Our Little Gods 2: GOLDRAC, Of the Old Gods.

Chapter 26.

One night after the crossing Throry woke up with a start. Nothing, the night was as still as may be when surrounded by an army. It could have been anything that had awakened her: soldiers arguing over the last throw at Castle Run or that local game the Artagans had taught the Rabateans she could never remember the name of. May be something completely different: the cattle bleating or the guards shouting the hour of the night over camp. The night was warm, it seems they always were, here. The polite puzzlement of the locals when confronted with the idea of winter suggested that seasons did not apply in this strange world they called Phuley. There was this lingering urge to rush outside her tent but to do what? She dressed, not the battle gear, she could tell that much. She had merely finished with lacing her boot when her king showed up outside her tent. His beautiful voice hushed and calm asking his aid to go wake her up. 

 "I am awake my lord," she said opening the flap of her tent. 

 "And fully dressed as I can see. Always ready and available Longten, I like that about you."

 "If it pleases my lord."

 "It does. Follow us will you." And the fire crowned, crown ablaze illuminating his path strode on towards the wooded cove where the Revered Emissary had elected to rest.

 Throry who hated being in the dark about what was happening fell in step with the captain of the guard and asked him:

 "What is this about?"

 "His majesty woke up a moment ago asked to be dressed in camp gear and came to you. That is all I know."

 "Thank you, at least now I know as little as you do."

They smiled at one another and picked up the pace to remain with the king. He walked straight through ranks of the Natabs and Rehevîmes surrounding the cove where She rested. They parted allowing him through and looked the others down their nose at, showing the contempt they had for latecomers that had not been seeking the Revered Emissary's love by themselves but had been recruited by their fire blessed king.

She was there, waiting for them, she kissed the forehead of Radelyes and walked up to Throry and gently caressed her cheek. 

 "My children, I am leaving tonight  and then I shall be back with you."

 "You, Radelyes, will lead them on towards the twin mountains the Artagans call Ossos and Goritz. They shall all answer to you like they would me and obey your orders as if they came from me for you are their king from this day forth."

She smiled at the young man and placed her hand through the flames of the crown on his head. 

 "Quarrel you not with your king." She added gently. "Goodnight to you all." The light seems to bend and curve and she vanished silently and an odd wind blew over the cove where they were gathered.

 Throry noticed then that all the leaders of their multifarious army were present. The king walked to the place where the Revered Emissary had stood and turned to face the assembly. The Rehevîmes in a perfectly synchronized movement bowed to the king followed by the Natabs who descended to one knee their faces inscrutably emotionless. The ruler of the Havenites placed his hand on the opposite shoulder and nodded in the traditional salute of the Lower provinces of Fallen Rabatea. It took some negotiating for the Balà present to finally salute their new king albeit with sour looks and flaring nostrils. The Artagan lady remained sitting where she was but saluted the king nonetheless. The six remaining Warlords of the Nameless Towns, sole members of Veviensis' army not to have acknowledged the authority of the newly appointed king became the center of attention. It was Mamusos. The red-haired giant who acted first. His face was set, unreadable when he left his retinue and walked down to face Radelyes. The third moon had risen  and the bright light of the three sisters shone off the massive muscles of his shoulders and arms. He had been bathing in the river when they called him here, one of his women had joked that he could not go see the Veviensis butt naked, so he had taken her shawl and knotted it on his hips. Around his neck, a leather thong held a bulging skin pouch. The cold light revealed Mamusos' powerful body to all, when he stood before the king a roguish smile on his face, making Radelyes looked small, puny even. They all thought it, no one would admit to it later but they all thought Mamusos could crush the boy between his hands and break him before anyone could intervene. The red-head raised his hands to his ears slowly, muscles rippling under the skin, the strong fingers found the knot holding the pouch and pulled the strings loose. In a lightning-fast move, he caught it before it could fall to the floor and offered it to the king. It contained dirt and the five other warlords reached instantly to where they carried similar pouches. The small items dated back to the first and only peaceful gathering of the warlords almost 80 years ago. They contained a fistful of the dirt from the town square of each of their Nameless Towns. Held as a badge of office by all warlords they were as much a snide at the gilded crown baring kings of old as a symbolic appropriation of the land they ruled upon; they were the land. Only Sethos carried two since he had defeated Remuadad and taken his Nameless Town for himself. Relinquishing, to a king, the leather pouch of dirt of his town back in Rabatea would have been not only political suicide but most certainly physical. But this was not Rabatea anymore and this king was crowned with living fire. However hard they had joked at the time at the baby boy with singed hair; beholding the crown and the king under it was a transcending, sobering experience renewed each time again and again. None left his presence unchanged.