🚀 go-pugleaf

The Belzandramanian

By

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

http://davideddingsfanfiction.angelfire.com

http://noahidebooks.angelfire.com

© 2010-02-28



Dedicated to

David Eddings – The Master



Volume One – Wrath of the Mad God Torak

Volume Two – Mishrac Ac Thull’s Agenda

Volume Three – Cthol Murgos’ Desires

Volume Four – Gar Og Nadrak’s Vengeance

Volume Five – Beyond the Edge of Nothing







Volume One – Wrath of the Mad God Torak



[Map of Yulenthea and Junissa – Click to See]





Prologue



Torak Brooded.  Ul had chided him again and again, yet the god of
destruction paid no heed.  He cared not.  His slaying had been the
ultimate act of humiliation, unable to escape the prophecy of destiny
that Ul had been mastermind behind.  And now he brooded, caught up in
a deathly afterlife, tormented by his father, unable to see any of his
brethren.



And then, the gods took council, and forgave Torak, deeming he had
learned his lesson.  But Ul new more wisely.



Sitting in the abode of darkness, beyond all light, Torak looked at
the helpless figure, caught up in her wickedness.  And an idea
permeated his mind, and idea of revenge, wrath and delusion.  And the
Mad God Torak looked upon this figure and the name ‘Belzandramas’
entered his head.  And then he chuckled with a most evil chuckle, and
a new prophecy began forming in the mind of Ul, the eternal God.





Chapter One



Belgarion studied the Mrin Codex.  Ce Nedra, in the background, was
busily at work, as had become her manner, preparing the nightly meal.
It was simple now, Belgarian thought to himself.  Very simple.  Here
he was, living on Faldor’s farm, away from the limelight of Riva and
Kingship, which had been turned over to Belgeran.  For he had, in a
way, abdicated to choose the simple life.  The life he had been
brought up with, when things were innocent and new.  When, perhaps, he
had been a more naïve lad, unaware of prophecies and orbs and Mad
god’s called Torak.



He had craved this for so long, living in Riva, with all his
responsibilities.  And, while for so long it had seemed as if the
glory of Kingship would be a glory to last forever, something had
seemed lacking.  And so, Ce Nedra in tow, he had returned to Sendaria,
purchased the land and farm, and reclaimed his lost youth.  And he had
never, really, been happier.



In fact, he was Garion again.  He had made a decision, a simple
decision, that Garion was who he was, and that the power of Bel did
not need to claim his heart.  Garion was his name, and that would
suffice.



He looked over at the orb, sitting on the mantelpiece, glowing calmly
and happily.  It was like that these days, radiating warmth and
friendliness.  Teaching him, in his dreams and waking hours simpler
things of life.  Simpler things which took over from the grand epics
of glory.  And he was content in these simpler things, happily
residing with Ce Nedra, occasionally partaking of visitors of his old
friends.



Mr Wolf came every now and again, and Aunt Polgara.  They came,
chatting about this and that, often in heated disputation.  But that
was the charming life he knew in those two and, seemingly, things
would never change.



He left off his studies and walked to the window, looking out at the
farm.  He remembered those days long ago, of clucking chickens and
mooing cows.  And how simple and easy life had been, under Faldor’s
guidance and Durnik’s steady walk.  And thinking how good those
simpler things were, a knock came to the door, and destiny intruded
once more on the life of Garion, son of Geran.



Taking the message from the deliverer, Garion re-entered the house,
and sat down to read it.



‘Things of life are never seen, to eyes in shadowy realm

By this it seems I truly mean, the dark is where I dwell

Your life is forfeit, deathly foe, my vengeance will be sure

When death’s dark blade of purest might comes knocking on your door’



An excerpt from the ‘Chronicle of Torak’





And that was all the message read.

‘Who was at the door, Garion?’

‘Uh, just a message Ce Nedra.’

‘For me ?’

‘I don’t think so.’

