Men are often drawn to tales of violence. Wars, conspiracies, duels. Peace fails to excite the

blood in the same way. Poets and bards, to keep their trade alive, will often return to the stories

of bloodshed and retell them, often exaggerating numbers or sizes of the opposing forces in

order to make them more terrifying.

The irony is that it becomes terrifying that one man can cause so much damage on his own. The

acorn is more powerful than the oak. It fits far more easily through the holes in the

defences.

The following is one such non-exaggeration, taken from historical records.

Episode Twelve – Rise of the Python

Eight brassy notes sounded across the sky, through the borders of the forest. Two miles east

of the village where the Aisorbmii had lost their first battle in thirty years fifteen Paladins

escorted forty villagers, together with scant belongings and provisions, to a more defensible

spot deeper in Aisorbmian territory. The bugle blew, and they all heard it.

And Sunder recognised the melody.

Finogilisera, the Paladin once-Ranger, could see it in his eyes. Most of the villagers had looked

about, wondering where the tune was coming from. But the boy's face had hardened when the

fifth note sounded. It meant something to him.

It meant something to Finogilisera too. He'd heard the tune before, on the day he lost his

tongue.

He was currently thirty-four. His father had been a veteran of the last battle at Rene Ponit,

but he had died of a bloodline malady three years after the battle leaving a widow who had to

slave to raise their two sons. On the border-lands near the forest, he grew with the grudges

which replaced the eager ability to maim and murder that people of both nations suddenly lacked

following the Long Fight.

He was small, and a natural target of Kingdom boys from the next village, boys who liked to

throw stones and play dangerous pranks. So he'd learned to hide. He had a gift for geography

and he soon knew all the good hidey-holes and tricks to misdirect pursuit in the woods. Sadly,

accidents happen.

It was a branch, weakened by a fierce storm in his seventh year. He'd leant on it and it had

snapped, and he'd fallen into the midst of several large boys who would happily have gutted him

there. Then his brother had leapt at them from the undergrowth, and whipped at them with a long

branch until they ran from the stinging leaves.

Trapped in hero worship Finogilisera had never fled again. He'd stood up to the Kingdom

boys. He'd stood tall for twenty years. He became a Paladin, continuing the dream of his brother

who had died of the same bloodline malady as their father. Their mother had been able to retire

comfortably, only to pass away in her sleep. In his grief he was comforted by a younger Paladin

named Gunorelitara, to whom he became quite close.

In his twenty-seventh year a group of twenty Paladins had been attacked in the south-west

near the forests. Eighteen bodies had been found next to the corpses of their horses. All

thirty-six heads had been severed. While it was known that outlaws occasionally took root in

forests, Finogilisera knew that there were no outlaws in those woods and he had investigated.

No-one had known all twenty Paladins and no-one had been able to identify the two who were

missing. Finogilisera found that the murders had been brutal and methodical, their implications

terrifying: poison in their drinks, and one or two traitors in their midst. So he'd pursued into

Kingdom lands.

He'd been caught, this time far from home and without his brother to save him. He'd been

taken before the King and forced to kneel. And there they had told him to eat the hot rice

pudding. Naturally he had refused.

The King had ordered his tongue removed, but on his way to the dungeons others had taken

responsibility for what was done to him. Then he learned how a traitor was created.

Brutally the Kingdom sorcerers would impose instructions onto the Aisorbmian mind. Only a

select few – all of them outside the Royal inner circle – knew of it. Instructions were simple,

but necessarily emotion-driven. 'Kill the Prime Minister' would be too complex; instead they had

to latch onto the feelings of respect, loyalty and patriotism the subject held for the leader of

their country.

They'd built-in a trigger, to allay any suspicions while they waited for the appropriate

political time. They'd chosen a few select notes which only appeared in a few traditional anthems

of the Kingdom – mostly archaic funeral fanfares, and one childhood song now out of use. Of

course, it was possible for the assassin to hear the notes sooner than planned, but an untimely

death was perfectly acceptable.

