The man's black, orb-like eyes glistened with the rheum of years and his knees buckled with old age. Yet, he stood at the marble steps of the castle, waiting to be let in, and his grey strands of greasy hair fell about him like a tempest - all knotted up together, waves overlapping, intertwined at his head and in his face. Voice hoarse, he seethed again, tugging on his robe of torn ebony.
"My apologies... kind men..."he raised his eyes to look up, lips dry and cracked - and, formed a sound, "Please".
"Who are you, and why do you wish to come inside?" A voice drawled and the rustle of pages was heard. At that, frowned the old man, and straightened his back which had been bent in a double till now. "Old Bentarch, 'tis me, moron!" He sneered. "Dionarys begged for me, knucklehead... desperate. He's is love, the young man, and the prophesy..."
"Prophecy? There ain't a prophecy in Tilla!" And when Bentarch looked at the gate of ivory, pink quartz twisted along the bars and intertwining up, up, he saw - just out of arm's reach - a small, white pebble, which was secured to the part of the gates where they would open. But, rather than a chain - for that would seem all too suspicious - there was the stone, and there were two creases in either side of it, where the corners of the gates locked up. So, Bentarch jumped up and rattled the gates.
"Krits," he whispered.
"Huh?" The voice projected out of the stone. "Old man, show your letter of confirmation!"
Bentarch sighed, but nevertheless produced a small parchment from the inside of his robes. It was written in slanting shrift, and had oil illustrations of snakes upon it. Classic Typhae Silt X., - thought the old man, smiling to himself. But, at the sight of the letter, there suddenly was a flash of metallic lights - and then, in front of the slouched, pathetic creature, there now appeared a broad-shouldered, square-jawed man with each finger approximately a small sausage, who now gave an almighty kick at the gates and they opened with an even more threatening squeak.
"Ah, "Bent" Arch!" The man spoke. "I have been expecting you," he squared his shoulders and his lips pulled into a crude snarl. "Honestly, what prophecy were you talking about?" He seemed curious. Such a shame.
"You... expecting me?" Bentarch laughed. "You know, don't forget you didn't get into Shattered Academia! Ha! Ha! Expecting... me? My, but you are a moron!"
"If only I went," seethed the other man. "And it's a stupid college; so I even wonder at you, old man, for having saved the planet from destruction... ha indeed, beggar!" And he led the man through the gates and up the castle. They had walked in silence for minutes - but it seemed like hours, for now they had already passed chambers, ante-rooms, bedrooms, music rooms, long corridors with oak fireplaces and grim faces staring down upon the two from framed pictures... even they met the cook, who, upon the sight of Dylan Caikentrine and the man - even he realised him as to be the necromancer, the Grandwalffe "Bent" Arch - scuttled off, yelping and shooting curious stares behind himself at the pair.
"People are watching you," said the square-shouldered one. "You have no place in this castle..." but now Bentarch drew out the scroll, raised and pulled in his eyebrows again, and hid it in his robe. "I must have heard you wrong," he said, smiling. "Oh am I so sorry? No."
"You should mind your tongue. We soon shall be at the Wing, where I will leave you to your ugly fate," gritted out Dylan through teeth, and spit coated the face of the "Bent" Arch. He looked away, trying to suppress a laugh. Honestly, it all was quite bonzer... yes, true, he were to die quite soon! - three more days of mirthful living, but he was to spend them at the castle. And the prophecy - it would be known; people... they would discover, but all in due time, and books shall be written about him. A glorious death, in the chambers on the East wing, up in the tower with the balcony facing out and down, down, upon the border... and there would be firs and hemlocks and oaks facing on either side, and beyond the woods - far beyond - there'd be a stream... heck, there is a stream! And then houses. Jolly, sweet houses, and shops and cafes and the Low hills.
"The room... it's reserved. East tower." Dylan frowned. "You're to live there- I let the Valens know when you came. And what are you pulling up your lips for, to reveal yellow teeth?"
"Whose your Valens?" Asked the necromancer, curious. He were a very old fellow - had lived for Turti of times (meaning "a thousand years"), and all his power was now drained. Actually.... all the power, but some, that refused to leave his incurably-weak body. It was the colour of a pungent-green bullfrog, and there was but a droplet left. So, people honestly weren't scared of him - no more; all thought that he were simply a stupid old man, tired of living. And honestly, he knew not much of the Consilii world; having travelled between all of the 100+ worlds - planets, including the one of Small Planet, he wasn't very well accustomed to any of the religions - knew not of the rules - fully. But Dylan was a dumb fellow, already in his thirtieth "time" (year).
"Typhae Silt." sighed Dylan. "Darn you! So stupid! And you used to be smart... they say... my ill grandfather talked of you in your days... ninety years ago, perchance you were a bit wiser... tee-heee! And to think... stories of you, they'd been written, how you conquered the Queen —"
"Do not speak of her. A mere mention issued from your lips - hath bring fury and darkness back. It's the prophecy... I fear, she is over not. Can't be, I tell ya... the cathedral, I went to it, Dylan Caikentrine!"
"The cathedral?" The two had walked up a marble staircase. The broad shouldered man ran his thick fingers over banister when they were up on the third floor. They then crossed into a corridor of redwood and chandeliers of pink quartz. Dylan heard his feet echoing on the marble, and tensed. "Not over..."
"The cathedral, far beyond the Tilla Castle, about three hundred miles, there's a ruin. You ain't educated... no wonder, that you are clad in rags of your late father. Old Father Grey lives there, along with Brother Francis and Brother Archie and Daughter Raáchelle. There's a manger somewhere nearby... a pigsty... everything is in ruins! Only the cellar contains red orc cheese and common bread and pots of honey and fish... the water ought to be broken in the ponds, always! - humph...."
"Tell me more, old man. You know of the Cathedral - I've heard of it, since I was a little boy. But if yer telling fibs..."
"Calm yourself. Listen." "Bent" Arch clicked his tongue. "So in this cathedral... there's a big organ, and it plays every First Time (remember, other than "year", first time is morning - just as second time is noon and third time is night). In the manger, there used to lie... Prince Dionarys... as a baby. That was when the cathedral was a beauty! And monks - they often came, 'em, to the garden of beauty where there was a bank of poppies... and beyond that, there were dips in the hills where hyacinths grew and sunflowers looked up to the sky. There, the monks talked of the Upper-ers.... except, that then there were eleven of the original Twelve. I visited there - some Time ago... and they spoke of me, of their fears. One Monk just came back from the kitchen, and brought with himself a slice of sageuse (sausage). I took it and ate it, and he spoke - spoke, that he felt as if the Queen were to come. Again. This dark shape, who last was seen many and many a Time ago, just when the Little Planet was created. I believed not, first, but a few days... I saw a Prophecy. And She came. And she destroyed the cathedral..."
"So?"
"Well, I went there not much Time ago, ye, and Daughter Raáchelle told me..."
First off, Dylan was impressed. But then he scratched behind his ear and picked his nose, and frowned. "Bentarch... the idiot... you believe a poor girl?"
