In the Hold of Ghleulgas, a dragon was kept living still: there, chained but sustained since the first Memory of the Hold, the Enemy remained defiant and unyielding in spirit. Until him.
He was called many things; Old Mountain, for he had been Raegh for over a millennium, unmoving from his throne and unchallenged but by those who are now dead; Aghmehn, the One of Aghm, as if he was sculpted by pure worth or as if his Aghm defined the very concept; Mhûlvhest he was also called, the Maulfisted, undefeated in brawl, the Memories said, since he was just a Thane, but for another reason too. But, if anyone ever asked the Dweghom of Ghleulgas who their Raegh was, there was only one answer, one name: Theurodhin. He was the blood of Theurdraghd the Wielder of Dragons’ Death, and while blood is said to matter not, all Remembered this for only against his ancestor who fell two Dragons could Theurodhin’s Aghm be compared to.
Under the forced gaze of the imprisoned Enemy, Raegh Theurodhin announced to his Hold that he knew the location of a dragon survivor, hiding for millennia. Silencing the cheers of his people with a gesture, he ordered for preparations to be made for the Host to march. Even he, the Old Mountain, could not help but share their enthusiasm for a moment, even as he ever glanced thoughtfully at the Enemy.
With preparations under way, he was expected to name an Exemplar, a champion of the Host and its Raegh. Ignoring both candidates presented by the castes of the Tempered and the Ardent, Theurodhin instead chose Fhedhis, a promising Clan member. Taken by rage for this insult, the Tempered candidate, Dhosberrin, challenged the Raegh only to fall dead moments later.
While it was the Tempered that suffered the loss, both castes presented a united front later, challenging the Raegh and pressing for answers about the location of the Dragon. His thoughts betraying a distrust towards the Mnemancers, Theurodhin in the end decided against misleading his people with a lie and instead revealed that the Dragon lies to the North, in Mannheim.
With preparations ongoing, a new problem rose, as the Mnemancers dictated that the Enemy could not be abandoned, for the Clan’s very birth depended on his capture. In an effort to somewhat appease the castes, the Raegh decided to force them to cooperate and find a solution to this matter. Their staggering solution seemed impossible: they planned to move the entire mountain.
With this impossible task before them, the castes begun cooperating and to ensure their unity and recognition, Theurodhin decided that their leaders’ names should be first mentioned on the moving Mountain’s Memory. He was challenged by his Mnemancers who performed as he asked but ensured to record that it was done on his orders. To this challenge, he answered by breaking one of the most sacred traditions of the Dweghom: in order to gather the Living Hold in as close a part of the mountain as possible, he ordered for the ancestral sealed halls to be reopened, so that the living population could be gathered near the surface. Soon, the Raegh’s challenge came second to the insult they discovered, as some sealed halls were found desecrated and looted by humans.
As cries for vengeance echo from the Clansmen around the Halls, the castes caution that the work must take precedence. Observed silently by the Mnemancers, Theurodhin chose to side with the castes; both to regain some favor with them but for his own reasons as well. His decision reminds him yet again just how lonely his reign has been; save for his maul and the ever-watchful eye of the imprisoned Enemy, Theurodhin feels the pressure of years and solitude both. In a moment of weakness, or clarity, he turns to his Exemplar, Fhedhis, and chooses to take mold him into a worthy successor one day.
During an almost heartfelt discussion, the Raegh tries to impart to the younger Exemplar the reasoning behind his decision; just one’s Aghm does not benefit one’s descendants, to fight the humans of today for what their ancestors did would be meaningless. A Raegh, he claims, must rule with purpose, not be pushed by the currents. He then challenged Fhedhis to oversee the most menial task he could think of for two Rosters, hoping the Exemplar would find a way to temper his urges but also learn to channel even the most menial tasks into service towards his purpose.
