The summons went forth into the realm of Methundor and beyond, and the reiks and thegns came unto Gruen, passing through her gates over the course of the month of Rainmere to attend the conclave commencing on the Summer solstice. Of the five reiks, the House of Fy did not come, for though safe conduct had been sworn, they trusted not that their plot on Cerenid’s life would pass unanswered.

  Madrot, named Reik of Dregrove, would not come himself despite Una’s letters. He offered Una in his stead, clothed with his voice and authority.

  In addition to these, Gruen hosted one-and-twenty thegns, among them Olian, Thegn of Stonrafn, who made Gruen his residence and had not stood upon his own hearthstone in seven years.

  The King of Lochlund sent ambassadors, and there came also men claiming such titles from the Hylands, the Blackmoors, and as far as Canac; yet they arrived not until a week after the conclave had already broken and thus bore witness only to what was left undone.

  They gathered in the great hall of the keep of Gruen, in a sweltering of summer unknown to Norland men. So fierce was the heat that they chose to meet only in the morning hours and again at dusk. And many regarded it an ill omen.

  Cerenid shunned his heavier robes and cape and wore instead a plain tunic, yet even so, his brow shone with sweat and his countenance grew more drawn with each passing day. By noon, the elder nobles sat purple-faced and gasping, dabbing their brows and swatting the flies settling upon their collars and noses, until the hall rang more with irritation than reason. Adjournment was called when things became insufferable.

  Each time they convened, Cerenid pleaded for the muster of their men, and each day the reiks and thegns answered with arguments against it, each bearing his own shield of excuse.

  “To strike Bafomet would be suicide.”

  “Who shall reap our fields and tend our flocks? Our men would return from war only to starve in winter.”

  “And who will command the host? Surely not a young rex who hath never led men in battle.”

  “If our levies march, brigands will plunder our farms and toll the merchants upon our roads.”

  “It were wiser to defend our towns and harry their supply.”

  “Only Longview and the High Gate can truly be held. Let us gather our strength there.”

  At every turn the muster was gainsaid. Not even Olian, nor Gedain’s own father— the Reik of Welf— would rise to speak in its favor. Una tried thrice, yet each time she was shouted down, dismissed as an honoured lady but with no true standing among a council of men

  And with each rising of Sol, Cerenid’s shoulders bowed further, his gaze falling to the stones at his feet. At last, deeming the conclave spent and hope exhausted, he stood upon the brink of final adjournment.

  At last, the Reik of Longview rose again to speak once more. Taking the scepter of speaking into his hand he said:

  “My Lords, I believe we have debated this matter fully… wrung it dry, even. There is naught left to be said. I regret I must return to Longview at once, to prepare her defense. I beg of you to send men, for though her walls are stout, I fear they will not long withstand Bafomet’s siege towers...”

  “Nor will they withstand them if all the men of Methudor were to line her battlements!” came a voice unknown. “War must be delivered unto them!”

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  The conclave turned their glance, one and all, and there, in the doorway, haloed by the hard white light of day, stood the Immortal Prophet.

  “Azarius!” Cerenid called. “Hast Thou come to speak?”

  The Prophet walked forward into the hall with humble purpose, to where the Reik of Longview stood, and bade he relinquish the scepter.

  A voice shouted, “This is no noble! He hath no voice in this hall.”

  Another cried, “Let no sorcerer cast his spells among us. Give Him not the scepter.”

  And another, “By His rags, He is but a peasant come to beg.”

  Then a voice boomed from the dais, and all heads turned to behold Cerenid, bearing a commanding presence theretofore unseen.

  “Hand him the scepter!” he commanded. “For I have seen him slain and risen with mine own eyes.”

  But the Thegn of Peelgrain leapt from his seat with his blade drawn to prevent it from being handed over.

  “Must I rise once more merely to be heard, Lord Cullen?” Azarius said.

  The Thegn of Peelgrain froze, stricken that the Prophet knew his name. Azarius pressed his breast upon the point of steel.

  “Thou dost not recall me, though I remember thee. Thrust your blade if thou must, then lay my body in the grass so thou may see me rise with thine own eyes.”

  Cullen’s eyes dropped. With trembling hand, he sheathed his sword and returned to his seat.

  Silence settled upon the hall as Azarius searched their eyes. And nearly every noble lowered his gaze when the Prophet’s eyes met his own. He took hold of the scepter, and the Reik of Longview took his seat.

  “Hast thou come to lead us, Prophet?” cried a voice.

  “Nay,” He answered to all. “I have come to show you your end. For it comes while you quarrel over tolls and tactics and fallow fields. If thou hast ears that hear, hear this: all these things matter naught if you will not come together as one.

  Your grain, your game, your herds…

  Your towns, your walls, your wives and children…

  Bafomet’s host will take them all. They will come even for your gods and your songs and your legends. All of it. And beyond a generation, there shall remain no memory of this realm. Your progeny will be mere servants unto the Neandilim.”

  He raised his right hand, fingers splayed.

  “Listen to me when I say you cannot thwart this foe with an open hand.”

  Then He clenched it into a tight fist as if he prepared to strike.

  “They will be smitten only thus.”

  A murmur rose.

  Holding His fist aloft, He continued.

  “Aye, you will depart Gruen, be it today or tomorrow, unconvinced by my words. You will ride home and fortify your hedges and timber ramparts and arm your graybeards and women. And by this time next year, you will all be mouldering in your graves, your wives and children made slaves.”

  Then his fist and voice lowered, and the hall leaned faintly as though drawn.

  “Therefore, I say: as you travel homeward, persuaded that I, Azarius, am nothing more than a liar and a spell caster, cast your eyes upon the firmament. For upon the full moon of Longsol, in the northern sky, ere the witching hour, no more than a hand’s breadth from Axelian, a great archon shall ignite the heavens and make night as dawn. And then ye shall know I spoke the truth.”

  The murmurs rose but the Prophet’s voice rose above it.

  “This light shall shine until the Reaping Moon wanes. And if thou hast not mustered thy men and passed through the High Gate ere its fading, thy mortal doom is sealed. Now, the time for talk is ended.”

  Then Azarius released the bronze scepter from his hand, and it fell unto the stone floor and rang loud and long as he departed the great hall of Gruen’s keep.

  Rainmere is the sixth full lunar cycle from, and inclusive of, the Winter solstice, roughly coinciding with June.

  The Longsol Luna is the first lunar cycle beginning after the Summer solstice, roughly coinciding with July by our calendar.

  Axelian is the northern pole star, used for navigation.