A white tower drew from the mists, it's bead of crown shimmering high in the sun. This was the Tower of Z?r?naê belonging to the Ruler of White of the Kingdom of Belidora, where, surrounding the growth of ivy and underbrush in this valley, were mountains of white which the sun beat upon harshly and created enough saturation for a warm jungle of forest vegetation to grow freely. The tower had not been used for centuries, since the end of man’s reign in this part of the world.
Many ventured to the tower because it was said that one who sat in the seat of the King of White would rule the lands of the tower and eventually all that surrounded those lands and those after. Soon becoming the ruler of all the lands of the earth. Many perished in search of glory and fame from the legends of the tower that had spread forth through all kingdoms and settlements in the world, for in the lands of the King there were dangers that persisted at all points. Fearsome things, such as poison’d plants and venomous animals, things said to have driven most who escaped alive to little more than shells and empty vessels for Devils and demons of all sort.
It was said that after the War of Myrrhena?, the Master of the Tower was disappointed so with his victory, that he went mad and threw down his sceptre and cursed the land with all his knowledge of such things so that no man, woman, child, or any living creature that may walk upon two legs could enter his domain and disturb him in his eternal thought.
The legend’s eventual perpetuation gave birth to superstition and promises of gifts of power, for it was said that the King welcomed any challenger who made way to the gate of the castle by force or otherwise, and that should they defeat him in single combat, they should be ruler of all lands and have all their heart may desire.
Armies had entered what was now the Valley of Shadow and never return’d. Kings and knights had fought their way through forest, terror, and death only to turn back with one-tenth the strength with which they entered.
Only one had ever made it to the tower gates.
This had been Z?rthanil the Mad. He was a great ruler among his people in the middle century who sacrificed and starved that his people might have bread and water during famines and droughts. He brought his people to glory in battle against all who would oppose him and embroil his lands with war or trouble. Every battle into which he rode he fought at the front of the van. Among slaves and creatures captured on the edges of the Black Wood that had lain at the westernmost border of his kingdom. He treated all as people, rallied them, and fought beside them all. However, in the fiftieth year of his rule, the Kingdom of H?rth, for this was his kingdom, began to rot. Buildings began to crumble, and all creatures, man or otherwise began to fall ill. It is said that their bodies would rot from the inside and their limbs fall to the ground as they were walking. Legs and arms turning to dust in their sleep. People would fall asleep and wake in the night to find themselves lying in black, stinking ooze that was once an appendage, and where the limb once was, there lay a long line of dust in the shape of whichever appendage had fallen victim.
Z?rthanil called to H?rth-sidis all of those under his rule which he felt could save or cure, but his efforts were in vain. His kingdom was crumbling and his people were suffering before his very eyes. He felt there was nothing he could do but sit powerless to the inevitable. In the end, he was left but one option: seek the throne of the King of White and ask him for guidance, for a version of the story that ran in Z?rthanil’s time said little about attaining thrones and the gift of power, but that wisdom was what the King of the Tower would grant. Tales of power and fortune came much later.
Z?rthanil gathered all able-bodied men and women and called them to fight for their families and friends, their people and their places, and to follow him into the Valley of Shadow to seek wisdom from the King. Many agreed to go, few refused, but all were unsure. They all departed, cheered by none, for this war was not fought on an open field and had stricken the heart of the kingdom black, rotting, leaving its people in terror. They departed the city of Harenar and headed both to the Central Plaines, where in the center lies the Mountains of White and the Valley of Shadow. The only entrance is the Western Gate-Under-the-Mountain, or Niz?l-zaam, one of four grand and tall passages that were tunnels built straight through the mountains by the ancestors of Audur?el, the last King. These had defenses of all sorts for intruders and hidden passages to one another. It was in the mountains where the Last Battle had been fought, for here there were cities and villages inside the mountains. The gates had all been ruined and caved in with exception for the Western Gate.
They departed H?rth-sidis from H?rth-dodos, the northern gate, and after many perils reached the vale within a month. Whence the gate was passed, Z?rthanil spoke the words of his people ‘dum?n takhrah shahra?n’, ‘Doom shall defeat us not’. To H?rth ten men returned. Z?rthanil was not among them, for his force had been taken by several of the Dangers of Shadow within a fortnight of combing their way to the tower. He sent back the remaining hundred warriors, and of those, ten return’d.
Many say that Z?rthanil, by force of will and the desire in his heart to do good by his people, made it to the tower gate. There the King of White called from the tower for his name and what he desired, ‘Be it power or gold?’ He said ‘For I am sickly and old. I have no use for this world or its troubles. Leave me be and return no more.’
‘I come for neither gold nor power. I have no earthly desire in my heart to ask of you save the health of my people and a cure for that which has stricken them so.’ The King then paused and spoke no more for several hours, while Z?rthanil waited anxiously at the gate. In deep thought. Z?rthanil tarried six days.
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At last the King spoke, ‘I have no clear recollection of how long this has been my dwelling or of when the last made it as far as the gate. By my count I should be here five hundred and thirty years, or somewhere abouts. Come to call in the middle most chamber, for that is the feasting hall. Do not tarry! I will be waiting.’ The Gates then disappeared and the sun seem’d to sink low though the day was only just begun.
