The Fall of Armen ? Part One
General Jain Erfindel stepped out of the darkness, not into light, for the only light here was that given from the faintly glowing threads of mikaela in the walls, but into the lesser darkness of the Chamber of Council. He moved towards the dark form that he knew was his chair, stepping somewhat uncertainly in the dim light, if light it could be called; a faint glow that did not reveal objects but only lessened their ambiguity. He sat upon his chair and gazed across the chamber, whose features became slightly more distinct as his eyes became acclimated first to the darkness of the hall and then to the dimness of the room. He glanced at the threads of mikaela. Mikaela, which glowed in the dark with a faint silver light, was a by-product of the production of adamant. The glowing threads converged upon a large figure at the front of the Chamber, the Eye, the symbol of the kingdom of Armen, in which a large eye was inscribed within a circle. He gazed around the table and was somewhat shocked as he noticed that he was not alone.
Erfindel was always the first to arrive at the infrequent gatherings of the Council. He used the precious moments before the Council to prepare what he would say and decide what to make public, what to seal to the Council (which kept the knowledge within the members of the Council alone), what to whisper only in a few ears (and which ears he would whisper in), and what to withhold altogether. Knowledge was power, as the old saying went, and he was not one to deal out power carelessly. And now, when he had the direst news in all the years that he had been general, just when this period of solitude was most vital, his solitude was taken from him.
?I knew that you would be here.? Erfindel started slightly as the figure at the other end of the table spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried a good deal of force. Erfindel could barely see the figure?s face in the dim light, but he could see that he was a Masked Councilor. Masked Councilors, called Maskers in common parlance, functioned as spies for the King (though of course none would say so in his presence) and when they did come when summoned to the Councils, they always came masked. Their identity was a closely kept secret, and only the king knew their true names and locations, yet it was possible for a shrewd observer to guess at their unmasked appearance and even their aliases while spying for the king. Erfindel knew that he was not alone in having figured out the identities of a few of the Maskers. Just now, the figure stroked his chin thoughtfully as if her were running his fingers through a beard hidden beneath his mask.
?Well, now that I am, what is it that you wish of me?? At a time like this, delay was just as bad as a poor reply. Delay betrayed uncertainty, and there were many who would take advantage of that weakness.
?There is something important that you must know.? The Masker glanced this way and that, as though afraid to be overheard, despite the fact that in the dimness of that room he would have heard the footsteps of someone approaching long before he saw them. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper, and above the endless echoes Erfindel could hear ?Aennor?You know of Aennor, yes?? Erfindel nodded. Almost all of the Council knew of him; his skill as a negotiator was impressive. Within two years of being admitted to the Council, he was already a member of the King?s inner circle, a position that usually took decades of work to attain. ?He is a traitor.?
?How did you find this out? Aennor has been invaluable as a councilor, and I cannot lightly toss his counsel aside. Why would he defect after his success in Armen??
?You question my truthfulness, yes?? The Masker spoke as though through a smile. ?I had expected that you would. Always cautious. I could sit here and tell you how much you can trust me until the sun drops from the sky and the world ends, but even then, I doubt that you would be convinced. We have not enough time, at any rate. But I am sure that you would be convinced by this.? He made a circular gesture with his hands, and a sphere of light formed on the table in front of him. Slowly, as though performing an action long considered but still unsure of the wisdom of performing it, he removed his mask.
He brushed back a few hairs that had fallen over his wizened face, and seemed to smile. ?This, of course, is not my true appearance, yet it is the guise that you will no doubt recognize.? Erfindel nodded. The man across the table was the owner of a small pawnshop in the Great Square, known more for his immaculate shop than the quality of his goods. ?You see, there are some advantages to being a merchant. For one, few guard their words around me, and some inquisitiveness on my part would not be taken amiss. I am old, but age has not dulled my wits or hearing. As for success?there is no better way to attain more information than to gain ranks, yes? That should be enough, for more explanation would only waste time. Any second now other Councilmen may arrive. The fact remains: I am willing to give my life to rid Armen of this traitor (for you know, of course, that if my identity as a Masker is known, there will be many who would like to?shall I say?end my career). Are you willing to sacrifice a bit of advice to do the same??
?Your words are well-rehearsed, and intended to be pleasing to the ear, but I need time to consider the wisdom of their message. Per-? the Masker froze as footsteps rang out in the hall. He quickly replaced the mask on his head and extinguished the sphere of light.