With his new protégé dismissed, he turned to military matters and visited one of his best officers, Udhgus. Rattled by the cryptic lack of cooperation offered by the castes, the officer underlines the rising tension between the Clan and the castes but also the immense logistical issues of safeguarding the moving mountain and the prison both, while on the move. Cornered and left with few choices considering the Enemy awaiting at the end of their journey, the Raegh decided to exercise his right: naming the moving mountain a Host unlike any other, he orders all to gather immediately.
Soon after, he stood alone, before the eye of the imprisoned Dragon, just as he had done in the beginning of his reign. Dry and plagued by insects and parasites, the eye starred at him without without anger or fear. Then, calling for the mountain to move, the Raegh hit the dragon in the eye, its pain fueling the magic that the castes had prepared.
As the Raegh begun his descent, he ignored the broken crust of puss and blood that allowed the eye to tear once more, offering the first relief to the Enemy since Theurodhin’s first visit there. Just as he ignored the dragon’s words in his mind, thanking him for this second act of kindness.
And the entire Hold moved. Aigbregh Ghleulgas, the moving mountain, was unleashed upon the world.
As raucous cheers echo throughout the Hall, the Raegh holds his hands up for silence once more. And expectant silence falls over the crowded Hall as they wait with an almost feverd anticipation for his next words.
(Choice: )
“Bank the fires. Empty the armories and assemble the Host. All able bodied warriors shall participate in this hunt. The Hold moves as one to hunt our eldest foes. Woe betide the fool who dares oppose us.”
The Old Mountain stands on the terrace above the Main Hall; solemn, silent, unmoving, gray hair and beard crowning a face scarred by countless combats and dark eyes falling on the comings and goings below. The enthusiasm, the tension, the excitement… they are palpable throughout the Hold. In every hall and every corridor, metals clang, voices rise, laughs echo and, of course, disputes are being settled amicably with fist or challenge. It is as it should be. The Raegh has spoken, the Host will March and it is impossible not to be taken by the tide of promised purpose. True enough, disputes will soon need his attention once more; he knows this. But for now, for a short while, the Hold will be like this.
Something almost stirs in him. Almost. It is as it should be, yes; and it is as it has been always when a March is declared. He turns and looks up, to the giant eye, hooked and pierced with puss and dirt crowning it… and fixed on him. He returns the stare for a few moments but no more. He turns and starts walking down, the eye fixed on his back, he knows. When he reaches the Hall below, cheers and hails welcome him, as his men cry for him to see their Aghm when the Host Marches with wide smiles or determined frowns.
For a moment, he forgets the future, and even he smiles.
He sits on his throne; what painters, sculptors and poets have tried to portray, conjuring the full mastery of their crafts to please their masters, he manages to display by the mere act of sitting there. Few Raegh, Kings and rulers of history ever presented a more naturally regal image than him on the throne. His eyes scan the two Dweghom standing before him and his assembly.
It was to be expected. Candidates would step forward to be named Exemplar before the campaign, if their Aghm could defend the claim. Recognized as paragons of Aghm, Exemplars were on their path to one day claim Raeghdom. The Hold had none; none had been recognized since the last one tried to overthrow him but five decades ago. But the March needs at least one Exemplar. Anyone could die during the March. Even he. A candidate was needed to fill the gap, even if they were never named Raegh in the end. More importantly, his decision would define the purpose and method, the heart and mind of the March. So now there stand two before him; one supported by the Tempered, the other by the Ardent. Oh yes, it was to be expected.
(Choice: )
The Raegh can recognize any whose Aghm can defend the claim. There is no lack of worthy Dweghom in his Hold and the two castes must be reminded of who the Raegh is. Fhedhis would serve best. If the Raegh falls, war among the castes would be perhaps inevitable. But that, too, is to be expected.
He sits still, eyes on the two candidates before him. They meet his gaze when he offers it, unfaltering by resolve, less so by patience perhaps. They are good candidates. Young, by his standards, but good, even if flawed in their different ways. He regrets the insult he will deliver to both. But it will be a test of character and wisdom, a chance to overcome such flaws; they will either be the better for it, or they will perish by them. No. Both; a different Memory for each of them, he thinks.