He looked at the message again and considered its origin.  It was a
prank, surely.  Surely a prank.  He had never heard of the Chronicle
of Torak and believed it some fraud, the product of a grudge from an
old enemy of the king.  Surely that was all it was.  But he would show
it to Belgarath when he next visited and ask his grandfathers
opinion.  He would not be too hasty to throw out this message – life
had taught him caution, and ignoring threats was not always the best
and wisest course of action.



He put it away, in a drawer, and went off to dinner.  But it was on
his mind all that night – most definitely on his mind.



*   *   *   *   *



Unreal.  Unalive.  Unbeing.  Unknown.  Undead.  But now, suddenly,
aware.  Aware of herself and a name – a name which, somehow, was not
quite what it had been, but was now something new.  Born again, as it
where, from a spirit of unbeing to a spirit of power, madness and
wrath.  Most definitely a spirit of wrath.



Belzandramas surveyed her surroundings.  They looked familiar yet
not.  A mountain, a large mountain, covered with grass and trees.
Yet, looking down to the base, ice everywhere.  Nothing but ice as far
as she could see.  And then, turning her head, she surveyed the entire
circumference of the mountain – a neverending parade of ice, in all
directions.  She was stranded.  Yet, quickly, the instincts came to
the fore.  Finely tuned survival instincts, from a spirit of life
carefully guided to the fulfilment of darkness, as she knew so truly.
And then, a thought.  A boy.  A Man.  A King.  Belgarion, yes, that
was his name.  And another, a seeress.  A seeress who had made a
dreadful choice and vanquished her as a result.  And then, peering
into her own heart, she found the secret.  The dreadful, wicked
secret, some being had placed there.  ‘Don’t be so obvious’, it had
said.  ‘Don’t be so obvious.’  And then she delighted in the dark,
amazing evil in her soul.  And vengeance seemed so pleasant.  So
deliciously pleasant.



*   *   *   *   *



‘How far you have fallen, Kheldar.  How far you have fallen.’

‘Don’t call me that.  It’s Silk, okay.  Like the old days.’

Barak nodded.  ‘So, what’s next for the prince of thieves?  What
next?’

‘I have business in Mallorea.  Up north.  There is a merchantman who
has an item, a particular item, which is of interest to myself.’

‘What item.’

‘A Scroll.  A scroll, just emerged.  Beldin mentioned it.  Said it is
a new one, but an old one.  Gave me some confusing explanation.  Wants
me to obtain it – said he’d make it worth my while.’

‘Then to Mallorea it is.  Oh, and can we avoid going through Thull
like the last time.  I don’t want to run into Jandok.  His threats
were not nice, Silk.  Not nice.’

‘The prettiness of Thullian maidens if often hard to resist, dear
Barak, especially for one as smooth as myself.  And now that I am
alone again, well, she was willing and wanting and I could not say
know.’

‘As befits a prince of your kind,’ said Barak, a grin on his face.

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘Where in Mallorea?’

‘Just across from the land bridge, up near the coast.  A small
village, Lameth.  This merchantmen trades in pearls and gold and
silver, but has interest in things religious and prophetical.
Apparently he acquired the scroll from a mad priest, dressed in brown
robes, muttering something about the end of the world.  A ‘Doomsayer’
he called him.’

‘Doomsayer?  What is all that about?’

‘No idea Barak,’ responded Silk.  ‘But I surmise we will find out soon
enough.’

‘Then to Mallorea it is.  Are you paying for the ale?’

Silk gave him a look, was about to suggest something rather rude as to
Barak’s current lack of funds, but went and paid for the ale.  Exiting
the inn from somewhere in southern Arendia they returned to their
horses, and got under way.  Looking at the sun, which was late in sky,
Silk thought over his life.  He was ageing, now.  Much older.  But
adventure was still in the heart of Kheldar and he sensed with this
scroll something new in the air.  Something that was fundamental to
all Alorns and Angaraks as well.  Something quite fundamental.



*   *   *   *   *



Polgara sat on the donkey as her father lead it carefully through the
dark, enchanted forest.  ‘I don’t think I have been to this part of
Karanda before.  Are you sure this is the right place?’