Z?rthanil strode across a courtyard path paved in a shining stone that felt to his feet as if he were walking upon perfectly flattened earth. The courtyard seem’d much less a courtyard and more of a great field for it were a perfect circle around the tower with a radius of three hundred yards from the outer wall to the inner. He pass’d through a peacefully ornate archway into the inner courtyard which was one quarter as long, and led to a lovely laden door of a strange type. The door itself seem’d as if it were marble for it was black with ornate white carvings upon its outer face. The carvings seem’d to be of events that had pass’d long ago, unremembered by men.
The doors disappeared. Z?rthanil breached the threshold and crossed it. Inside the tower seem’d large enough for three houses. The ground floor seem’d to be the parlour and common area as well as an assembly floor. Z?rthanil reach’d the steps and began to climb. His legs felt lighter and more refresh’d with each step. He made it to the bottom of the next floor and found another door. This one too disappeared and he walked further up feeling lighter each floor. He finally reached a silver with gold and ebony streaks in the carvings upon the arch and what appeared as pillars carved from the stone. In the center of the room was a small, worn wooden table much like a writing desk. At this desk sat a frail, grey figure sitting.
‘Pull up a chair’, said the man. He was dressed in white and wore a circlet about his head. ‘My forest protects my solitude but somehow it fails at certain tasks. I believe I am getting too old to command it all.’ The man look’d Z?rthanil in the eye and Z?rthanil did the same for he felt the man to be sizing him for worth and value. Z?rthanil pull’d a chair from the corner and sat across from the man. The man paid great attention to Z?rthanil, and with an expression of profound sadness and despair said, ‘That is the very chair in which my son would sit when he was but a child.’
Then, with a somewhat more pleasant expression (as though this happenstance had seemed of good fortune or positive significance) spoke once more, ‘It seems I am somewhat out of touch with the world outside of my mountains. I get out little and when I do I roam, I go no further than the courtyard. I watch the outside world from the height of my tower and observe all that can be seen, though it seems rather pointless for I am as lockt here in this cell - as those of you outside are locked out.
‘Give me news! You come from the South do you not? I have not observed the south for many a decade, perhaps even century. What things are happening, what are people doing, does the shipping remain well?’
Z?rthanil was quite put off at the delight in the old man’s voice, for this was indeed the King of White, but to see one who was so feared being such pleasant company disconcerted Z?rthanil very much. The old man saw the gravity in Z?rthanil’s expression change from gloom to unease and beckoned him once more. Z?rthanil gave into the old man’s whims and began a rather lengthy tale of all happenings in his part of the world, beginning with his lineage in concordance with the propriety of royalty.
The old King watched Z?rthanil’s lips and hung upon his every word. Then Z?rthanil came to the events of present. ‘The seas have dried up and the Rivera that flow no longer live so far for their waters turn dry once they reach the sea-bed. There is no economy but war and I have no people to expend.’ Z?rthanil continued his tale of woe to the frail and withered King.
When at last he finished, the King spoke, ‘You are a wise man, are you not?’
Z?rthanil knew not how to answer the question. ‘My people are my heart. The friends of my children and those I hold dearest in this world. Without them, this world would be to me but an empty place. Were I born another, maybe this would not be so, but as it stands, it is my duty to protect and defend them as long as I shall give breath to the world.’
The old man responded, ‘Have you sought the enemy who curses your lands?’
‘Yes, for more than a decade, but my people have suffered so, and our numbers dwindle. There is nought that I can do but ask you as to what shall be done!?’ Z?rthanil seem’d to be in great pain and could no more bear the thought of his people's’ suffering.
The old man once again skimmed Z?rthanil with his bright eye. ‘I cannot tell you from where this curse hails, but I may give you three options, though they will all bring you great pain.’ He paused for a moment and then continued, ‘The first option for you is to defeat me and gain my throne. No doubt you are a great warrior, and no doubt am I out of practice, yet my blade is of a kind no longer known to the kings nor any of those of your world and would shatter that which you keep by your side. Therefore, you will most certainly not win.
‘Second, you must surrender your kingdom and yourself to death and a new kingdom shall arise in place.
‘Third, you must discover the source of the curse, but you are of few in number now and do not believe you have the strength or time to hunt those that you feel wronged you so. That leaves you with but the option of sacrifice. You must sacrifice one of your own blood and fifty more to be rid of whatever evil plagues your land.’
The King spoke more and Z?rthanil listened. Z?rthanil then curs’d the King and challenged him for his throne. As Z?rthanil began his attack he yelled once more the three words of his kingdom. As Z?rthanil's sword came gleaming down and fell upon the old king’s, it shatter’d. The King then replied ‘Sh?ríth vizíl thutha’. I am but a light.
‘You have tried and failed. Take what you have, make your choice, and leave from this place. There is always hope, do not despair. There is a passage through the mountain which you may use as your exit. Once you have reached the outside of the mountains however and cross once more into day, the passage will be sealed, and you will not find it again.’
Z?rthanil took his belongings and departed. He walked the freshly lit passage for what seem’d days. He slept upon benches that sat along the walls of the passage which felt as though they were beds of the finest quality. He then came to the end. Night had long since fallen when he once again felt the chill of the outside air and saw the light of the moon.
