Tyrant of the Ruined Sun - Chapter 229
Chapter 229: The Messenger and his Challenge
I and my highest ranking officers were currently sitting in my tent looking quizzically upon the oddest messenger any of us had ever seen, especially when it pertained to diplomatic talks during war time; for ordinarily one would send more than one delegate, with a full host of honour guard and dressed in the finest regalia that could be afforded to the highly experienced diplomat who was tasked with such an important and sensitive matter, yet the man before us was nothing like this at all.
First of all he was utterly alone, without a single attendant accompanying him, I mean in the name of all the Gods, even Marius had that blue eyed boy with him when he arrived to talk with me after the battle of the Melting Mist Plains.
Secondly, his manner of arrival was a cause for concern as well, for he suddenly appeared beyond our camp’s boundaries and proclaimed to be bearing a message for me as though he was simply crossing the street to deliver a letter to his neighbour that was accidently delivered to him instead, rather than approaching a heavily armed military camp; all of which is made all the more weird by the fact that none of our many sentry posts had even caught a glimpse of this man before, despite the fact that they should’ve been perfectly able to see him before when he arrived.
The third matter, was the manner in which he spoke. For he spoke in the common language of the continent, and not in the Murathicus tongue, yet his accent was again strange, not in the same way a native Murathican, like Tessiphina and Barrafin talked, but as though he had long since learned our language, and was only now regaining his mastery of it.
The fourth thing on the other hand, was how he looked. He was old, terribly so, with pale blue eyes crowned with crows feet around them, that seemed to be overflowing with the weight of witnessed eons, something I had seen in only in Adam and slightly Hamilcar before, the two oldest men I knew.
He also stood tall, nearing to the stature of Hamilcar himself, despite the slight hunch of his back, with a thinning mane of white hair and a similarly coloured beard that reached half way down his chest, and though he looked thin, almost gaunt, with his slightly sallow skin seemingly having been stretched uncomfortably across his muscle and bone, he still held himself with an air of absolute confidence, as though he was still teeming with the full explosive energy of youth, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.
Even his clothes were not spared this man’s strangeness, as he was dressed in a long robe of greyish blue and leather bound sandals, that although could not be called rags, as they were certainly clean and without any visible damage to them, yet they were not exactly new either; as they were all travel worn with the unmistakable signs of age upon them.
And last, but certainly not least of what made us cautious of this man, was the reaction of my mightiest warriors when they first saw him, particularly that of Hamilcar, who looked stunned, almost disbelieving, for a moment, as though he was meeting something of such incredulity that he could not immediately explain it’s existence.
“Can I assume you have graciously offered me a seat? For you see it has been a long road and my old bones are not what they used to be.” He suddenly said with an airily sort of way, as the silence stretched after he finished reading the scroll in his hand.
“Sure.” I nodded, still not completely certain how I should best treat this old man, especially with Hamilcar still staring at him in fascination and
“Thank you, my good sirs.” He said, taking the chair happily from my attendants who went to offer him one.
“Senior.” It was then, when the voice of one we had never heard him speak in such a manner called out, making all of us turn to stare shock-eyed at the ancient demon to my side. “May I ask you something?”
“Why of course, you’ve just asked me one now, haven’t you?” The old man replied genially, seemingly not recognizing the weight of the moment by our utterly stunned expressions. “But I find no reason that you shouldn’t do with another.”
“Have you found the path to that fabled realm?” Hamilcar asked expectantly, his eyes beginning to unintendedly crackle with wisps of crimson fire.
Yet the old man’s eyes seemed to take on a completely different light at his words, becoming sombre and disappointed, though his benign smile remained utterly unchanged, as he sighingly answered “I’m afraid not, for the eleventh realm remains as mysterious to me as it is most likely it is for you. Oh, but fret not, just because I have not yet succeeded doesn’t mean you can’t, the future is always unknown after all.”
“Thank you, senior.” Hamilcar replied with a bit of listless tone, his own disappointment and gratitude clearly audible in his usually completely stoic voice.
