Last Stand of the Blood Land

by Andrew Carpenter

  “I see the Plainswatchers, each day making our defenses stronger, each day watching the plains, and I wonder if one day my wife will join them.”

  “You have a wife?” asked the chief.

  “That is why I laugh,” he answered. “So far she exists only in my mind.”

  The others joined in the laughter now and he felt a sense of ease and trust permeate the table, a reaction to a small showing of vulnerability on his behalf.

  “Caldera, my mate, fights with them and I wish she did not but I think you will find that once you have a mate of your own that your wishes for what she will do will exist only in your mind as well.”

  Andrika and Stratera nodded at this comment, the looks on their faces telling Atlas that while Oberon’s statement was funny it was no joke.

  “I would not care to face a Giantess in battle,” said Arbolante with a nod towards Theia where she was forcefully extricating a few eavesdropping Giants from the hall.

  “Tell me,” said the Pathmaker, “of Devil’s Lake.”

  “It is quiet,” answered the chief. “The Plainswatchers work in the forest, the males hunt the North for any remaining Southlanders or train.”

  “I have heard that the Blood Born you sent to Fort Hope to train with our youth are becoming fierce warriors,” said Meggido.

  “It is good that they train together,” said Omri, “they will fight together soon.”

  “Too soon,” said Rebus.

  The Elf’s comment changed the mood and Atlas shifted his sword so he could try to sit more comfortably. Finding the right position he reached up to remove his helmet and set it on the rough-hewn table. With a sigh he watched as Theia brought out a plate of nuts, prairie chicken, and bacon. A small pot of the rare coffee, hard earned in trade with the Dwarves, served to lighten the mood for the younger warriors but the more seasoned fighters were not distracted.

  “What brings you to our hall today?” asked Meggido, asking the pointed question so Atlas would not have to.

  Oberon picked up the clay cup, oversized in his hands as were the battle plans of the North. Atlas wanted to keep the alliance with their neighbors as strong as possible, trade and mutual defense would be the cornerstone of the Giant nation he had envisioned. Even so, interests clash and how one handles those situations is the true test of a free people.

  “The Plainswatchers inform me that your tribe is pushing deeper into the forest,” said Oberon.

  Atlas nodded, thinking of the growing number of wigwams that housed the new arrivals. There was a sense of exposure on the plains that grew smaller the deeper one went into the forest. The Centaurs had always attacked over the open ground where their speed and numbers could overwhelm the Giants. Now there was consensus among the clans that the first target of the Southlander’s vengeance would be the village that had grown on the edge of the plains in the shadow of the forest under the terms of the Old Alliance.

  “Our Giants need shelter,” answered Atlas.

  “As do we all,” said the chief. “And their homes put holes in our defenses.”

  The purpose of their visit became clear to the Pathmaker. The knights must have realized this would happen. He noticed the way Oberon had said “and” instead of “but.” He appreciated the subtlety of the Cherub’s language and so responded in kind.

  “They do put holes in our defenses and I believe the risk those holes present is outweighed by the risk that the South does not come this year and the Giants freeze to death over the winter.”

  “If they don’t come and we planned as if they would, you will have a tough winter,” answered the Cherub. “If they do come and we planned as if they wouldn’t we will be slaughtered.”

  “You are both too young,” said Omri. “We who have fought against impossible odds know that there must be at least one safe place where they next generation can grow or there is no hope.”

  “You are also too young,” said Rebus, Arbolante nodding in agreement. “The Elves have fought the Men for centuries. Never before has there been even this much hope for creating a safe place that is not under their rule.”

  “Now is not the time for half measures,” added Arbolante.

  Atlas could hear what the straight-backed, majestic ancients were saying. The future belonged to their children if they would do what was necessary now. That means the present does not belong to us either. The Pathmaker shifted his sword, picking up a bird leg and eyeing it. His muscles told his stomach they needed the food and his mouth salivated but the Elves’ words made him feel as if the food did not belong to him even though he held it in his hand.

  “Do the Elves have a place?” asked the young Pathmaker, his eyes still on the food. “Are your people hidden away somewhere they can grow the next generation?”

  The others looked at him, wondering what had transpired in his thoughts to make him ask such a question. The stoic faces of the Elves did not reveal that the question had roiled them.