For the next few minutes, those who were summoned to the Council entered the hall. Erfindel tried to concentrate on what he would say, but his thoughts were always dragged back to Aennor. Was the suspicion of treachery enough to warrant losing such a valuable negotiator? His gaze moved towards the door as Aennor walked in. To the astonishment of all, he sat in the seat that only the King was supposed to occupy.
The King?s chair was not more elaborately decorated or in any way different from the other chairs, for the Council was a place for ideas, not politics, and in that all were equal. It was an unspoken rule, however, that each Councilor had a seat, designated by their position, that they and only they were to sit upon. And there was an even stronger rule, a rule that custom had made as strong as law, that the chair under the sword was reserved for the King. The sword shone slightly from the light of the mikaela, and looked as though it was about to fall at any time, even though it was suspended by a chain of adamant. It was so gaudy that it could never be used in battle, but only as a symbol; a symbol of the enormous danger and duties that the King of Armen faced.
There was some murmuring at Aennor?s action, but none openly challenged Aennor. That was the duty of the King, when he came. It was not long before the sound of many footsteps wafted into the chamber, along with the flickering light of torches. The King had arrived.
?What is the meaning of this, Aennor?? His voice was strong and forceful, acclimated to the tone of command. Many still remembered him as Sevron, for so he was named until he became the King four years ago. But now he was the King, and had no other name; he was the office.
?I wished to see how you see this room. After all, is it forbidden to sit in this seat??
?A poor jest, Aennor. You may consider it forbidden, as you knew very well. Go to your seat.? Aennor stood up and reluctantly moved towards his designated seat, but his face hid a smile. The King strode towards his seat as the torches were lit, and his guards stood ready at their posts.
?I am sure that you have all heard of the message from the Rakonnen,? the King pronounced the word with contempt. Heads bobbed in agreement around the table. ?For those that have not, however,? he beckoned and a page handed him a sheet of thick, heavy paper, and he read ?To the King of Armen, Ruler in the Third Age, greetings.? At this, some of the Councilors scowled. The Rakonnen used their own system of Ages where it was customary to use the system of the recipients; in this case, the Fourteenth Age should have been stated.
The King read on, ?It is our right and duty, told to us by the seer Centhor, to conquer the lands of Erestor.? Erfindel almost felt sorry for the Rakonnen leaders. Ever since that wandering babbler Centhor, who called himself a ?seer?, appeared, they were bound hand and foot and had to do as he commanded, since the people of Rakonnen wholeheartedly supported him. But nay, those leaders had wanted to attack Armen. In this, at least, they were getting their way. ?Having conquered all lands north of the Sorokim Mountains, our eyes now turn southwards, specifically, towards Armen. Before you now are two choices: that of Olevion and that of Salethos. We offer you only this counsel: Salethos surrendered and they now have leave to govern their affairs. The dwarf-land of Olevion resisted, and we now have many useful, albeit half-sized, slaves. Be wise. Signed year 238 of the Third Age by Meldron, Imperator of Rakonnen.?
?Blessed be the name of the Imperator, and may each passing year bring him victory.? Aennor barely mumbled the words, but the walls of the chamber magnified them and rendered them audible to everyone. It was the benediction to the Imperator, said only by his Rakonnen servants.
The King was the only one who seemed unmoved. ?My word, Aennor! You are full of poor jest today!?
?By your leave, sire, he means it as no jest.? Erfindel pointed towards Aennor, ?This man is a spy for the Rakonenn; his words have just confirmed my suspicion.?
Aennor laughed mirthlessly. ?Erfindel, I am disappointed in you. I would have expected one of your cunning to have come to that conclusion months ago.? He now addressed the others, ?What this man said is true. I am, indeed, an emissary of Rakonnen, and my time in false service of Armen is now ending. Those who are wise would immediately join forces with Rakonnen. They can, by force alone, destroy Armen, but with my council and information they are invincible. And you!? He laughed again and pointed at the King. ?You chastised me for sitting in your seat, but ere long the position of King of Armen will exist no longer!?
He raised his hand and a ball of fire shot towards the hilt of the suspended sword, which hurtled downwards. Only a quick step saved the King?s life. Arrows whizzed towards Aennor, shot by the guards, but they bounced off, deflected by an unseen barrier. Aennor laughed again, and began to Fade away, transporting himself back to Rakonenn. Erfindel could barely make out the triple towers of Kashamador, the capitol buildings of Rakonnen, in the scene into which Aennor was Fading before Aennor left Armen.
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