‘You keep asking, Pol.  Have a little faith.  Beldin insisted that the
monastery, as they call it, was around here somewhere.  Deep into the
forest.’

‘Alright, I’ll trust you.  I don’t like it, but for once old fool I
will give you a break.’

‘Very funny.’

They travelled on through the dark twilight.  Somehow, despite it
being bright and sunny outside the forest, they seemed to have entered
a twilight realm.  A realm beyond Mallorea, almost otherlike.  Yet,
presumably, always have been here.  He remembered what Beldin said.
‘When you cross beyond the edge of nothing, remember you will find
darkness there.  A darkness which Torak himself feared.  So beware.’
Belgerath laughed to himself.  High drama was not always the way of
Beldin, but something had happened to him just recently.  An encounter
with Ul which had changed him.  A dark, dramatic encounter, in which
the Father God had given him portents of destruction to chill the
bones.



As they walked along, the leaves rustling in the wind, both of them
feeling as if dark eyes were watching them, eyes set on malevolence,
eyes foreboding trouble, eyes with no good will.  But perhaps they
were just whispers of darkness, and perhaps that is all they were.
Belgerath was old, now, ancient in many ways.  But here, beyond the
edge of nothing, he sensed something he had never quite encountered.
A spirit, an aura, which could perhaps be only called evil.  Or
haunting at the very least.



He thought back to younger years, years encountering dark wizards and
evil sorcerers.  Years in which his knowledge, skill and talents had
been put to the test.  Yet somehow, in this dark place, his faith in
his abilities had vanished, and it was with tender treading of foot
that this warrior wizard walked onwards, carefully guiding the donkey,
hoping not to disturb those dark whispers who wanted no disturbance.



And then, a clearing, and safety.  For there, rising up in front of
them, apparently what could only be the monastery and a lake beside
it, with the most beautiful garden of trees.

‘Thank the orb,’ said Polgara, as they came out of the dark into the
light.

‘This, then, looks like the place,’ said Belgerath.’

‘I would surmise as much myself, father.’

They continued to walk on, coming to the monastery itself, with large
wooden doors.  Belgerath looked around.  ‘We knock I suppose.’

‘I would consider that a good idea,’ said Polgara sarcastically.

Belgerath knocked and they waited.  After 5 minutes of patience, no
response forthcoming, he knocked again, but still no answer.
Frustrated he came to sit down next to Polgara who had just returned
with 2 pieces of fruit from the garden, and handing one to her father,
began eating.

‘Perhaps they are busy, or absent at the moment.’

‘Should we enter?’ inquired Polgara.

‘I’m not sure.  They might consider that rude.  Karandan’s are always
difficult to understand.’

‘If they are Karandan’s.  We don’t know were these doomsayers come
from – they are so different, so other, to anything I have ever
encountered.’

‘They come from Karadarak, and speak of ‘Auarii’,’ responded
Belgerath.  I have conversed with one in some detail.  This is the
next chosen ‘Realm’ as they call it to suffer the ‘Testing’.

‘What are speaking of old man?’

‘They are now Karandan’s by choice, so they claim.  But they are other
origin.  Origin not of our world.  The place, ‘Karadarak’ is on
another world, another planet, were a testing took place.  A testing
in which the inhabitants came through on their faith.  They passed the
testing and the ‘Doomsayers’ have now come here.  For we are the next
world on their agenda.’

‘Why have you not shared this with me before?’

‘The time is right now, daughter.  You did not need to know
previously.’

She looked at him, thought of arguing, but then thought better of it.
‘So, what was it that Beldin asked of Silk?’

‘He is acquiring a scroll for us.  Part of a new Chronicle.  A new
Chronicle which is part of an ancient Chronicle.  Something beyond
time and space.’

‘You speak in riddles.  Become clear to me father.’

‘Beldin speaks of words Ul shared with him, but will say nothing more
than that which I have said.  Nothing much more, that is.’

She looked at him, just shook her head, and took another bite of her
fruit.

‘Besides, you are still young daughter.  Not ready, I think, for such
things as I would speak of.  For I fear you impetuosity in confronting
that which you are not ready for.’

