Read Online Commandment by Daryl Chestney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daryl Chestney
Ads: Link
them.”
Lakif thanked the psychiatrist for his insight and left, threading among the scholars toward the secluded enclave.
VIII
The Circle
L AKIF CREPT FORWARD AND HID BEHIND ONE OF THE ENCIRCLING STATUES. It was of a shapely female, but both arms were missing, as if they had been sawed off. Nevertheless, it shielded her approach so she could spy on the circle—unseen. Based on the praise heaved on them from the other scholars, Lakif knew that this cohort was held in the utmost regard and thus afforded the luxury of a semi-private auditorium to hold their theses.
She peered cautiously from behind the statue’s breast, like a child spying on her parents in lovemaking. Unlike the prattling philosophers in the Tabernacle proper, this was a subdued circle. Its constituents sat in silent deference before their orating colleague. The whole assembly was hoary, among the most aged men in the Tabernacle. Clearly, the Titan’s Toe was a veritable gerontocracy where advancement and prestige came with years. Of all in the Tabernacle, they uniquely wore gilded laurel wreaths as crowns. To the Acaanan, the golden bays represented the halos of a divine hierarchy.
Six cushions were set at equal distance around the circle. Five were occupied by Laureates—the sixth was empty. Its occupant stood center stage. The lecturer was an elderly man with a white, fine-trimmed beard. Lakif noted that his twinkling eyes were different colors. As she peeked around the chipped breast, she caught the tail end of the lecture.
“From his citadel in the pit of Nessus, the Trigeminal Lord mercilessly orchestrated the final annihilation of the allied army. As he was deaf and dumb, his orders were issued through his terrible vassal, Geriod. The Lord’s giant sentry, ever vigilant at the mouth of Nessus, orchestrated every minutia of the enemy’s stratagem. So loud was Geriod’s voice that it carried all the way to the Plains of Phlegra. He spoke in a hundred voices all at once, such that each and every one of his maligned minions could clearly hear no matter how clouded its own senses were with depraved malignity.”
He continued. “Thus, in the year 133 ante-tribunal on the fourth day of Mars, the remaining forces of the Minauros legion gathered on the plains of Phlegra. They were lead by the embattled general Grimpkin who had just returned from the failed expedition to the Typhon Fells. Later that day, they were joined by forces of the shattered Aerock Regime. Dispirited and leaderless, the clans readily rallied under the command of general Grimpkin.
“Shortly after sunrise on the fifth day of Mars, the army of the Trigeminal Lord crossed the river Acheron. Their juggernaut advance splintered the allied outposts camped there. At mid-morning, the bulk of the allied army had coalesced to oppose the advance. As providence would have it, the Cyclopes of Rime Isle arrived in the nick of time. They marched in from the great northern sea.
“By noon the final battle commenced, and tender Phlegra was rocked by its savagery. For five fateful hours, the battle waged unchecked. Smoke choked the sky, and Acheron flowed red. So many corpses clogged its course that the river overflowed its banks.
“The enemy numbered several times the allies in number. But Grimpkin’s forces fought against more than a vastly superior adversary; they waged struggle against the clock. The three toady spirits that had summoned the kings of the world had decreed that should Grimpkin’s flag speckle in the last rays of light, victory would be theirs.
“Geriod pressed his war machine, hoping to decimate the allied army as swiftly as possible. Such carnage the world has never seen, nor will ever see again. With still an ample span to sunset, the outlook was grim. The Aerock clans were utterly annihilated, slain to a man. Even the Cyclopes suffered grievous losses. Grimpkin’s own legion was razed to but a few hundred men. But they struggled on until their limbs cried out
Lakif thanked the psychiatrist for his insight and left, threading among the scholars toward the secluded enclave.
VIII
The Circle
L AKIF CREPT FORWARD AND HID BEHIND ONE OF THE ENCIRCLING STATUES. It was of a shapely female, but both arms were missing, as if they had been sawed off. Nevertheless, it shielded her approach so she could spy on the circle—unseen. Based on the praise heaved on them from the other scholars, Lakif knew that this cohort was held in the utmost regard and thus afforded the luxury of a semi-private auditorium to hold their theses.
She peered cautiously from behind the statue’s breast, like a child spying on her parents in lovemaking. Unlike the prattling philosophers in the Tabernacle proper, this was a subdued circle. Its constituents sat in silent deference before their orating colleague. The whole assembly was hoary, among the most aged men in the Tabernacle. Clearly, the Titan’s Toe was a veritable gerontocracy where advancement and prestige came with years. Of all in the Tabernacle, they uniquely wore gilded laurel wreaths as crowns. To the Acaanan, the golden bays represented the halos of a divine hierarchy.
Six cushions were set at equal distance around the circle. Five were occupied by Laureates—the sixth was empty. Its occupant stood center stage. The lecturer was an elderly man with a white, fine-trimmed beard. Lakif noted that his twinkling eyes were different colors. As she peeked around the chipped breast, she caught the tail end of the lecture.
“From his citadel in the pit of Nessus, the Trigeminal Lord mercilessly orchestrated the final annihilation of the allied army. As he was deaf and dumb, his orders were issued through his terrible vassal, Geriod. The Lord’s giant sentry, ever vigilant at the mouth of Nessus, orchestrated every minutia of the enemy’s stratagem. So loud was Geriod’s voice that it carried all the way to the Plains of Phlegra. He spoke in a hundred voices all at once, such that each and every one of his maligned minions could clearly hear no matter how clouded its own senses were with depraved malignity.”
He continued. “Thus, in the year 133 ante-tribunal on the fourth day of Mars, the remaining forces of the Minauros legion gathered on the plains of Phlegra. They were lead by the embattled general Grimpkin who had just returned from the failed expedition to the Typhon Fells. Later that day, they were joined by forces of the shattered Aerock Regime. Dispirited and leaderless, the clans readily rallied under the command of general Grimpkin.
“Shortly after sunrise on the fifth day of Mars, the army of the Trigeminal Lord crossed the river Acheron. Their juggernaut advance splintered the allied outposts camped there. At mid-morning, the bulk of the allied army had coalesced to oppose the advance. As providence would have it, the Cyclopes of Rime Isle arrived in the nick of time. They marched in from the great northern sea.
“By noon the final battle commenced, and tender Phlegra was rocked by its savagery. For five fateful hours, the battle waged unchecked. Smoke choked the sky, and Acheron flowed red. So many corpses clogged its course that the river overflowed its banks.
“The enemy numbered several times the allies in number. But Grimpkin’s forces fought against more than a vastly superior adversary; they waged struggle against the clock. The three toady spirits that had summoned the kings of the world had decreed that should Grimpkin’s flag speckle in the last rays of light, victory would be theirs.
“Geriod pressed his war machine, hoping to decimate the allied army as swiftly as possible. Such carnage the world has never seen, nor will ever see again. With still an ample span to sunset, the outlook was grim. The Aerock clans were utterly annihilated, slain to a man. Even the Cyclopes suffered grievous losses. Grimpkin’s own legion was razed to but a few hundred men. But they struggled on until their limbs cried out
Similar Books