His eyes turn to their sponsors. They are older. They know him longer and they know his eyes. They already know what will follow, what it means and what is expected of them. There is a single nod, the slightest, from both. They understand. They do not like it, they will find ways to respond to this rejection, but they understand. The March is safe.
“Fhendis” he says in the end, the word greeted by his Mnemancer’s nod, the assembly’s silence and the shock on the candidates’ faces. He seems to notice none of these and he gets up in a casual demeanor, as if the situation merited no gravity in his mind; a good sentiment to display, he thinks. The Exemplar, after all, would be mostly needed if he dies.
“Raegh!” Ighenya cried. “Raegh, I…”
He ignores her. She has no say in this and should know better than to think she does. He feels more comfortable when she finishes with “…I understand”, even if her understanding is not required. He feels even more comfortable when his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing his maul from its resting place besides his throne. He is perhaps not as fast as he used to be but he is faster than Dhosberrin’s attempt to charge him. He swings sideways, the maul’s jewel, the Tear, glittering before it is splashed by crimson. It has crashed Dhosberrin’s jaw, skull and life in one swing, much like his ambition had been destroyed and his Aghm questioned in one word.
It feels right in his hands, his maul. It feels like it belongs there, it feels like he is complete. There is still a warrior in the old ruler, he thinks and almost smiles. He does not extend the smile to his lips.
“Let him be remembered” he says somberly instead to the silence that followed the kill. He speaks to all but his eyes hold Ighenya’s and hers alone. “Dhosberrin-Who-Would-Be-Raegh. He was called restrained; his restrain was not meekness. But he confused ambition for worth.” Grunts and nods acknowledged the Memory. Ighenya furrowed her brows, as she lowered her gaze thoughtfully. Good. She’d make a good Exemplar one day. But not today.
“Fhendis” he says once more, before leaving, bloody maul resting on his shoulder.
The matter was closed. The Dragon’s eye that was fixed on him never was.
It is the Ardent that question him first, of course. The silence of the Tempered is as close to support as they have ever offered.
“Where is the Dragon?” they ask, for the first time. They have accepted his word, so far. He could have just started walking towards the Open Lands without a word or explanation and most of the Hold, including the castes, would have followed. But the rejection of their candidates cannot go unanswered. He knows and understands this.
“There is much to be done” he answers “much to be addressed before this. When all halls are sealed, when all have weapons in hand, when provisions have been secured, duties assigned, rosters determined. When the drakes are saddled and preparations for the Execution are over then ask.”
“I Remember the question asked, Raegh.” It is the Tempered that speak surprising even him. Even he cannot ignore this. Refusing will kill the March and start a War, not a Challenge. Even a Raegh must answer when the Hold asks.
He looks at the Mnemancer. He wonders if this one knows what he himself does for he believes not all of them do. He wonders if he is burdened by the Truth or if he embraces the necessity of lies.
In the end, the Mnemancer matters not. This is what will be Remembered. This is what will matter to the Dweghom. A Hold will March and the Memory starts here.
(Choice: )
He speaks a truth to them, as a Raegh should. He will not transfer to him a burden that is his. He will not condemn his Hold. He will elevate it and carve a Memory for all of them. He knows where a Dragon hides and he will lead them as promised.
He sighs. They think it is because they forced him to share his truth. He confronts the fact that it is because he will not expose a lie. He fights the urge to glance behind him, knowing the Dragon’s eye is on him.
“North” he says. “We must March through the lands of men. We must reach the shores of the cold water and we must find a way to cross it. We must find tallest tree in the land beyond. And then we must dig. We must dig like Dweghom have not dug for millennia. But the reward will be worth Remembering.”
He gets up to the cheers and yells of his council, hears it spread and echo across the Halls of his Hold. He ignores the glare on his back. He is Dweghom. He is Raegh. He answers to no one but his Hold.
“Raegh, that is imposs..”
“It is necessary” he says.
“The capture alone was…”
“That is why it is necessary” the Mnemancer replied for him. “The Clan exists by the Memory of the Enemy’s capture.”