‘I am near as old as you, old man.  Do not speak to me like a child.’

He came over, held her by the shoulders, and spoke softly.  ‘But you
are my child, Polgara.  You have always been as such, and I love you
dearly.  And I would not lose you for your headstrong attitudes.  I
would not lose you.’

Polgara softened, and looked at him.  ‘Yes, I understand.’



They sat there, after a while taking a drink from the well, and having
a look around.  The building was quite large, like Belgerath’s own
tower, and similar in spirit in some ways.  But after they gently
tried opening the front doors, which appeared to be the only way in,
and finding them locked, they were becoming quite frustrated.  And
then Belgerath noticed a button of sorts, a metallic button near the
door.  Coming over to it he pushed it, and with some effort it went in
and immediately a bell inside the door began ringing.

‘We should have known that,’ said Polgara.

‘Perhaps we are just getting old,’ responded Belgerath.



Within a few moments they heard footfalls on the other side of the
door, and a window opened with a man looking at them.  He gazed at
them, said nothing though, and then closed the window.  Shortly though
the door opened and he came out to greet them, dressed in long brown
robes.

‘I am Napier.  Are you the wizard?  Are you Beldin?’

‘Close,’ responded Belgerath.  ‘I am Belgerath, his associate.’

Napier nodded.  ‘Good, good.  Then please come in.  We would have
words with you, Belgerath.  We would have words with you.’  With those
words said Napier turned and entered the monastery, and Belgerath,
giving Polgara a cautious look, followed, Polgara on his heels.



*   *   *   *   *



Silk looked at the ship.  ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’

‘It might be old, but I am sure it will get us there.  Don’t worry
Silk.  Don’t worry.’

‘Yes, don’t worry.’  They boarded the old warrior, and Juntarr the
captain gave them a nod, happy to have paying customers.  The ship set
sail a few hours later, and as they made their way towards Mallorea,
the sea air in his lungs, Silk considered the future.  Dark times lay
ahead, it seemed, for the world.  Dark times in which many would fear
and worry.  Common souls, not given over to concerns of prophecies and
mad gods.  Common souls, caught up in a frenzy of fear.  This is what
Beldin spoke of, what the doomsayers spoke of.  A time of testing, a
time of worry.  As they sailed along, Barak handing him a leg of
chicken and a mug of apple cider, Silk gave quiet thought to his own
view on what Beldin had raised.  Ul was approaching a new time in the
realm of the gods, and choices were being made.   Choices of life and
death.  There was a place prepared for the Alorns and the Angaraks and
the Malloreans.  And a place prepared for those of the other
continents, Yulenthea and Junissa.  But a testing was to come – a
testing from these dread doomsayers.  And to gain that place in the
life hereafter, only those whose faith was sure would see the testing
through.  And this testing of faith, which Beldin spoke of, coming
from the eldest god, was to sort them out.  To make men of them.  To
bring forth a new world, unlike the old one, the one passing away, the
one to be gone forever.  Silk trusted Ul, though he knew him not, but
the new world dawning.  What that spoke of?  Well, time would tell.



He sat down, drinking his mug of ale, smiling to himself.  Life was
good again, now.  He was old, but felt young.  Felt young in his
spirit, alive to life.  A quiet joy was in his heart, and things were
good again.  The vigour of youth was still in his bones, and Barak, as
always, a brave companion through which he saw the struggles of life.
Yes life was good, but the testing was at hand.  And a quiet prayer to
Ul was upon him later that night as he prepared for the trials of the
heart.



