Delima Kasih

The Blog(u) 16: The Hall of The King

'Majesty,' The messenger looked a little wild about the eyes, but The King knew what he was going to say.
'Majesty,' the messenger appeared a little shaken, but pulled himself together with obvious difficulty.
'Majesty,' the messenger took a deep breath and genuflected again: he would have fallen over otherwise.
'The beast has been subdued, oh my king,' he was finally able to say. 'Four sorcerers were needed, such was its power. Whole tracts of Your Majesty's blogtrees have been ravaged by this thing.'
ElviSia straightened on his throne. 'I would behold this monster.'
'Yes, my king,' replied the messenger. 'Even now do the four bring their vanquished foe in bondage before you.'
The vast doors at the end of the throne room swung slowly open. A blue, ghostly light shone through the growing gap. The chamber was suddenly silent as four figures marched a fifth through the assembled masses.
The four were obviously sorcerors. White robes etched in gold and edged in black clothed the most powerful wizards of the realm. The golden words seemed to burn as their prisoner was delivered up to the throne.
Golden words also flickered and burned across the rumpled white smock that clothed the evil one. Bound up in heavy chain, blue fire and golden words, the evil one was shockingly small. The King looked more closely at the thing that had ravaged so much of the blogosphere. It appeared to be a young child, but for a most un-childlike egotism and contempt that emanated from it.
The evil one raised its gaze to meet his and its smirk spoke volumes. Dark eyes aglow with unholy power, it grinned. The expression was a grotesque caricature, full of long dripping fangs. Seeing that people recoiled in horror, the evil one laughed.
It was a chilling sound, starting out as a low, malicious chuckle. The sound was indistinct at first, like the faint murmuring of the wind. It swelled with a slow, self-satisfied rhythm, perversely pleasing to the ear. A shocked gasp ran through the crowd as the monster laughed louder yet, in two, three, then four voices at once.
A firm wrench of the chains brought the evil one to its knees. Fangs bared, it snarled defiance in its many voices at the King.
The matter hung there for a long moment. The evil that roared and slavered in the centre of the throne room was guarded by a mage for each of the four winds. Each of these, the most powerful sorcerors in the land, muttered the endless spell that bound the little horror in chains, fire and words.
Four heavy chains of blackest iron were kept in the hands of the mightiest magicians of all. Yet, such was the evil that sweat stood out on their brows as they laboured to contain it.
Then it happenned. Standing effortlessly, the little evil seemed to shudder grotesquely. From nowhere, a cloud of grey moths appeared and enveloped the little figure.
Suddenly the blue flames went out in a vast explosion. Blazing gold letters sprayed everywhere, felling the exhausted wizards in a hail of fractured magic.
Standing free in a ring of fire, the evil one cracked another fang-toothed grin at the king. Then it advanced on the throne, its tiny footsteps shaking the whole chamber.
'Halt. Go no further,' commanded two voices in unison. Stepping between evil and the King, one figure in white and one in black confronted it.
'You cannot stop me,' snarled the evil one. Grey moths swirled in the air, bringing the suffocating quality of doom with them.
The following confrontation was titanic. Thundering detonations and blinding flashes of all colours assaulted the senses. Lightning raked the stone floor and granite shards pelted all and sundry. Terrified courtiers fled to the doors even as the King's bodyguard bore him to safety..
As the evil one turned to follow, both the figures in white and in black struck home. Brightly burning talismans stuck fast over the eyes of shrieking evil.
The ones in white and in black moved one last time, laying their hands almost gently on their adversary's forehead. Their touch flung the evil one spinning across the chamber, against one of the great doors.
There was a great explosion. A great wall of fire swept back into the hall, a rapidly advancing tide of burning red heat. Then as suddenly as it began, the fireball vanished.
They had won. No more grey moths befouled the air. The stink of doom had gone. It was done.
Torn from its hinges by that last great explosion, the great door was a scattered heap of mangled steel and wood splinters. The four weary sorcerors and the two unnamed went to the wreckage. In it they found a little figure dressed in a white peasant smock. The little girl was curled up with her eyes staring blankly in terror, twitching occasionally.
As they drew closer, they heard her whisper, 'I'm so sorry.'

posted by plink @ 7:23 pm