  “We do,” answered Rebus.

  It was a piece of information none of the others had ever thought to ask and surprised looks dotted the table.

  “And you,” continued Atlas, looking up from the piece of meat at Oberon. “Do you have a place?”

  Oberon thought of Devil’s Lake as their safe place but he knew the Angel’s castle would never fall even if their plan to mire the Southlanders in the forest failed.

  “We do,” answered the chief.

  Putting down the meat he rested his hand on the jewel that was set in the hilt of his father’s sword. He felt Parfey’s strength flowing out of the sword and into his veins and he sat up, looking at each of the Elves and Cherubim in turn.

  “My people have no such place,” said Atlas. “Unless we have an escape route through the defenses, unless we have some way to survive the winter, we risk our entire future to halt the South here, in my father’s lands.”

  The others were silent, searching for an argument strong enough to warrant asking for greater suffering and risk on the part of the Giants. No one ate as the Cherubim considered the Pathmaker’s words. Oberon finally spoke, forming his words slowly, cautiously, attempting to show respect for the fears and needs of his neighbors.

  “When you retreat through the gaps in our lines it will make it that much easier for the South to follow your people into the forest. There is nowhere you can go that they cannot.”

  “So be it,” answered Atlas.

  Meggido picked up the argument when Atlas no longer had the situational awareness to continue to make progress without resorting to statements that ended discussion.

  “The other races have always asked more of the Giants without deference to our history, our vulnerability,” said the knight. “We are mighty warriors but we need farms, villages, homes, all of the things that make us easy targets. We must build up, not hide, if we are to become strong enough to face the South. What we have started here shows the tribe that there is a better way.”

  “That better way will be destroyed by the armies of the South,” said Rebus.

  Atlas thought for a moment about what his people were learning about trade, farming, and falconry. They were learning that they could provide enough food for both themselves and for trade. It was enough so that they didn’t have to send their children off to fight and die as subjects. They could exist as the equals of the other races in an alliance where their quality of life could continue to rise but only if they maintained their independence.

  “No,” he said. “The better way for the Giants cannot be destroyed by the South so long as the tribe survives.”

  The others looked at him, not yet grasping his idea. The wings on the Cherubim were held tightly against their backs and not a feather ruffled. The food sat uneaten on their plates, ideas serving as the main course.

  “What we are building here is not fields of crops, it is not shelter, it is not weapons or defenses. What we are building is knowledge of how to create these things. It is an idea in the minds of the Giants, an idea that
our race is capable of building a life worth fighting for. So long as the idea lives, our fields and villages cannot be destroyed. An idea can only be destroyed by killing the being that carries it. Give me a plan that keeps the idea alive without a place to shelter it and we will stop building in your forest.”

  The faces of the Elves showed no emotion and Atlas did not turn to look at the Giants to see the impact of his words. He moved his eyes to Oberon, suspecting that the chief would be the one to understand his meaning.

  “The South is too big for us to defeat,” said the Cherub. “We must make the price to take our land so high that they are unwilling to pay it. To do that we need to mire them in a conflict where every one of our fighters can kill dozens of theirs not just in a single battle, but over many months, perhaps years. Your wigwams give them a way out, a quicker path to victory by putting paths in our defenses that do not force them to choose between leaving and dying in great numbers.”

  “I do not hear a solution,” said Meggido, keeping the pressure on the chief.

  “There must be a third way,” said Oberon. “Some path other than building the wigwams or not. You must compromise.”

  “We have already compromised,” said Debir. “Do you think we want to live in the forest in cramped bark homes when we could build lodges on the wide open plains?”

  “Compromise,” said Rebus, “is not a third way. Compromise is simply a way to avoid making a decision.

  The group fell silent again, realizing they were talking in circles without a solution. Atlas knew the North needed his tribe here, where they could farm on a great scale to produce the food that would power their resistance. He also knew that his people needed shelter not just for survival, but also to feel like they belonged to the land. They would fight for a land that was in their blood, they would run from a land that was not their kin. We need the homes even though they weaken us. Is it alright if the Pathmaker doesn’t have an answer?

