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Updated: May 9, 2025
"So perish the enemies of Morven and the Stars!" cried the son of Osslah. And the people echoed the cry. Then the fury of Siror was at its height, and waving his sword above his head, he plunged into the crowd: "Thy blood, base-born, or mine." "So be it!" answered Morven, quailing not. "People, smite the blasphemer. Hark how the river pours down upon your children and your hearths.
And in every province which he conquered, he ordered them to build a temple to the stars. But a heavy sorrow fell upon the years of Morven. The sister of Siror bowed down her head and survived not long the slaughter of her race. And she left Morven childless. And he mourned bitterly and as one distraught, for her only in the world had his heart the power to love.
But Orna loved Morven better than Siror, therefore she told her husband all. And Morven resented the king's ingratitude, and was troubled much, for a king is a powerful foe; but tie comforted Orna, and bade her dissemble and complain also of him to her brother, so that he might confide to her unsuspectingly whatsoever he might design against Morven.
The voice ceased: the terror of Orna had overpowered for a time the springs of life; and Siror bore her home through the wood in his strong arms.
It was evening and the warriors and chiefs of the tribe were assembled in the place where the new king was to be elected. And the voices of the many favored Prince Voltoch, the brother of Siror, for he had slain twelve foeman with his spear; and verily, in those days, that was a great virtue in a king.
"Here!" cried Siror; and he seized the maiden in his arms, and, casting her on the rude altar, he drew forth his sword to smite her to the heart.
On, on, or ye perish!" And Siror fell, pierced by five hundred spears. "Smite! smite!" cried Morven, as the chiefs of the royal house gathered round the king. And the clash of swords, and the gleam of spears, and the cries of the dying, and the yell of the trampling people, mingled with the roar of the elements, and the voices of the rushing wave.
"He taketh from me the affection of my people," said Siror, "and blindeth them with lies. And since he hath made me king, what if he take my kingdom from me? Verily, a new tale of the stars might undo the old." And the king had ordered her to keep watch on Morven's secrecy, and to see whether truth was in him when he boasted of his commune with the Powers of Night.
Haste, for the gods will have a victim, be it your prophet or your king." "Slave!" shouted Siror, and his spear left his hand, and far above the heads of the crowd sped hissing beside the dark form of Morven, and rent the trunk of the oak behind.
So Siror was made king, and Maven the son of Osslah was constrained by the king's will to take Orna for his wife; and the people and the chiefs honored Morven, the prophet, above all the elders of the tribe.
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