“The Mnemancers decreed that abandoning the Enemy would mean the erasure of the Clan” he adds. “The Clan degreed that the Hold will March. So the Hold will March with the Enemy.”
“But…”
“Enough” he says. “The Clan has spoken. The Mnemancers have spoken. We were gathering our Host to march across the surface. That is no longer sufficient. I do not know how it will be done. I do not know what shape it will have, how big it will be or what it will be made of. But we will build a Host. I want the Prison to March with us.”
Choice
And you will make it so: Theurodhin assigns the task to both the Tempered and the Ardent. Open their eyes as they are forced to make a Memory together… If they fail to do so and turn against each other, War will be inevitable. But if they do, the creation of the Host will be a Memory that will shake the world.
“Can this even be done?”
It is Udhgus that asks; trusted, seasoned, tried Udhgus. Few things could rattle him, fewer still could surprise him, nothing could scare him. He looks all those things combined now. Fhedhis, his very own Exemplar, looks the same but he had looked at his Raegh and said nothing in the end. The Old Mountain’s eyes scan those assembled. They all look the same. The Kerawegh looks proud, smirking in delight with their reaction. The Steelshaper looks, of course, passive.
“Ishdi and the Clan of Enduer once did something similar” he says and he goes on “and there is the Memory of Anghamander during the Breaking of course.” It is his turn to smirk. The Steelshaper raises his eyes and looks at him, surprised with his knowledge of these Memories. He has always liked getting reactions out of Steelshapers. It feels harder than gathering a year’s worth of Aghm. He can also feel his Mnemancer’s frowned look, as if it is trying to pierce his mind.
“It can be done,” the Steelshaper nods to his Raegh in the end.
“Then let it be done” Theurodhin says. “We will not build a Host.” There is almost excitement in his voice. By the Deep, there is almost excitement in his veins, his heart beating hard and fast. This is not what he intended but this is what is happening. And what a Memory it will be!
“We will move the Mountain.”
“It is an important matter, Raegh.”
“Are you testing me, Bhunduran?” he asks but a puzzled, if not offended, reply is all he gets.
“Raegh?”
“No matter” he says, waving his hand dismissively. He knows it cannot be avoided. His entire Hold expects it even without realizing. They will not ask for it, they just know it will be there when they look. The Mnemantic inscriptions are always a part of everything worthy the Dweghom do. But it is not the work of a Raegh, it is not his role to decide such things. And yet they ask him.
What will the inscription read on the Mountain, with what name will this Memory be carved?
Choice
The caste leaders’ names: It is proper that this Memory names those that worked for it. The Ardent and Tempered work together for the Mountain to be moved and that, above all else should be remembered. The castes of the Hold can only be strengthened by this Memory but they would Remember his decision. Probably.
Aiosidh, Shaper of Steel, and Kerawegh Ghlengaridh achieved this and named it Aigbregh Ghleulgas, on the two thousand five hundred and fifty second Command of Raegh Theurodhin. It is fueled by the heart and torment of the Enemy but it is by the will of the Dweghom, by order of Raegh Theurodhin and in his name.
He reads the runes as they are inscribed and anger consumes him. It is a lie but it is not. It is a Memory but not his.
“I trust you are happy, Raegh” says his Mnemancer and he feels mockery even if he cannot hear it. He grunts but says nothing. There was a lot to do before the Mountain moved.
The tremors are still small and sporadic, but he knows that in the months to come they will intensify. Eventually, the humans will feel them – perhaps the world. Breaking a mountain free is no easy task.
Until then, there is work to be done and decisions to be made. The Living Hold has dug deep indeed and some of it must be abandoned before the mountain is cut. That is to be expected and no caste has objected. But the question remains, where will the Living Hold be moved? Should all the Mnemancers and all the castes agree, the Sealed Halls could be reopened; an unfathomable thing in different circumstances. Some of the Ancestors lying there along with all their earned possessions will have to be moved to what are now the Living Halls. The dead will take the place of the living; the living will take the place of the dead. He dislikes the idea but enjoys the discomfort it will cause to some.