*   *   *   *   *



Belzandramas found the cave after a week of eating berries and
drinking snow.  It lead for a lengthy mile, illuminated by glowing
rock.  In the heart of the mountain she found the well.  A pool,
crystal clear, with liquid bluey green in colour.  It wasn’t water.
It wasn’t something she was at all familiar with.  But it seemed to be
all that this mountain had to offer and so, not thinking any thing
could possibly go wrong, put her hand in the pool and stirred the
water, almost instinct-like.  And then something happened.  Voices
began speaking, quickly, many of them, mostly female, but the
occasional male.  And then, suddenly, springing up out of the pool
little boxes of light, boxes in which faces were seen.  And then,
after a while, these faces were the voices speaking.  They danced
through the cave, some chasing each other, some having fun and
laughing, some buzzing around over Belzandramas’ head.  And then,
seemingly satisfied, they came and hovered over Belzandramas, and
looked at her.  A male spoke.  ‘Bellie, bellie, bellie.  You do look
pretty, don’t you.’  Belzandramas remained silent.  ‘Well, no matter.
No matter.’  A female spoke.  ‘So, what next Belzandramas?  Do you
know?’

Belzandramas spoke.  ‘Vengeance.’

‘And why?’ asked the male.

Belzandramas was about to answer, but softened, and sat on the floor
to think about that.  After a few moments of contemplation she began
sense something changing in her mind, something from a new choice she
had made.  A wiser choice.  ‘Power, then.  Ruling all, being goddess
of glory?’

‘Why?’ asked a female.

Again, she thought on the answer, the most obvious one, but then
considered it.

‘Well, it would be mine to decide the fate of all who are.  They could
be crushed by my merest whim.’

‘Sounds good,’ said a voice, and flew away to look over the cave.

‘So that is what you want then?’ asked the woman again.

Belzandramas looked at her, softened again, and thought of something
new.

‘Then what do you suggest I seek, spirits of wisdom?’

‘That really is up to you.  But some things are better than others.
Some things are wiser than others.  Some things last longer than
others.  And a matter of the heart always rules over a matter of the
head, dear Zandramas.  Always.’

Zandramas looked through cold eyes, but softened again.  ‘My name is
Belzandramas.  That is my new name.  The old one is gone now, gone
forever.’

‘As you see fit,’ said the woman.  ‘As you see fit.  Well, we do have
a task for you.  Complete this task and you will gain a reward.  A
reward we are sure you will enjoy.’

‘And the task?’

‘What you wanted anyway.  Torak needs a consort, and we have chosen
yourself.  There is a destiny now, and 3 nations are part of that
destiny.  Torak desires to rule each, but your task is this.  Betrothe
him, wed him, marry him, and help him to accomplish all he desires.
Yet prevent him, if you can, from his goals.  Prevent him from ruling
these 3 nations, and let not your heart betray yourself, or be given
away.  For if you can lead him down the destiny we have chosen, those
3 nations will belong to you.  But if you fail, and he gains one, you
will not have your reward.  But there are certain terms.  You must
tell him to conquer these nations, encourage him to rule, to raise up
Mallorea and conquer the west.  To be king and god and ruler of all.
For war is in his heart, in his blood, and you must aid him to conquer
each Kingdom.  But if he does, if you can not through your charms and
cunning ways prevent him from doing so, by whatever means you so
choose, then he will reign, and you shall not have your reward.  But
if you succeed, if he fails, then the reward will be great.  Indeed
eternal, Belzandramas.  Indeed eternal.’



And then they all smiled at her, played around one last time, and
disappeared back into the pool.  And Belzandramas knew then her
mission, and was away, headed out of the cave, headed for Mallorea,
and her meeting with destiny.



*   *   *   *   *



Garion sat in front of the fire.  Ce Nedra was lying against him,
drifting off to sleep, seemingly not concerned about things.  And then
he heard the crowd.  Rising to his feet he went to the window to see
many people gathered outside, holding torches.  He went to the door,
opened it, and a group of fifty or so local villagers stood there,
looking at him menacingly.  And then a figure dressed in brown robes
came forth from them, looked at him and yelled ‘Heretic.  The wrath of
Ul is on you.  You are an abomination in his eyes.’  And the
villagers, all fearing the man, just glared at Garion.

