Part 3 Chapter 9
Sephtis breathed deeply through his nose and held the air, savoring the crisp sensation of dawn. The sun had only just begun to peel back the curtains of the night, and as the sky brightened by degrees the ocean below began to scintillate like a blanket of jewels. Far below his feet, where the water crashed thunderously against the cliffs, Sephtis saw the jagged rocks upon which Lord Azkaban had been broken by the demons he had summoned.
The pale monarch was feeling much the same as that old jarl had: completely overwhelmed. He felt like a poseur, like a blind man fumbling through a crowded city.
"I am a young man," he said, to the wind. His shaggy black hair was plucked and tousled by it in response. "A scarred and crippled wizard. How can I be King?"
He did not expect a response. Long past were the days where El would step from the thin, whispering air and speak to him in person. His dreams were filled with aimless vision and precognition rather than exhaustive simulation. And the Resurrection Stone, well…it was a constant weight in his heart, like an anchor of the soul. It spoke to him, always. It often seemed that his thoughts were not his own.
He startled so fiercely that he nearly toppled over the cliff when he heard a familiar voice at his side. "You have a good example to follow," it said. Sephtis was almost afraid to turn his head and face the speaker, for he doubted that it could possibly be El himself. With deliberate motions, he squared his shoulders and glanced over his shoulder.
The dark, regal being was, indeed, standing beside him and looking out over the sea. "It is beautiful, is it not? The ocean. Untamed and wild, powerful. Many men have set out from comforting shores to subdue her, and she swallows them up. Ah, but she is a mercurial thing. Some do, indeed, return triumphant, prideful in their success. Some are suffered to pass over her waves. What separates the living from the dead?"
"You speak in riddles," Sephtis replied. "Or, rather, you say many words but nothing at all."
"Do you doubt me so?" El asked, deceptively quiet. "How have I wronged you, that your anger simmers so visibly in your words?"
Sephtis stepped away from the cliff and watched the sun as it peeked over the horizon. "I am like one of your drowning men. I am expected to lead the goblins to war; but I am nothing more than a broken shell of a man. And you have left me aimless."
When he finished, he hung his head and bit his tongue to prevent harsher words from escaping. He was trembling already, just from the things he had already said. He was angry, but he was not foolish enough to think that he could curse God without punishment…
"Do you think that I will strike you down for revealing to me your heart?" El asked, sounding more disappointed by this than Sephtis' anger. "Do you not know me? Or have you only forgotten?"
"I don't know what to think," Sephtis replied quietly. "I don't know what I am doing. How am I supposed to take these people to war against an enemy as cunning and strong as Voldemort, who has the aid of Demons. His wisdom is far beyond my own; his allies control powers outside of my ability to imagine. In the meantime, I am supposed to meet the Queen in less than a day. How do I address her? What do I say? How do I explain our current circumstances? I make for a fool of a king. It would have been better if it was I, and not Ithrigan, who had been stricken down in the trial of blood."
El reached out and took Sephtis by his shoulder. The heat that suffused the Lord Azkaban in that moment was so intense it brought him to his knees. "Do you think I am unwise?"
The pause was long enough that it begged an answer. "No, of course not," Sephtis gasped, turning his face up. Looking at El was much the same as looking at the brightening sun, for his eyes blazed with gold fire and his very skin seemed to burn with blinding intensity.
"Then why do you continue to slight me? You deride yourself, and by extension my decision to raise you as my champion. So, do you think that I chose poorly?"
Sephtis could only shake his head. Even as he did so, he managed a final retort. "I am inexperienced and young…"
"You are my chosen one," El interrupted him, drawing him forcefully to his feet. "I taught you everything that you know. I have raised you from death time and time again. You only defeat yourself with doubting."
"I am no king," Sephtis replied more sharply than he intended.
El leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching, and the heat intensified until it was almost unbearable. "You have done very well so far. You lead your soldiers with compassion and wisdom, and you have gained the support of a nation through your acts of strength and humility. When your own knowledge reaches its end, you have, at your fingertips, a greater adviser than any mortal man could hope to find. For I am the King of kings, I raise rulers up and I tear them down. The powers of this earth are from my good will derived. And I have sworn a covenant with you."
Sephtis pulled away, but was held in place by the vice-grip of his master. "Where were you when Sanctum fell?" he cried against the heat. "Where was your wisdom when I failed to convince the Prime Minister of the threat to his people? What use was my training as the warriors who fought and bled for the survival of their people died in their beds?"
"You despair over nothing," El exclaimed, finally releasing Sephtis so that he staggered back. "I was with you, stubborn child. Or do you think, in arrogance, that all of the things that you have done were done through your own power alone? Must I hold your hand at every moment like a staggering babe? Pull yourself together. Do you think that this war will be won with complaints flapping uselessly in the wind?"