He could instead command the opening of new Halls, exploiting all the room the moving mountain can give, and order the shaping of platforms and halls on the sides of the mountain. Aigbregh Ghleulgas would become a hollow thing, all things considered, and the Ardent have cautioned that this could weaken the Prison. But if the laws of the Memories are to be observed, this was the only way. For the only other real alternative is to force all to stay in creches; a dangerous suggestion in and of itself. That would never be accepted, unless he himself stayed in one too but even if it was accepted, forcing those with different Aghm to share a housing would probably destroy the Hold from the inside. No. That was not a choice, unless he wanted his Hold to crumble.
Choice
Move the Living Halls to the Sealed ones.
He oversees the operations along with the Mnemancers; each sealed hall and domain is opened, all its contents catalogued and described to the smallest detail, then transferred to one of the older Memory Halls, where the belongings of the ancestors are to be held. It is a process that will take endless Duties if not Commands. He is content. This will keep the Hold occupied, while the Work is being done.
It is not long before they find the first violated hall. And then the signs of attempts to break the seals simply increase. The operation is halted until a full record of broken seals is made; they are but four out of dozens but the damage is done; the Halls of Ancestors are violated. Humans.
He is not surprised when the Hold is divided in an instant. This must be answered, the Clans scream but the other Castes disagree; the Work must take precedence. Putting capable hands to anything but the Work will delay what will already take time.
He now sits on his throne and ponders. Fhedhis, his very own Exemplar, is a leading voice among the Clans that scream for vengeance. It is a silly thing. Whoever did this is long dead; the Dweghom do not, should not believe that the sins and glories of the ancestors should condemn or exalt the progeny. But if he is honest, even he is moved by the sight of broken seals. There is a city, Commus once it was called, not far. Letting Fhedhis lead the Clans would be a learning exercise for him.
But on the other hand, what is being done here is a Memory unlike any other and the world will tremble before Aigbregh Ghleulgas. The castes are right; they cannot afford to lose the numbers a March would require.
He looks at the Mnemancers, cataloguing, describing each and every tiny object they find in the sealed halls. They have said nothing and that means they don’t want anything to change; or they are testing him and his patience both.
Choice
The Work needs the manpower.
Fhedhis, of course, reacts to the decision. It is to be expected, commended even. It is what youth should be like; ambitious, eager, thirsty. It has the benefit of inexperience, the benefit of naivety. To his credit, perhaps, he does not challenge, despite the disappointment. It would not have been amiss if he had felt insulted. But perhaps he sees. Perhaps he accepts because he trusts. Or perhaps he accepts because he must, because the difference in Aghm is overwhelming.
For a moment, the Raegh’s thoughts are paused. Then, a frown, sad instead of angry. He looks to the Enemy but thinks again. No. He cannot, not anymore. He averts his eyes and reaching for his maul, he brings it before him, his sole friend throughout his reign. Head down, resting his hands on the hilt and his face in his hands, he pays no heed to the mountain trembling around him now and then.
Perhaps Fhedhis. There is time before the Host marches, time before the Mountain moves. The lad has shown promise; it would be a reward to his trust and loyalty so far. It is not common, for a Dweghom is expected to learn for themselves; such is Aghm. But it has been done before, by other Raegh; to teach someone, usually an Exemplar aspirant. He has no doubt that some will see it as a weakness, Fhedhis possibly among them. Ancestors, even his first instinct is to see it as such. But he is old, as old as any Raegh he reckons. What he has learned should not be forgotten and he won’t share it with any Mnemancer.
He looks up once more, thoughtful, the eye of the Enemy ever fixed on him. It always makes him honest, starring in that eye.
Choice
Offer to teach Fhedhis.
“Why didn’t you allow me to punish the humans?”
A single Roster. That is how little it took for the question to be asked. Way too little.
“You lack in patience, Fhedhis,” he answers. “Temper your ardent passions.”