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“Oh, don’t mention it my young friend, it was nothing.” The old man happily replied, nonchalantly waving his hand in a breezy sort of way, as though the Martial Demon’s gratitude was of little matter.
Meanwhile, I found myself in one of those rare moments, where my mind was completely blank.
‘Senior.’ ‘My young friend’ These phrases kept repeating themselves in my mind, for not in my past nor in this one had I ever heard anyone speak to Hamilcar, or Hamilcar speak to anyone else, in such a manner, not even Adam who was undoubtedly older than Hamilcar did so.
“Pardon me, my good sirs, but may we return now to the matter at hand? There are many who are anxiously awaiting my return, and I’d hate to keep them waiting in their suffering any longer.” The old man uttered aloud again, bringing us once again out of our stupor.
“Oh, of course.” I quickly said, breaking free of my own shock, and swiftly trying to regain my composure, as I said. “But before we do, wouldn’t you offer us your name lord?
“Oh, how silly of me.” He said, his blinking jollily. “You may call me Argus, and as you’ve probably deduced by now, I serve the mighty clan of Ober-Rath, and it’s patriarchs, the sons of the God of Prosperity.”
“Argus?” Echoed Barrafin quickly with hooked brows. “That is not a Murathicus name.”
“No, it is not.” He readily admitted with a shake of his smiling head, before he then suddenly said as though it was the most mundane piece of information to exist. “For you see, I originally come from where many of you have; the lands north of the Hadrians.”
We all stared at the man wordlessly, until Horus softly muttered in a voice a little more than a whisper, yet in the deafening silence it sounded as clear as a casually spoken word “How?!”
“Oh, it’s a fascinating tale, one that I would gladly offer to regale you with, if not for my wish to give it it’s proper justice when we have the time.” He merrily said, before he turned back to me, waiting my reply to his patriarch’s challenge for single combat.
Yet before I could, Hasdrubal spoke out “You told you want to solve this without anymore unnecessary bloodshed, so we should simply solve the old way, with a duel of champions. But you did not tell us how many your master had in mind? Two? Three?”
Hearing this the old man simply kept his well natured smile on his face, and turned to my friend, before he simply replied with “I did not say the old way young man. I said my master wants to end this war with the ancient way.”
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He said that as though it made all the difference in the world, yet most of my commanders did not think so, but I, Hamilcar, Tessiphina and Abraham did in fact understand the grave disparity between the two.
“King against king.” I iterated, bringing all of us onto the same page.
“Exactly!” He chirped up happily, as though he was an aged teacher happy one of his students had answered his question correctly. “My master challenges you to single combat. You against him, one on one, no middlemen, no armies, no interruptions and the victor takes all.”
None spoke after, as all eyes turned to me with varying thoughts and emotions swirling in them, most potent of whom being my brothers, who looked at me with a mix of confidence and worry, for they had blind belief in me that I would never be bested upon the battlefield, yet they recognized that anyone willing to so openly challenge me after all the rumours now circling about me in the Murathicus lands, would be one who has more than confident in his own prowess as well.
“Where and when?” I calmly ask, not agreeing or disagreeing yet.
Smiling, the old man replied “My master is open for compromise on these two matters, but he hopes you would agree on hosting the duel upon Dushlan Hill, the place said to have once housed the greatest duels of the Murathicus people in ages long past.”
Tessiphina and Barrafin held their breaths at this string of words, as their eyes shone with reminiscence at the name of this place, as though remembering childhood stories of that place, and hopeful dreams of battling with the old kings of their people upon those hallowed grounds.
“And where is this place?” I ask.
“About seventy leagues to the south of this very place.” He answered.
“In the history books we still have, those rituals were conducted with varying degrees of armoured allowed, has your patriarch given any thought to that?” I ask.
“Indeed he has.” Argus nodded. “Traditionally, the Murathicus Patriarchs used to duel completely naked, but we understand that such a thing might not be agreeable to you, so we have no issue side lining such an old custom.”
“I only have only one question remaining then.” I said with shrug, as I reclined back upon my ornate, throne like chair.
“Please ask away.” He said with a welcoming lift of his right arm.
“Why should I accept?”