Sephtis scoffed and brushed his robes free of dirt. He reclaimed his staff but hissed as it burned his hand, and it would not release him. His fingers were locked around its length, even as his skin was seared. "You are allowed your anxiety, young champion of mine. But when your doubts near the point of cowardice and despair, then you will earn for yourself my contempt. Do not be afraid, but take heart. There is strength in you that you have yet to find, and I do not give my champions a task that they cannot complete."
Sephtis set his jaw, said nothing. El narrowed his blazing eyes, rising up above the ground. "Go. Your duties await."
Then the god was gone. The gaunt man stared out over the sea, feeling much like a sailor who was adrift at sea, before turning and beginning the slow march back to his castle.
Court Wizard Aaron Thistleburn straightened his back when he saw one of his men open the door and gesture for his guest to pass him. Then Lord Azkaban, the legendary wizard who had cast down the dementors, disarmed Albus Dumbledore, and fought alongside the goblins of Sanctum against the forces of the unstoppable Dark Lord, stepped across the threshold and his emerald eyes cut across the pompous ornamentation of the sitting room to rest upon Thistleburn's wizened features. The court wizard wasn't an ancient man, like Dumbledore, but he wore his years better. A crisp black and gray suit, matched his salt and pepper hair.
Compared to the newcomer, Thistleburn might as well have been a fossil.
It didn't look like Lord Azkaban could be older than twenty. Judging by this painfully thin build, he had suffered greatly in his life, and his flinty eyes only reinforced that impression. In spite of sharp edges, there was a certain vitality bout him that could only be youth. He walked confidently, in spite of his limp, and he held in his long, pale fingers a staff that appeared at first to be a simple length of ebony wood. Thistleburn knew better.
Here was the Elder Wand. An artifact of great, terrible power. He shuddered just looking at it and the man who held it like a walking stick, and he wondered how a man who was little more than a boy could have defeated Dumbledore. Aaron had fought alongside Dumbledore in the war against Grindelwald, he had seen the Chief Warlock's unmatched strength and skill.
Lord Azkaban came to stand before the court wizard and bowed shallowly at the waist. His eyes never left Thistleburn's face, and once he had straightened himself, he swept the hem of his cloak behind him with an arm and cast his eyes about the room pointedly. "Good morning," he said. "I am here, answering the summons of Her Majesty."
"Come," Aaron beckoned, turning his back upon the younger man and beginning to walk. He felt a chill dance along his spine starting at the back of his neck, and he pointedly restrained himself from glancing over his shoulder.
He felt like he had turned his back upon a jaguar rather than a man.
They passed through several rooms before they reached the place where the Queen was waiting for them. It was an audience chamber on the side of a larger, imperial setting, a place with a more modest throne. She did not rise as they entered, and Lord Azkaban did not kneel. he approached the foot of the throne and bowed in the same manner as he had done for Thistleburn.
"Queen Elizabeth of England," he greeted her. Like an equal.
"Lord Azkaban," the Queen replied slowly. "Why do you not kneel?"
The pale Lord straightened his shoulders. "I have only one master, and it is not you, your Majesty," he answered quietly. Aaron bit his tongue and glanced nervously at the Queen, knowing that she could call upon laws older than the palace itself to bring this brazen wizard to his knees.
"Who is your master?" she asked instead, looking at the young man intently. Thistleburn saw that she had heeded his warnings; it was unwise to make an enemy of a powerful wizard.
"I am the servant of my god, the King of Kings," Lord Azkaban replied boldly.
The Queen said nothing for a moment, gazing intently at the man before her. "You have come here today to bargain," she eventually spoke, closing her eyes and leaning slowly back in her throne. "You have claimed a title that has been lost for hundreds of years, seized my land by force, and now you come to me expecting my favor? Tell me why I should not bring my armies to your island and take back what is rightfully mine?"
Lord Azkaban's eyes hardened. "My claim to the island is older and stronger than any claim of yours," he replied sharply. "It is upheld my magic. I have assumed the mantle that Lord Azkaban, noble of the Denes, had discarded upon his death. If you wish to make an enemy of me, know that you condemn not only yourself but both of us to absolute eradication by the monster known to you as Lord Voldemort. You are not so foolish, I think, to begin a war that will soon begin to burn along two fronts."
"Yes, Lord Voldemort. I have heard what you claim about him," Queen Elizabeth replied slowly. "But I have no corroborating reports from the Ministry about any impending attack. His name has not been mentioned in years."
"He is here. In England," Lord Azkaban replied. "He has mustered for himself an army of ambitious mercenaries. Your own Ministry has long been corrupt, ineffective, and dishonest. Half of the Wizengamot joined Voldemort's forces when he arrived in England."
When Elizabeth glanced toward her court wizard, he was forced to nod just slightly. Enough to tell her that Lord Azkaban was telling the truth.