“It is a valid question, Raegh,” the youth replies. Well, Theurodhin thinks. Not a youth, really; with the shaved head unattended, the grey spots on his black mane have begun to show. Youth only compared to him and a handful of others.
“It was a decision I do not understand, yet it was the decision of my Raegh,” Fhedhis goes on. “I would learn my Raegh’s reasoning.”
He laughs. Heartily and honestly. He has not laughed in a while, he realizes. His jaw all but hurts. The surprise in Fhedhis’ face portrays just how rare this sight has been.
“Well, you are cunning enough to water your words like this, Exemplar,” he says, good-heartedly. “Surely you can figure this out too!” Fhedhis smiles.
“Wisdom and cunning are too different things, my Raegh,” he says with a playful smile. “Having mastered one, I would learn the other from the best.”
“For one wanting to kill humans so much, you sure resemble their wordsmithing,” the Raegh replies, laughing still but it is twice he’s insulted him now. Still, a chuckle is all the reply the Exemplar offers.
He questions his choice for an Exemplar; he questions his own suspicions right after that. The boy is either a flatterer or tries to be his friend.
Choice
Allow it.
He does not reprimand his Exemplar. Perhaps he should but he does not and even he cannot be sure why, in the end. He thinks it could be it out of curiosity, to see if it is flattery or an attempt to friendship. Part of him, however, wonders if it was out of sentimentality for this camaraderie that has eluded him for so long. Dismissing such useless thoughts with a shake of his head, he turns to Fhedhis once more.
“Let us see if you can find the answer to your question,” he says in a more serious tone. “You claim that the humans should be punished for the Memories of their ancestors.”
“It is how the world should work,” the Exemplar answers and the Raegh nods along, before he speaks again.
“But humans do not keep Memories as Dweghom do. Would you punish all of them?”
Fhedhis pauses a moment before answering.
“They may not Remember,” he says in the end, “but we do.”
“Then should we also weigh the Aghm of their Memories, then?”
“No, they are not Dweghom,” Fhedhis shakes his head, frowning.
“Ah, but if it is us that Remember their crimes of humans, surely our way should be applied for their weight as well. And if it does not, then is there any Aghm to be gained from fighting them?”
Fhedhis’ frown remains but so does his silence. In the end, he lightens up, relieved by the solution he has reached.
“Perhaps it is not about their Memories,” he says in the end, “but about the insults against the Memories of our Ancestors.”
“Do we also gain Aghm from the Memories of our Ancestors?”
Fhedhis opens his mouth. He is ready to say that the Memories of Ancestors are the weight of today, not to individuals but to a clan. He is very proud for this realization, eager to showcase his newfound perspective to his Raegh. But Theurodhin raises his hand, pausing him before he utters a word.
“Anything you say to me, I can counter,” the Raegh says. “This is neither a boast about myself nor an insult to you. It is simply the benefit of Commands upon Commands in the time of my single Rule. But you asked why I did not let you attack the humans, and you see complicated reasons behind this. My point – and my answer to your question – is this:”
Choice
Rule with purpose – As a Raegh, you must take steps with meaning. There is no more Aghm to be gained in fighting today’s humans than in fighting a rock. I would only have tarnished our Clan’s Memories further.
“Rule with purpose,” the Exemplar repeats, marking the memory twice. Diligent, the Raegh thinks. Or flatterer. But in the end, it matters little if the lesson is remembered.
Or does it?
He shakes his head, confronted yet again by the true curse of his kind hid and, with a tired grunt, he gets up and pats the Exemplar on the back.
“Stand,” he says. “I have a task for you.”
Fhedhis obeys swiftly, thumping his fist on his chest. “Command, Raegh,” he says simply.
“I want you to oversee a task,” Theurodhin says simply.
“A task, Raegh?” Fhedhis asks confused.
