Saoel Forkbeard was in a suspicious mood left by the Governor's visit. He cast a suspect glance over a ponderous left shoulder, briefly, at the attendant who stood in waiting beside his table. The wine vessel he was drinking from had been retrieved from the floor. It stood in glittering shades of balmy, twinkling, illumination, as from its paragon foundation a thousand shafts of light spilled into the room, reflections from the dwindling fire.
The worker moved, respectfully, to remove clutter from the table as Saoel stood and walked toward the fireplace. Comprehensions dulled somewhat by wine, Captain Forkbeard stood and looked, flatly, into the fervor of flames which plunged, laughingly, in dancing yellow tongues, licking the corners of eroded timbers in the blaze. What was in his eyes was a particular remorse over having left the Trappler mansion with only a fraction of its hidden treasure. The revelation experienced by Landregal midst the devastation of Aboregale's chapel had not effected any prominent repercussion on him.
That Governor Gulari wanted to express his anxiety over Feydor Volki's aspiration to rid the country of the altruistic followers of Christianity was of little consequence to him at the moment. His had been the most tedious of tasks in the conquests of Trome's army---and he was tired from deliberating over them. A disgusted reminiscence of that war overtook him like a frightening nightmare as he tried to settle into the sersnity of the lurid, cold, evening. He knew Volki's powers to be ones capable of directing, to the world, the deadliest kinds of intimidation.
Key to Volki's severity as a dictator was an intellect which adequately accepted pain and death as punishment in compliance with rewards and enjoyment for the triumphant completion of many diverse and demanding missions. The assignments regarded as hideous and ill-favored were those most highly rewarded upon their completion by the lord of Dormanquest Castle. Rewards for stacking the enemys' heads far surpassed those for tending the soldiers' horses, in Trome.
Volki's rule was one which accommodated any amount of evil volition as a means of achieving material prosperity and Saoel had used that antipathy to his own advantage on numerous occasions. It was not to goodness that men were rewarded; Feydor Volki, feeling that his countless tasks of destruction were done as simple favors to fellow men: those loyalist to him, had little remorse in using terrorist tactics to accomplish his own ambitions for power. And while he ruled the country, with what he and his partners imposed on its people as law, Volki had only a few ambitious inner party members to carry out his aspirations among the multitudes of soldiers, workers and slaves. Where, originally, many people regarded him as a God-send for providing them jobs and a temporary purpose they now viewed him as a neglectful tyrant. This opinion, regardless, was not circulated by those who wished sustenance or to be shielded from Trome's harsh administration.
In the dark of night, at a span of some miles from Saoel Forkbeard's farm, Governor Gulari followed twisting paths of Trome's countryside back to the village of Obrian. Trok, the driver of his sled, watched with vigilant recognition as the town emerged upon them. Penetrating cold had kept the men, both, awake and attentive.
Stopping in front of a low row of primeval structures, Trok delayed until Gulari descended from the creaking wooden cart onto one of its metal runners. With shivering breath the monarch stepped into the snow and maneuvered toward his office in the dark. He bid the driver a good night. Trok unhitched the sled's two steeds and took them into a nearby shanty where he himself resided. The livestock went with eager anticipation into their stable and Trok to a comfortable bed of leather, over straw, beneath several warm blankets in the barn.
The potentate, Gulari, pulled the very abundant winter overcoat about him as he sifted through the ashes of a spiritless fire in the village office. In a few moments he kindled a new blaze which slowly warmed the chamber. Dancing shadows of the flame reminded him of the declaration he was obligated by Feydor Volki to keep: to probe into and report the whereabouts of those in authority concerning commitments of the serfs to religion. As of yet, nothing had come to light in that attempt. Captain Forkbeard appeared to be disguising some insight into the slaves' established principles in regard to their faith. Demitri was not certain as to Saoel's sources of the information: only that he was sheltering forms of thinking pertinent to fulfilling his duty to the infamous Dark Lord of Dormanquest Castle.
