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A fantasy poem; a battle for right by the reclusive, avenging King Alastorron of Calamar. |
Alastorron Deep within the snowy mountain beyond the plateau stepped Fortressed in his caverned chambers King Alastorron slept While Colos, the titan eagle, his ancient vigil kept To guard the mountain high and cold where from the north wind swept Many years the king had slumbered through times e’er falling sand Deep in his caves of Calamar as peace was on the land A king of might with crystal sword clasped firm within his hand Draped in repose with royal cloak of braided golden strand While through these years, stealth Belazar Grew evil in his plot To seize the throne of Calamar and claim its land his lot And thus he taxed the tilling serfs full half of what they wrought And threatened till his fear, instilled, controlled their every thought Then by the fear that filled the land raised in each peasants’ prayer The mighty king stirred from his rest within his caverned lair His eyes snapped open with suspect in anger they did flair His beating heart did then entreat his crystal sword to glare When from the caves of Calamar by eagles winged flight Came forth the king Alastorron to swing his sword of right All warriors of Belazar , the evil Lord of night, raised every sharpened spear in hate with foul cries of there might This battle cry was echoed loud ‘cross steppes and through the hills Yea , every hamlet cowered from that dreaded sound which kills For every nave knew well the fear of Belazar’s foul wills While weeping for deliverance each maidens’ nightmare fills From every camp across the land vile warriors did gush To heed their dark lord’s call to arms; Alastorron to crush Yea, even in the dead of night above soft rainfall’s rush Could pounding footfalls still be heard as troops marched through the slush A hundred campfires flecked the steppes ‘fore morning shadows role The smoke and mist as thick as milk hung low across the shoal Then Belazar road into camp with cloak shown black as coal He sneered with evil confidence; this day would bring his goal As he reproached the ragged troops with snarls of his scorn The mist grew dark above their heads with shadowed sweeping form From its presence the cruel hoard shrank As waves swell ‘gainst the storm And groans of fright gripped their throats when Colos’s cry did warn “To arms! To arms!“ roared Belazar “a thousand Finn I’ll pay To every man who’s spear will find Alastorron today” A scramble broke for blade and shield the order to obey With sword and pick or quivered bolt to join the armed foray And every soldier cursed the king with a naive bravery In taunting jest of claimed reward for deeds unsavory But all the brash and boasting noise was their delusory for all knew well this day could bring their death’s delivery Yes, long was sung the fabled wrath of King Alastorron Legends of his horrific might to be kindled anon What boy did not, in games of war, wield crystal sword’s icon and claim his mock victory in the name Alastorron Then from the north encampment throng beyond the cloak of mist Came anguished cries of dying men, a clue to battle’s twist In sweeping dives from side to side, across the foggy list, coursed Colos with his talons spread No armor could resist Upon his wiry feathered back King Alastorron rode and swung the glowing crystal sword to rend it’s morbid load Limbs were severed, armor impaled and helmets did explode None could dislodge the King’s attack nor stop the blood that flowed Stark fear now gripped the bravest heart as through the milky vale, each man could hear approaching death and grew cold in his mail Some ran screaming, off through the mist like children they would wail Some stood frozen, wrapped tight in fear and fell like brittle shale Still others, brave, or maybe fools, would firmly stand their ground Yet ready as they seem to be the king would cut than down Oh, on it rolled from steppe to steppe that fearful fighting sound of clanging swords, of screaming and of dying all around Till morning sun rose off the hills to melt the mist away And thus reveal that nauseous site which greeted light of day The reality of spoils greed with such a price to pay To tear the life from mothers’ hearts and bid the vultures play Was there someone to weep for they who lost their lives for greed Perhaps the bitter Belazar remorseful for his deed No... Belazar lay cold and white among the dead debris No accolades, no spoils sweet, no bier would he need But one did stand upon the field ‘neath morning’s heavy light With aching heart and saddened eyes still reeling at the site Alastorron of Calamar his sword still glowing bright Would kneel to pray for all the dead and curse this “need” for right Then through the land of Calamar trumpets and bells did sound Then troubadours and poets spread the glad news all round “Thanks be” they sang; “our land will live by fear no longer bound Praise the might of Alastorron again peace has been found” ... Spring after spring warms Calamar and meadow flowers grow Across the steppes to the mountain where from the north winds blow Legends say; high on the mountain, in caverns far below the good King Alastorron sleeps his crystal sword aglow Calamar will know peace until the Devil’s fire is fanned by spineless men’s complacency and evil’s greedy hand Yea... Men grow old and children play as peace is on the land Memories die but fables live through times e’er falling sand N.N. 4/90 |