“Yes,” he tries not to smile. “I want you to find the most menial task you can think of; then oversee it. For two Rosters, this will be your duty and nothing else. No,” he raises his hand to stop the Exemplar’s protest, “I am not punishing you. This is good training; even if not the most pleasant one, I know. The greatest threat to a Raegh’s rule is boredom; it blunts your senses or it drives you to challenge-fever, depending on the stone you’re made of. To fulfill a true purpose, you need a long rule. To keep a long rule, you need to master boredom. To master boredom, you need to fuel the flames of your purpose despite of it. Go. Find the slowest, most menial task you can think of and oversee it. Remember my words, we will find something more active for you once the two Rosters are over. But now, go.”
He smiles watching the dumbfounded youth walk away with shoulders slouched and confused. Oh, the boy will have his fair share of challenges to keep him busy; nothing attracts challenges more than the apparent laziness of leadership. The real question, the one he wanted answered, was which task did the Exemplar consider the most menial.
Once Fhedhis was finally out of earshot, he laughs. It was a good decision, he thinks, this apprenticeship. It certainly keeps his boredom at bay. The laugh turns into a sigh, as his mind raced over where to turn his attention for the next two Rosters.
Choice
Military matters – The Moving Mountain defenses need to be addressed.
“I am glad you are addressing this matter, Raegh.”
Udhgus seems rattled; a rare sight, a marvel not unlike the Enemy in chains, Theurodhin thinks amused. From youth to old age, he has served the Hold as a warrior; a pitty, the Raegh thinks, for the man could have bested even him, some days. Had the man been born in ages past, Theurodhin thinks with sadness, he would have forged his own clan, no doubt, claiming an Enemy’s life. Now, when the stone claimed him, he’d die in a warrior’s creche, no hall in his name.
“For I swear,” Udhgus went on, “by the Stone and Fire that birthed us, I’d rather burn for the rest of my days like a berserker rather than have to deal with their likes one more time. That Aisosidh will…”
“Stone yourself, old friend,” the Raegh chuckles, resting his hand on the warrior’s shoulders and squeezing encouragingly. “I have yet to meet one to best your mind or your body. A marble-faced Steelmancer would be a poor ending to your Memory.”
“Well, be ready to give my bunk to some beardless youth, for that’s where this is heading, I swear.”
“What is it they’ve done to you?”
The warrior sighs, then shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s what they do not do that frustrates me. The Steelmancer refuses to offer numbers, mission or time of return for the Tempered in the deep tunnels. In his words, ‘they will come when they come, or they will stay where they are. They will not be summoned. Their work cannot be interfered with’. And when I told him that the deep tunnels won’t be so deep when we’re going, he just nodded as if I was proving his point. Madness.”
“And the Kerawegh?” the Raegh asks.
“To the fires of the Deep with him too,” he says. “I told him we need Wardens. With the elemental powers that will be moving the Hold, we will need to come up with rotations for them to guard them; your warriors aren’t fit for fighting near the living furnaces, nor the muddy mess that is the lower level of the Moving Mountain. His answer? ‘We didn’t break the chains of the Enemy to suffer the leash of ‘Utish’. If I shove my axe in his skull, we’ll see who is Utish!”
The Raegh feels like laughing but the warrior would not stand for it. Humans have a word, he remembers: worthless. But for the Dweghom, such a thing is inconceivable. So ‘Utish’ is used, which means no one; for to have no Aghm would be to not be Dweghom.
“I was Utish once, my friend,” he said.
“You are different, my Raegh,” the warrior says, nodding his head.
“Could we do without them?”
“We will if we must,” Udhgus replies. “But I cannot know, because they won’t even say how the whole blasted thing will work. They won’t tell what needs protecting, what will be exposed. If you ask me, they don’t know themselves, not that they’d ever admit to it.”
The Raegh nods. He feels that their forces would be needed, for the protection of the Hold, to move against a new Enemy and to secure the Prison as well. But he could not let the castes disregard people that he had assigned to tasks so readily. He needs to act on this.
Choice
Announce that this is a Host. – During a Host, all members of the Hold are expected to follow the Hold’s accepted leader. This also means that the clan and castes will recall their full forces. The castes may to react to such a strong move.
“The Raegh’s words are remembered.”
It is Aiosidh that speaks, his voice low and calm but ringing clear.
