BW XXVI - Milai

Milai sees the blurred face of an aging Norse warrior reflected in gently rippling water. His long white hair is neatly plaited and held in place with bejewelled platinum filigree, which weaves into his beard and holds it firmly despite the strong wind that carries a flurry of snow about him. With furrowed brow, leaning forward from a stone perch he stares intently into a rock pool at his feet. Still hunched forward, in a pose that accentuates both his physical and mental prowess, he looks up into Milai’s eyes.

“Come and see Lady,” he says gently as if it were perfectly ordinary to be communicating with someone in a dream, “there is much to learn here.”

Seemingly taking a few paces forward, Milai climbs the gentle, rock-strewn slope before looking down into the pool. The waters gradually clear from the centre outwards showing first an image of a palantir glowing faintly purple, before revealing the half-lit face of an oriental man, she recognises as Iki-Moko.

“This is indeed an honour my Lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man says, speaking directly into the orb. The light emanating from the globe is insufficient to enable her to discern the dimensions of the space into which she looks, seemingly unnoticed.

“We have need of your assistance, as I once assisted you.” Despite its obvious confidence, the female’s voice, which barely carries into the space, is weak and distorted.

The man leans even closer to the orb, “What can I do for you Inwe?” he asks without hint of doubt.

“There is much we need and you know that it is also in your interest to help us; we need you to send your forces south and stop both the men and the elves of Amorsland coming to the Bitch’s rescue;” the disembodied voice rises in both pitch and strength as she continues, ”We have her bottled up with her friends and cannot afford to let her escape again.”

“You have my support my Lady but, as you are no doubt aware, I have troubles of my own, “ as Malor speaks, he turns away from the orb as if to conceal his expression, whilst lighting a long clay pipe, “the Dwarves are at my door and the deal with the elves is far from sealed.”

“What can you offer, old friend?” she presses.

“At a price, Inwe, I can get you more Gith to strengthen your fleet and have call upon our Lady’s help when in need.” He pauses to let the message sink in and elicit a response; when none is forthcoming he continues, “In return I need from you both assistance in the South of Everinstar.”

“Arrgh, to the heart of it then Malor,” the voice seems nonplussed, “The Demon of our current align will need assurances that we will face his direst foe, who currently looks for a foothold in the East. I have offered such assurances as I deem necessary to secure his help, but he is no fool. We are too weak alone to face all those interested in exerting power on the Prime. As we are of one accord, perhaps we should do our Lady’s bidding together until the time of the Great War at least.”

Malor draws on the glowing pipe, turns to face the palantir and points at it to reinforce his barely concealed anger, “With respect Inwe,” he begins, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “once we have the powers that our closest enemies possess, we can exert greater authority on the Prime and begin to ensure our influence is felt further afield – do not limit your vision for our Lady!”

“Ahah, then you are not opposed to the subterfuge?” her voice taunts.

“Why should I be? Making deals with Demons is like building on shifting sands – they are no more likely to keep their bargains than you yours.” Another fiery glow illuminates the Oriental’s face as he draws on the pipe before continuing loudly, “Offer them all whatever it takes to get this done!”

Malor’s sharp words carry sufficient smoke (along with the venom) to shroud the palantir. “The Great Battle will soon be upon us and we must help our Lady secure the souls she needs. Do not underestimate your foe, there is fight left in them and they have powers both arcane and other-worldly.”

With no sign of irritation or indignation the smooth voice nevertheless carries menace, “I have considered carefully this battle and have not underestimated their strength. You must keep your word and your nerve Iki-san, otherwise we will fail. We must have your full strength brought to bear from the North; our Lady expects it also.”

“I will provide what support I consider necessary; in return, as in previous times, I will expect the Rings – I will be the Ring Bearer again!” His smoky retort is almost a rant.

“I see, “ Inwe seems to keep her composure, “if the distribution of the artefacts is your chief concern then I have no doubt that you shall be the Bearer once again, and I will have the other artefacts that the Mage left us. Indeed, I have someone capable of wielding that which once the Paladin owned. Do not fret, I have not bargained away the artefacts that concern you so…”

“They clearly concern you too and perhaps we should speak more of their distribution…The Demon will want his rock, will he not?” Calmer now, Malor is trying to keep up. Is this how he wanted the conversation to turn? More sparks illuminate his expressionless face as he listens intently.

“Yes, I believe he will try to take it whatever we do or do not offer; indeed, that is his only reason for being part of this conflict. Together we could hold him back, divided though…” It is Inwe’s turn to let her emotions show in her voice.

Quick to seize the advantage, Malor reveals his intent, “Then we need to set him on a more direct path against his foe. I know you have made approaches to the other one – as have I. Getting Orcus a foothold in the south of Everinstar, on the pretext of more directly facing his enemy with our support, will assist us both greatly. Do you not have Celinas under control?”

“I see your plan Iki-san,” with levity now, “and I’m not against it. Of course I have Celinas and control the Sea – your gateway to Everinstar. What of the Dragon now your Beast Master has been deposed and your henchman defeated?”

“Leave him to me...” Confidence is written on the Oriental’s face, as if he were about to finally solve a great conundrum. The vision fades leaving Milai with the image of Malor’s smiling face as he takes a last draw on his pipe.