “What do you enter my chamber for?”
Nayfonn closed his eyes and took a breath out of restraint. “Lord Alexander-Julius, the rebels are on their way here. They're armed.”
He replied with offended anger. “Send the guard to stop them. Are you dumb? Why inform me of such a problem if you can solve it yourself?”
The general hesitated before responding, “Pardon my audacity Lord, but many of the guard have brothers and fathers among the rebel force. Is it wise to send them to kill their kin?”
Elbows leaned on his desk, Alexander-Julius twinned his fingers into one another idly. His comforting diction toward Nayfonn was explicitly sarcastic, “Now Nayfonn, I know it's difficult for you to understand how important this is and I know that your evil nature can be overwhelming sometimes, but the guard will stop their brothers and fathers. Kill them. Maim them. What have you. I don't care. But I will tell you now, If any man of mine is faint at their sword from this whole thing, you must get rid of them. There is no place in my army for men like that. And, if you can't, then get your lieutenant to do it. What was his name?—Violen?—I can't remember.” He took another juicy bite of the red fruit, the liquid of the fruit dribbled down to his chin. “But the point is, I have put you where you are. A commander. I have given you opportunities that even Segi dream of. I look after you, even though you are a trozal, because I know that without me, you'd be nothing.”
“But, Master—”
The lord interrupted when he let out an annoyed sigh, then rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “I suppose I should be quite cross that you would be so leery in your boldness and impudence to disrespect me. But, alas general! I have a heart of flesh. What am I ever to do?”
“Surely we do not need execute those weak of heart amoung the guard?” He searched his mind for a better alternitive. “We could send to the dungeon, my Lord!”
Alexander-Julius laughed a little then asked with a smile, “Nayfonn, do you value your life?”
The general tried to join in the smile. “Of course, your excellence.”
The smile fell off Alexander-Julius's face in a hurry when he said, “Then do as I say or your head will be a trophy 'bove my door.”
The general resolved himself. “Yes, my Lord.”
“It is a sad reality that friends and siblings of all sorts will be pinned on one another. All in order protect the wise rule of yours truly.” He stopped himself from continuing, before he forgot who was likely to be listening. He laughed nervously, “And to preserve the teachings of the Titan, of course. But we must prevent the rebels' success, for they will rule with barbarity and the Master of Masters—the Moon Titan—shall be greatly galled.
The vague feeling of events repeating themselves was in the morning air as Alexander-Julius continued, “Sir General, when Ganar Tode—our previous ruler—fell, we saw a similar conflict. Having to fight our fellow brothers and fathers who refuse to put down their weapons is nothing new. Yet, we succeed in overthrowing Ganar Tode, and look where we are know.” He gave Nayfonn a moment to “look,” as he had put it. “Now I'm top, pulling the strings. So, don't you complain to me about the guards' problems.”
“Indeed, Lord.”
The general turned to leave.
“You are not dismissed, trozal Nayfonn,” Alexander-Julius said in a voice disapproving.
“Lord?”
“I have yet to dismiss you. Do not make such a mistake again or your life will lose what little importance I do grace upon it.”
“Yes, your Lordship.”
“Now, please inform the magicians that they must help significantly in this battle or they will not be of any use to me in future endeavours. Of course, that means I will have to replace them and their lives will be forfeit, but it is my duty as ruler of Siltier to make sure nothing gets in the way of success. You will them this?”
“I will tell them.”
“Every word?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Good.”
The general shifted the slightest to the door and Alexander-Julius shot him a look that froze him in his place. “Do not be so eager, Nayfonn. Two more things: it is by my good grace that you live, for you are nothing more than a black-headed, heartless demon who has some little use to the Moon Titan.
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Further more, if you are true in battle and survive, by the Titan's blessings, you to immediately report back here. I have special work that needs to be done. And be watchful that your greedy trozal soul is not fed to flame by this battle, Nayfonn.”
“Your will is the word and as good as done, my Lord.”
“Good.”
Alexander-Julius went back to his papers while the general stood waiting for a last word of permission.
After a few second of writing, Alexander-Julius realized the general's presence. “Oh, you're still here. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Lord.”
