Legend Of The Young Warlock

Turned Hourglass

"Speak!"

King Wealene's deep thick voice filled the room, sending sudden surges down the spines of the couple knelt before him. Seated on his portable golden throne, his brown eyes toned dark traced the jawlines of the husband.

Speaking of qualities, he's a 5"2 short man with a protruding belly and no hair in between his head. One would think the hairs of his head had left their place intentionally. His face grim, hardly expressing his emotions.His moustache oddly sitting above his lips, giving him a face you would see in a cartoon character. Not only does his look tells about his personality, he is an obnoxious man that thinks of no one but himself and would go lengths to get what his daughter wants. She seems to get his grip.

"His greatness."

The slender blond with a small but well cut face and fine eyes started, scarcely looking King Wealene in the eyes.

"I lost my husband to a terrible situation of the war last fought... that which our warriors were hired by the king of Kattiput to rid themselves of their long time fiends."

"Save the strays woman!"

He barked again, an ogle eating up the faint comely part of his face.

"Forgive me, His Greatness. A woman is an offshoot of her predicament."

She continued intermittently before she'd be scolded again, savoring the heat of the glare of the man next to her.

"According to the great law of Agranah, our precious land, his greatness. It's said that if a woman looses her husband honorably that she's to be honored and preserved. But Jaith would not honor his deceased brother, nor me. He won't take me as his wife to honor the bed of his brother and bear, to raise a child in his brother's stead."

Her argument knew peace as King Wealene nodded at the man.

"Tell me, Jaith. What's your argument?"

Jaith bowed, his forehead brushed the light brownish marbled floor. As soon as he raised his head,

"His greatness. As a man, a great and prestigious one... of honor and pedigree which you are. You'll agree with me that a woman's word mostly is an end product of a pond of fact and an ocean of lie. The former at the mercy of the latter."

One of the several guards standing before the king made advances towards the seemingly loquacious Jaith, but the king held up one his small hands in restrain.

"Pardon me, his greatness. Elena isn't who she said she is. She claims to be newly wedded to my brother who died in war and had not given birth, but the stories I've heard about her say just otherwise. A jackal who ignore the bickers of the Jay would have itself to blame."

Wealene scoffed and leaned gracefully into the fine cedar woods of the throne. His small fingers picking the moustache disheveled by nature.

"Tell me, Jaith. What have you heard about me? In all sincerity."

"His greatness. I won't speak badly of my King. Let alone to his face."

"Then you shall rather your head off your neck?"

That threat came with a fuss of wily chuckle.

"If that's what my king wants, who am I to restrain?."

King Wealene shook his arms slowly.

"I've heard that you're obnoxious and evil, that you only think about yourself. You don't care what others think or want, if it's in your way, you'll take it out. And if you see what you like, no matter how impossible it is, you'll get it for yourself. I heard that you once killed your six brothers on the day your daughter was christened. All these I heard but scarcely believed."

Wealene laughed hysterically, making a wierd sound, deep in his throttle.

"Tell me Jaith."

He leaned forward in his throne.

"What do you think of all these you've heard about me? If you were a king, what would you do to such man?"

Jaith came on passionately and hastily this time,

"I'll starve the Panthers in the dungeons for few days and feed him to them, that he might pay for all the heinous things he had done."

"Thoughtful."

Wealene dismissed, looking away to Elena. Jaith appreciated,

"Thank you his greatness."

"Too bad, woman, you won't get to raise a family with him. Find yourself another man because Jaith had decided his own fate."

"My Lord?"

Jaith queried as the king addressed one of the guards,

"For how long have the panthers been starved?"

"Five days, his greatness."

The guard, cladded up bowed.

"Lucky them. Take him away."

Jaith begged desperately at the judgement, but the gaurds were too fond of there duties.

"I'm quick to change my mind."

The king growled at Elena who scrambled to her feet and hurried through the aisle of the brown marbled floor tinted with golden glows of the neighboring rows of spiral columns which bordered the aisle.

"Call the captain!"

He called out loud as almost all the guards, due to the urgency, quaked, not sure of whom the order had been directed to.

In no time, the captain hurried in and crashed before him in a quirky bow.

"His greatness."

"The birthday of my daughter, the future queen is at hand. Go make it known to both the deaf and dumb. Everyone must start preparing their gifts and Goodwills. I do not need to rehearse the punishment for trespassers --"

He had barely given out the order when the palace door flung open and their came the seldom thunderous and threatening voice, like a comet in the sky,

"The bell of the gods' doom is loud enough for the wise. But a foolish Wealene would walk past the blaring tune in indifference."

Walking down the aisle towards the throne was an old man. 6"2, tall and lanky. Wrinkles had clouded and eaten up his handsomeness, but he yet made up for the lost with his thick and threatening voice. One of his eyes covered with a black circular pad, with two ropes, supported by the left ear. He's always dressed in his black cloak with a drooping mantle wounded around his shoulders. His rod fashioned from Cedar was believed to be a gift from the gods which he must pass down to a relative whom he loved dearly; he never had a son, he was a great devout of the gods. A blunt soothsayer!

"If hags were men."

The king cussed inaudibly as the old man tapped the rod on the marble as he fastened to the throne with stern cum porous gaze.

"Greetings to the gods and their puppet. But must we always meet under such ugly circumstances, Ama et Azholophased, the greatest Soothsayer of all time?!"

Wealene shot a toothed smile as Ama, the sorcerer got to him and stomped the base of the rod loudly on the floor. The contact of the rod with the floor mysteriously left a hole, the size of the base, in the floor. The particles of the marbles broken, found its way to the left eyes of Wealene, leaving a scar on his eyelid.

"His greatness!"

The captain of the guards made advances towards the sorcerer but the king wouldn't him.

He laughed instead, tracing the thin line of blood decking his lid,

"Will you arrest the puppet of the gods? Who can?! Let Ama be. He's an old friend. Who knows, we might not get to talk again? The gods might take him this night. Obviously, he's weary of the wonders of Agranah."

To Ama,

"What do the gods say today? Who plays their Mahjong this eventide?"

"Your days are numbered, Wealene. The gods have chosen a groom as the new and rightful heir to this throne. A youth skillful and purposeful. He who would father the greatest sorcerer of all time! Even though he despises the gods, his ways yet appeal them because he'd never spilled the blood of the innocent let alone that of his siblings let alone his wife!"

"Count your nights, Wealene. Because the hourglass has been turned! For you shall be reduced to nothing, that even death shall despise your company."

Ama turned immediately and began to walk away as Wealene called,

"Too bad your supposed groom had just been taken away as a dinner for the cats."

He added,

"Do visit you sister before the night fall, Ama. The gods be with you."

He chuckled slyly, as though none of the said things bothered him.

"Rise, Yoan."

The captain did. Wealene stepped off the throne and walked past the cluster of guards to the captain who had his head down.

"Come closer, Yoan."

He urged and the captain did as he was told, though with great caution.

"About the news of the Princess' birthday, delay it until morrow. A new task."

He whispered,

"Get me the wanderer."

"Yes, his greatness."

Yoan wanted to go down again in a compressed bow but the king yelled,

"Now!!!!"

Though short, his charisma and dread were out of the world. The captain hurried out while the guards stood alert.

"What can we do, Eliat?"

He had turned to one of the guards and suddenly spread both his arms,

"The wills of the gods must be done."

He titled his head down a bit and dropped his hand. He walked in the left direction towards his chamber, munching,

"The wills of the gods must be done."

Then he let out a laugh trained by vehemence and disappeared into the royalty of his extrinsic chamber!