He looked a little nervous, thought of fetching the orb, but told
himself to remain calm.  Words of Belgerath echoed through his mind.
‘Under pressure, stay calm.  Think carefully.’  He surveyed the man
who continued to glare at him, dressed in the brown robes with a rope
around the waist.  His head was shaved in a circular fashion at the
top, a deliberate bald spot, and he held a black, leather-bound book.
Garion spoke slowly ‘Friend.  I am no heretic, I assure you.  I am
King of the west, King Belgarion.  I simply dwell here now and my son
rules in my stead at Riva.  What concerns you?’

The man glared at him, turned to the crowd, and opened his book.  And
then he began speaking.  ‘Thus saith Ul, the god of god’s.  Beware the
power of the king, for in his pride he shall exalt his heart above
menfolk, believing himself superior, believing himself the one.  He
lives only to rule you, not to care for you, not to heal you, not to
bring you wealth or goodness.  He lives for himself and his own
glory.  So tear down these pillars, and be as one.  The word of Ul has
spoken.’

The crowd nodded.  ‘Yes brother,’ one of the villagers spoke.  ‘We
believe that Ul has spoken, and we will follow Ul our God.’

‘Aye, we will,’ responded the crowd.  The brother turned to Garion, a
mad look of zeal on his face, seemingly satisfied with the victory of
faith he had achieved.  ‘You will come with us, now.  And we will take
you to judgement.  You will taste fear, oh king.  You will taste
fear.’

Garion, looking at the villagers, knew they were serious.  But he
would have faith.  ‘Let me kiss my wife, and I will come.’  The
brother nodded, and Garion hastened inside.  He grabbed the Mrin
Codex, the orb, kissed Ce Nedra without waking her, and hastened
outside.  They took him then, brought him to a cart and placed him
there, in chains, to lead him off.  As they drove along Garion stayed
calm.  They would see reason, he knew as much in the end.  The orb
softly whispered as such to him.  But for now he was concerned.
Something was wrong in Sendaria, something was wrong.  And he sensed,
in the air, a new spirit had come forth.  A new spirit which might,
just might, not be for the good of everyone.



*   *   *   *   *



Errand was dead, gone.  Gone to were he could not return.  But another
child had been born, born not far from Faldor’s farm, to an innocent
Sendarian family, full of simple things and quiet joys.  She was
Gemma, a pleasant girl, now 12, full of life and love, friendly to
all, with no enemies.  And when she saw Garion being lead away, she
followed at a distance, hopeful to try and free him somehow, for she
believed in her king, and new him to be a good man.  They were wrong,
the villagers, and the ‘Brother’ should not be listened to.  There was
something, not right about him.  Something in his eyes, in his manner,
in the way he spoke to people.  A sneering attitude.  A pride which
felt itself better than others, as if he was the special chosen one of
Ul, which so he claimed.  She didn’t believe him – she didn’t believe
him at all.  And if she had not known that her King had slain Torak,
she would have believed the mad god risen from death.



As she followed along, the villagers began singing and praising Ul,
and the brother seemed to grow in mad delight.  Things were not good,
now.  Darkness was here, and it was not going away.  But she had hope
– she had hope.  And with that hope she would persevere until the
truth came forth, and the darkness left, left her land and left the
west forever.



*   *   *   *   *



And then an hour of darkness befell the west, and the sun was dim for
a while, and people fell to fear, and the doomsayers spread even more
so, speaking of the final end of time, and the end of what was to be,
and the final day of judgement.





Chapter Two



The three provinces long had a custom of infighting.  But, hey,
Yulenthean’s had never really given a damn about keeping peaceful
ways, stuck down on the southern part of the world, away from the
larger continents.  Kmran, which never ceased to claim the founding of
‘Yulen’, always bragged of being the oldest of the three provinces,
and suggested to the other two, quite often, they should show them the
respect they deserved.  Millennia of warfare, and occasional tribute,
still had not brought such respect, but nobody cared that much in the
end anyway.  That was a Yulenthean spirit – not caring that much.  The
southern province, ‘Shrar’, liked to think itself superior due to its
greater wealth.  They had much gold and precious gems, and felt itself
the true province of desire.  Yet Braed, the eastern province, was the
largest, and made its own boast based usually on this and other such
arguments.  They fought, it was Yulenthean civil war every century or
so, but somehow, someway, in Yulen peace treaties eventually came
forth and disputes were inevitably settled.