“The Raegh asked if it can be done and he was answered. Then the Raegh said that we will not build a Host but move the Mountain. This, I remember.”
Besides him, Ghlengaridh nods in agreement.
“It is remembered,” he adds.
“I remember my own words,” growls the Old Mountain. “And to debate context with you would be less yielding than trying to cool a volcano with a bucket of water.” The Kerawegh flinches but no more. “I also remember other words: I remember the Clan declaring a Host against the dragon of the north. And if you can’t remember that, remember this.”
He gets up. His patience is running thin and he knows it, just as he knows he must keep to that patience, even if it turns as thin as a hair. He is no youth trying to impress, no warrior trying to gather Aghm. He has Aghm enough for three generations of Keraweghs and Steelmancers. He stands, hand resting on the hilt of the Tear, the maul synonym with him and his reign. Then he speaks, loud and clear, his eyes starring the two caste leaders before him in turn.
“I am Theurodhin, Raegh of Ghleulgas. It is remembered in stone that Aigbregh Ghleulgas is fueled by the heart and torment of the Enemy but it is by the will of the Dweghom, by my order and in my name.” He throws a glance at the Mnemancer, suckling satisfaction from his scowl. “By my order, it is a Host, unlike any other before. Gather the Host…”
He pauses, for a moment, as all in the great hall have turned to look at him, pulled by the weight of his voice. Then he adds…
Choice
…now – The castes will be forced to recall their forces and put them under the command of the Raegh. Udhgus will be shielded but the castes would be severely pressured.
Raegh Theurodhin of Ghleulgas stood before the Enemy. He blinked, his focus returning from the Memories to there and then and his first thought was his immediate duty. His Council was far below, he knew, gathered around his Throne, their eyes fixed on him as much as the Enemy’s was; waiting for him to give the word.
“One word,” he said, looking up at the enormous eye that was fixed on him, pus and dried blood festering around the metal claws that had kept the eye open for ages, unable to fend off the swarm of insects that crawled on and around its dried-up cornea.
“All these Memories and it all comes down to one word.”
He brought his maul before him, resting gently on it.
“It used to be one word before, didn’t it?” he kept on. “Tear. Raegh Theurodhin, who finally made the Enemy cry. An entire Clan’s and Hold’s Memories, from Ishlkalha who captured him to the day I came here last. Reigns and Campaigns in a row, and the Enemy had silently endured his just punishment for the transgressions of his kind. Never faltering, never wavering, never crying. Until Theurodhin came. Until he made the Enemy cry. That is the first word. Tear.”
He lifted his maul, hefted it strongly in his palms, eyes dancing over the liquid inside the weapon’s crystal head, then moving down, as they read the runes on the hilt. Tear.
“And now, another. As simple as the first. All I have to do is utter it and the Hold will change. The Clan will change. The world will change. Just as I was changed.”
He paused for moment. “The power of two words, eh?” he whispered gently, as he looked up, straight into the dragon’s eye. They looked at each other for a moment, without anger or malice or enmity. Then, lifting the maul, he yelled for all the Hold to hear. One word:
“MOVE!”
He slammed the maul in the eye; aiming just so. The whole Hold erupted in triumphant, joyful cheers. Some called his name, others the clan’s, others still just screamed in vicious satisfaction or pure exhilaration. Then all was drowned as the dragon groaned, his muzzled jaws clenching somewhere deep inside the mountain’s bonds, his tail fruitlessly trying to lash as the work of the steelmancers did their part. Then, fueled by the pain of the Enemy, the entire Hold shook.
And the Hold of Ghleulgas moved.
Without a word, the Raegh turned to leave. He ignored the amassed crust of pus and blood that broke from his blow; slowly at first, then faster as a tear finally broke free, wetting an eye that had been forced open for centuries, as terrified insects run to escape their doom. He ignored the second groan, this one hiding relief behind the futile attempts to move. And finally, he pretended he ignored the words that echoed in his mind, like the roar of an ocean’s waterfall; two words.
Thank you.