While Rostov Gulari played recital to his recollections of the day's activity, Chin Le Tang and Utanba Tu languished within the splendors of Feydor Volki's palace. the two men distinguished themselves as exalted within its walls. For the time being they were honored by all its inhabitants and commended by its ruler. To the two fortune hunters it was indeed a time of provisional glory. Utanba wore beautifully ornamented armor along with fine garments to confirm his place of honor amid the multitudes of men. He relished his fraternity with all the castle's legions of subordinates; lost in the frill of riches he forgot about his meek past. Utanba came to see careless power in his wealth. He was less than conservative in its application. All else escaped him. His catapult to success was conspicuous. Being honored, however, had not made him overly abusive. He was provided a harem to satisfy his love for women; it all seemed too good to him to be swallowed in one bite.
Chin Le, on the other hand, played a low portrayal in the glory and affluence now afforded the two men in the impassive distinction of Volki's Castle. Since he was well to do, esteemed formerly as the son of a ruler, luxury had less effect on him than it did on Utanba. Chin Le was used to the uncomfortable rigors of war. But he was also accustomed to a life of riches in times of tranquility; it being so, he guided Utanba in controlling sporadic volleys of irresponsible enthusiasm within the castle's confines.
It was late at night. Chin Le spoke with Utanba, advising him on caution that he should apply in enjoyment of his good fortune. "Be careful of your passions amid the leadership of Trome," Chin Le forewarned. "It is all very excellent that you should be lucky but there are still restrictions to which you must adjust. Be heedful of those details of our journey you give forth in a negligent way. You know that there rests still, in the heart of Aboregale, a hundred times the plunder we removed from that beast's grotto under the estate's fortifications."
Utanba Tu looked with a smile at Chin Le, not altogether understanding him. "Nobody knows of that treasure---save you, me and Captain Forkbeard," he assured the Chinese warrior.
"Then keep your lips tight but your recollections clear my partner and we will extend this prestige that we now hold among the leaders of Trome. Be too boastful and we stand to forfeit everything," advised the Mongolian master. A torch burning in a metal holder brightened the dark hall in which the two men spoke. Their whispers echoed in that gloom, inaudible to all the fortification's inhabitants. Yet one, in that unfriendly castle, knew of their thinking. And it took no ears for him to hear for only the activity of one's intellect was essential to the prevailing master, deep within Dormanquest's shadowy alcoves, to read peoples' very thoughts.
In the beginning of the universe, there was a counting of all that was to become creation. Every form of the earth and all the heavens, to come forth, gathered themselves as energy. Light and darkness, time and substance, yet to come into being, became reckoned by their creator. Last to be counted by its maker were in the rebel forces of darkness.
Volki's blackness, given attribution only by an accountant counterpart, required acknowledgment from a keeper of time for recognition; and so, the last to be called and counted were all the forces rebellious to a new creation. Once the maker had accounting of all his parts, and each was properly stored in its place, creation of the heavens and earth began.
Erstwhile the universe rested in a form of pure energy. With decision and will, it began to reshape itself. Energy in its pure form is eternal and infinite. Once matter and time are converted, tallied so to speak, they cease to be. Matter, time and energy exist relative, only, one to the others.
To make it simple and stupid, the forces that made up Volki's power were the last to be counted and the first to be expelled by our creator once he willed to depart from a state of perfection (or perfect energy). Feydor cringed, perpetually, onto the edges of non existence. He wanted darkness and death always but it was not the will of the creator that anything he made, including Feydor Volki, cease to be, it taking a totality of energy to bring his new things into being. In the universe, nothing is useless and nothing is eternal. Only the totality of existence, energy in its purest form, is eternal.
Dying is more aged than any form of creation as it comes into being. Death is older, the force of darkness, but is not eternal. Only the purest form of energy from which all substance became is eternal, existing not in any dimension of time; it, rather, being the creator of time and all the elements constituting matter.
With final decision Feydor viewed existence as garbage. There was no way to get rid of it until the accountant of all time and substance collected it. In eventuality, He would collect Feydor as well and store Volki in His perfect memory as well.
"I won't go," Feydor thought glowingly to himself as he listened to cognitive processes within the castle and reflected upon his own probable demise. "I'll cheat you, you egotistic assessor of time and matter, you'll see. You who think you have hidden treasure, residing here, beware. Your only escape is in not thinking of anything at all, and that leads you certainly into death. You'll join me then. I'm sure you'll join me eventually my adventurous trio." He threw his head back and laughed a loud reverberation of chilling howls that became heard throughout the castle's shadowy chambers.