In Finogilisera they had instilled a different instruction – to lose all head for music. The

Paladin would never be able to enjoy a tune, or dance in time at a festival. He managed, against

all odds, to remember the eight notes of the trigger, but only by whistling them continuously in

his dungeon. Only then had they followed the King's orders.

His tongue was removed, his vocal cords slit. Finogilisera would not be able to communicate his

knowledge to anyone, but he could be set free. Thus the conspirators were able to keep their

secret without drawing any more investigators.

Finogilisera never discovered the name of the traitor. Unable to communicate he could not

function as a Paladin, and had to be relieved of his duties. Possessed by shame and a need to

serve the cause of his nation he had learned sign language from the Rangers. Gunorelitara, always

at his side, had supported his efforts and had asked permission from the Ministry to also learn

the codes. But Gun learned faster, and he was recalled to service.

It would be another two years before Finogilisera could communicate fluently with his

fingers. But among the Rangers he had relearned his talents of stealth from his youth. He swore

a new oath, and had trained gradually with the other languages of the Rangers.

But the trigger-tune, barely remembered, would never be communicated. And for a time it

was forgotten.

They reached the next village within a few hours, and Minister Setovarinesa set about

organising rooms for them all. Doctor Medofesipanu tended to the injured. Paladin Bemosolinata

took charge over Remolor and Sunder, while the four surviving Jamtin Paladins set up a

perimeter. To their surprise, Marshal Rekowarilara stepped forward to join the sentries. The

Marshal seemed far more stable today, and several others chose to see this as a good omen, and

volunteered to stand beside him.

Two more Paladins riders rode in an hour later - the Prime Minister and another Paladin,

Eidocesidana. They reported no further survivors of the attack, bringing the final tally to

thirty-one. But the Prime Minister's presence lifted hearts. The wielder of the Sword in the

Stone had a magic in men's minds which couldn't be reproduced by spells or psychics. He was in

his late fifties and was still the greatest warrior in the country.

Today they had been beaten. But alongside him they would fight back. That was why the

Sword was moved from Rene Ponit, after all.

The rallying speech they all expected turned out to be rather short. The Prime Minister

stated that he had received a message from the Kingdom before the attack. He said the attack

had not been sanctioned by the King, and was therefore likely to have been a rogue company. He

emphasised that they would not be going to war over this. That would merely get more people

killed. Then he had a meeting with Setovarinesa and Mayoratilini, the leader of the village. They

were guarded by Eidoces and the Iron Jamtins.

For the second time in the day, Finogilisera was confused about this avoidance of war. The

borders had been attacked, scores of Aisorbmii killed, in the past month. Every Paladin had been

recalled into service, even him. It did not matter whether the King had sanctioned the attack or

not, because the attacks were happening. What could the Aisorbmii hope to gain by sitting back

and letting them continue?

Knowing that answers would not be coming forth immediately; he set himself the task of

watching the Prime Minister carefully. He trusted Eidoces, who had brought him home safely.

Otherwise he trusted no-one, for any one of them could be secretly disloyal now.

After a short time the exile, Remolor, was summoned to the meeting. Bemosolinata escorted

him, and Finogilisera joined them. His presence wasn't questioned.

'Remolor, yer've been livin' in the Kingdom for many years now. Yer know more than anyone

what's been 'appenin' there. We'd appreciate yer insight,' said the Prime Minister.

The old man took a seat at the table. 'What can I tell you, sir? It's the old grudge.

Someone's finally managing to lift the stalemate and prove once and for all they're right. It's so

futile, so foolish... so naturally, the nobles are all for it. I have no doubt that the houses have

been recruiting already, and trying to hide it from the King. But before too long, they'll be

fighting anyway, carried away with jingoism, wine and funny costumes. If you want to stop it,

you have to stop it now.'

Finogilisera knocked on the table, indicating his wish to offer his opinion. The Prime Minister

translated his gestures for the others. We must stop being targets. Every victory encourages

them. We have to face them down, discourage them.