The city of Yulen lay at the crossroads, as it were, of the three
provinces.  Right in the heart of Yulenthea, on the coast of the main
inlet of the continent, the provincial borders went northwards and
eastwards, dividing the continent into three neat and even chunks.
Yulen, for most Yulentheans, was usually were the action was, and home
to over 20 million souls, divided evenly amongst each province as the
provincial borders ran through the heart of the city.  Right on the
coast itself, right were the borders all lined up, sat the Palace of
Yulenthea, the place of the Yulenthean Monarchy.  As you may expect,
it was a fractured monarchy much of the time, an endless parade of
royal houses all usurping one another for a time period in traditional
rules of combat and glory, claiming the throne, and ruling their
world.  Many a house had ruled more than once, some even three or four
times.  But that was the game, as it was called.  The game of
rulership, the monarchy of power, and no house really was given to
quitting on that particular agenda.



The current house of glory were the Dalkindo’s, an traditional Braedan
house.  They had not ruled before, and had been in the seat of power
for quite some time now.  In fact, four centuries, and they still saw
no sign of being taken.  The current monarch, Jezabel Dalkindo, spoke
of a more sensible spirit having pervaded Yulenthea, one of an apathy
in which peace seemed suitable for a time, for a while.  And most
Yulentheans did not object that much, going about the regular humdrum
of everyday life, pursuing their own private agendas, goals and dreams
of glory.  But there was one Yulenthean, one in particular, which had
ambition.  Definite ambition.  Jek Barder saw himself fit to be king
of the Yulentheans, and while he was gifted with intelligence and good
looks, his lack of fighting ability spoke of a dream of kingship
which, while hoped for dearly, remained just that – a dream.  You see,
the challenge was about the only way, in the end, to take the throne
for any length of time.  It was an unwritten custom, or perhaps
expectation, in Yulenthea, that to take the throne a duel must
ultimately take place.  And Jek Barder could not fight.  But he was
smart, cunning and wise, successful in business, and with an aptitude
to increase in knowledge.  What he lacked in physical prowess he made
up for with his wit, and with that particular wit he planned, every
few weeks, about how he might just achieve the glory he sought.  It
would happen one day, of that he was certain.  But for now, while he
planned valiantly, it was business as usual, and their were customers
to see to.



The bell rang and coming to the front of the shop, a figure stood
before him, dressed in long brown robes, a rope tied around his waist,
and his hair cut in a fashion which made a bald spot in the centre.
And he was carrying a black leather book.

‘Yes,’ said Jek.  ‘Would you like some fish?  We have a fine catch
today.’

‘I have not come for fish, brother.  Not to catch fish at all.  For I
am a fisher of men, and he who is has called you into his kingdom.’

Jek looked at the man, and laughed to himself.  ‘Well, if you don’t
want any fish, how about an umbrella.  We have a good stock in, all
the way from Junissa.  Sturdy, reliable ones.  They work well.’

‘I fear not the rain, brother.  For the latter rain is a blessing and
it is now raining from heaven upon the kingdom of men.  And you are
chosen from this latter rain, brother.  You are chosen for glory.’

Jek looked at him, now a little curious.  ‘And what is this glory you
speak of?’

‘You crave the rulership of Yulenthea, do you not?  He who is knows
all the desires of the heart.’

Now Jek took him a little more seriously.  ‘I don’t know how you knew
that, but yes.  Yes I crave the fair kingship.  But how can a man
dressed as you are possibly offer me such a prize?’

‘He who is can offer you such a prize, Mr Barder.  He has never
failed.’

Jek nodded to himself.  He was not a religious man, but knew of Ul.
Perhaps there would be something in this madman’s hazy eyes which
could grant him the glory he sought.  Perhaps, for now he would
listen.  Perhaps, for now, he would consider this most tempting offer.

‘I am listening.  Speak on.’

‘As I knew you would, child of he who is.  As I knew you would.’



*   *   *   *   *









Work In Progress