"So," The Queen replied. "Now he has an army and you do not. Am I to assume you have come to warn me out of the goodness of your heart?"
"I have come to make a plea for the lives of my countrymen. I am not so arrogant to think that I can defeat Lord Voldemort and his followers alone. The war that is coming will consume us, wizard and muggle alike. It will be more terrible than any conflict that you have before seen, for our enemies now are not of mere flesh and blood. Voldemort has allied himself with denizens of void and shadow," Lord Azkaban intoned. "He will bring forth horrors which have not corrupted the surface of this Earth for thousands of years. Alone, we will die. Tyranny and suffering will spread from the isles like a poison, claiming the lives of millions. You have the power to stop this, your Majesty."
"Bold words," the Queen spoke immediately as Lord Azkaban subsided. She rose to her feet, then, drawing her crimson cloak about her shoulders and gesturing dismissively. "A fire in London is no cause for such worry. Do not think to hold a knife to my throat and demand concessions from me, wizard. I'll not hear another word about Voldemort or his armies; let us talk about you."
"As you wish," Lord Azkaban replied stonily, drawing his staff near to his chest. "I came here to offer my allegiance to the crown. I came here to lend my staff and my sword to you in the coming war. Yet you refuse me out of ignorance. Wounded pride blinds you. What would it take, then, for you to believe? Shall all of London burn before you recognize the threat?"
"For a man coming to beg, you have some nerve," Elizabeth replied sharply. "I know, Sephtis of Azkaban, why you have come. There is no food on that island, and no drinkable water. A dusty old castle and dry rock! So, you come here, proclaiming doom and woe, hoping that I shall sustain you, relying on your promise of aid. England needs no aid from you, or anybody. One dark wizard cannot possible hope to bring a nation to its knees, no matter his allies. Step back, and think about your position, sir. What do you have, really, to bargain with?"
Lord Azkaban barked a laugh which sounded more like a wheezing cough. "You are a fool," he said between breaths. He gestured to Thistleburn sharply, "Here, you have a wizard. Ask him how easy it would be for magic to destroy a city like London. An average wizard with some small amount of training could raze half a block in an hour, and Voldemort could bring down this city in less than that. Do not toy with fire far more dangerous than you can imagine, your Majesty. By the time you have been burned, it will be far too late for me to save you."
The Queen drew back as if she had been struck. "Is that a threat?" she whispered.
"No," Lord Azkaban answered. "I am trying to protect you."
"I have received no evidence that Lord Voldemort is a threat to my country. You, on the other hand, have already seized English soil and set yourself up as some kind of island king," the Queen summarized. "I have no bargains to make with you, Lord Azkaban. Surrender yourself at once and submit to the laws of this country."
"I refuse," was the immediate reply. Thistleburn took a step back as a pulse of red light traveled the length of the black staff in Lord Azkaban's hands.
"We have nothing more to say to each other," the Queen dismissed. Her eyes settled on a point over the young wizard's shoulder, and with a gesture of her hand, Hell broke loose.
Six wizards suddenly discarded their invisibility and took aim. Lord Azkaban's face twisted into a scowl as he drew his staff before him and held it above the ground. The first spell which cut through the air of the antechamber was a white cutting hex, aimed at Lord Azkaban's legs. It glanced harmlessly from an invisible shield and careened past the Queen's stoic features to crash explosively into the marble columns behind the throne. A barrage of spells cascaded from the wands of the court wizards, all of them harmlessly deflected by the gaunt man in their midst. A few of the stray spells collided with a shimmering gold barrier between the Queen and the violence, but the rest tore along the walls and floor, throwing dust and shrapnel through the air.
"ENOUGH!" Lord Azkaban boomed in a voice like thunder. A flash of light so excruciatingly bright that Aaron's eyes literally burned in pain rendered him blind. He staggered away from the dark shadow that had been seared into his vision by the silhouette of Lord Azkaban, tripping over a stair to collapse upon the floor as the sounds of battle subsided.
"You will regret this decision, before the end," Lord Azkaban said into the silence. An explosion shook the ground, followed by slow, unhurried footsteps, and no one stood to contest him as Lord Azkaban departed from the palace through the new hole that he had blown through an exterior wall.
By the time Thistleburn's eyes recovered, the rest of his wizards had only just begun to pick themselves up from the floor, each of them speechless as they saw the devastation hat had been wrought upon the palace. The Queen, who remained behind her enchanted shield, was looking directly at Aaron when he turned to face her.
"I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake," she said quietly.
Sephtis fell heavily into his chair and heaved a great sigh, deliberately ignoring Redtooth as the goblin hesitantly stepped into his office.
"That bad?"
The wizard eyed his diminutive advisor with baleful eyes. "I think I've made a terrible mistake."
Redtooth scratched his chin carefully and nodded, "Can't be that bad. What did you do?"
"I think I declared war on England."