'Whether it be the thrill of the chase, or the charge of the vengeful, they will want to keep

on coming. At Rene Ponit they were given an impossible target and became bored. That is all that

will stop them,' said Remolor.

We will not retreat!

'No-one said anythin' about retreat, Finogil,' Setovarinesa assured him. 'We're just tryin'

ter understand the Kingdom brain. We know they have a lot of family politics; maybe we can

muck that up a bit.'

'No,' said the Prime Minister. 'They will fight among themselves anyway. But we unite them.

All these years, all the trade efforts, the sports, the festivals... they have failed to unite the

two countries.'

'Do something unexpected, sir,' offered Remolor. 'Return to the village. Offer a feast.

Request that you may bury the dead. Take the Sword, if it will keep them off-balance. Just be

other than a threat or a target, and keep them confused.'

'It confused me,' said Bemosolinata. 'Might work.'

Then they will attack what they don't understand, in case it is a trick. We must face them,

head to head.

'We tried that for centuries, Finogil,' said the Prime Minister, 'and it's time the nobles grew

up. We will summon a few mages, I think, and start playing with their heads. They've 'ad time to

be victors. We'll make 'em look like idiots. Bemosolinata, gather the local psychics. Medofes and

Rekowar have some psychic talent; we can use them, too. Bemosol?'

From the moment his name had been mentioned, the Paladin had stood rigid. His eyes had

narrowed. He drew his sword swiftly, howled and attacked.

Finogilisera saw the signs of that second trigger, drew his own blade and parried

Bemosolinata's, but the Paladin was younger and had more recent experience with the blade.

Finogilisera was pushed back quickly. The Minister, Setovarinesa, was pushed back in turn, then

Bemosolinata pushed forward for the kill.

Remolor hurled himself into the side of the Paladin, who swung around and slammed his sword

hilt against the old man's head. He then kicked out again at Setovarinesa, and the Minister fell

back. Mayoritilini leapt at the Paladin from behind, but the sword twirled below the arm and

stabbed backwards, slaying the village leader immediately.

The guards entered the room, swords drawn, but at the sight of their leader, they held

back.

The Prime Minister flourished the Sword in the Stone in a small circle which pointed around

Bemosolinata's nose. 'Stand down, assassin.' Bemosolinata swung his blade and advanced, but the

Prime Minister parried and riposted. Seventy pounds of swiftly swung rock impacted with the

Paladin's head. A few moments later, his head impacted against the next wall.

The Prime Minister knelt beside the body, and put down the Sword in the Stone. 'If you are

all the treachery the Kingdom can muster, then the Aisorbmii will survive. There will be peace,'

he said. 'There must be peace.'

Eidocesidana, satisfied that calm had been restored, sheathed his sword and stepped forward

to tend to the fallen Ministers and the old man. Behind the Prime Minister, Finogilisera stood

silently, thinking about peace.

It was so futile, he thought.

While war was not inevitable, perhaps, peace was the futility. All the efforts made towards it

had failed. Despite the losses they had suffered, the Kingdom hadn't changed, hadn't learned,

hadn't grown. In thirty years it had merely been able to recover, and prepare in dark places to

fight again.

For thirty years there had been stalemate, not peace. A lapse in the traditions that kept men

strong. A weakness.

Finogilisera twirled his sword, glanced briefly at the Ranger-insignia, the snake, depicted on

the hilt. Then he stabbed, silently.

Now there would be war, he thought.

The Prime Minister yelled, Eidoces twirled and struck with his sword. Swift, merciless, signs

that the Aisorbmii could still be strong enough to win.

The stalemate was over, he smiled.

Finogilisera was posthumously disgraced both from the Paladins and the Rangers, and

thereafter believed to be a traitor to the Aisorbmii. In his own mind he was a patriot.

Our research concludes that one lone man killed the Prime Minister of Aisorbma. No doubt

the conspiracy theories will continue to be told regardless of our findings. But rest assured the

conspiracies are still there, in the threads of this tale. The Great War had many other

villains.

But only further research will reveal the truth.

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