  When they finished eating he walked alone with Oberon out onto the plains, discussing battles, hunts, and warriors of the past. The sinking sun still warmed the crops and they could smell the earth, could hear the plants growing when the wind and their conversation paused. The openness of the plains made them both feel exposed with the knowledge of what would sweep up out of the south, coming one day soon to make the consequences of their decisions real. Even Atlas’ owl, her head normally swiveling in search of danger or prey, could not resist gazing off with the others towards the south. Their eyes always came back to the infinite grass that stretched to Galatia and whose pull was always in their subconscious.

  “I think,” said Oberon, “that when there is no good path it is the leader’s job to pick one anyway.”

  “Choosing between bad options is like picking which buffalo to castrate first.”

  Oberon chuckled and ran his fingers across the wheat that reached to his waist.

  “Keep the wigwams,” said the Cherub. “Your knights will train harder knowing that if the Men do not come they will have a place this winter. We will keep the gaps in our defenses so that if they do come, your females and youth can retreat into the forest. The Giants will fight to the last if they know they stand between our enemies and the minds that house the ideas of your tribe.

  Atlas nodded, his eyes locked on the place where the blue sky met the green grass on the southern horizon, his mind repeating one thing that Oberon had said. Fight to the last.

  Chapter 11

  F ritigern squinted in the hot afternoon sun. His eyes were adapted for the dark with pure black irises that extended so that no white space was revealed. At night he could see perfectly. This gave him a distinct advantage over the other races but here, in the day, the brightness was overwhelming even though his eyes were deep set in his face and shaded by a large forehead. I wonder if the other races feel as uncomfortable in the dark as I feel in the light. He had spent his entire life training to become a master warrior and that discipline did not allow him to even consider taking a break in a cool dark place. There was too much work to do.

  Raising a hand to shade his eyes he looked at his students. The bones in the Dwarf’s calloused fists were as hardened by training as the rest of his body but the young fighters he supervised were just beginning their journey as warriors. They won’t have time to harden before they will be tested. He pushed the thought from his mind, resolving to prepare them as best he could. The master Dwarf moved among the mismatched group of Dwarves, Giants, Centaurs, Cherubim, and Northmen. Even though their physical forms were different from the Dwarves he was accustomed to, he could spot the mistakes his pupils made as easily as a tracker spotted blood in the snow.

  “Slow,” he said to a Cherubim working with a Dwarf. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. You’ve got to get it right before you can get it fast.”

  He moved on to another pair, this time a Giant and a Centaur. The old enemies were both young and evenly matched. Their desire to over power each other was an obvious mistake that beginners always made.

  “You can win a few fights with power,” he said to them. “But if you want to win all of your fights you need technique and power. You won’t learn technique if you start with power. Eventually there will be a more powerful opponent and the only way to beat him will be with technique.”

  He watched them run through the move he had assigned them, both of them winding up in a tangled mess of hooves and legs in the dusty dirt of the training ground they had erected inside Fort Hope. He shook his head, recognizing the violent urge to win instead of learn in the writhing pair. He stepped forward and pulled them apart, his hands finding pressure points that allowed him to control the much larger students. When he had them separated he watched them wipe blood from their faces and grimace as they touched wrenched limbs.

  “You must learn to be better training partners,” he said when he knew he had their attention. “You will both face men, rhinoceroses, and who knows what weapons of the South. Unless you let your partner practice your partner will not let you practice and you will not learn now. You do not have to learn now, but you will learn in combat and there you will not get a second repetition. Do it again but this time allow your opponent to complete the move. You win by learning.”

  He watched them, stepping in several more times until they fell into a rhythm, each sweeping the other to the ground in turn, using the technique he had shown them rather than power. When he left them he took his own lesson about the mindset and capabilities of these two races, knowledge he would share with the rest of his students and use to shape their learning as well. I must listen to my own lessons if I am to learn to train all the tribes of the North. The Centaur was weak if his opponent could get to his sides, strong from the rear because of his kicks, and deadly from the front because of his power. The Giant’s strength was in his size but that was also his weakness; he was slow and uncoordinated. Weaknesses can only be resolved by training.

  He turned the instruction of the group over to a senior student who had trained with him for years when they were both students under the master Aram in the forests of the Dwarven homeland. Aram had kept them constantly busy, cutting wood, practicing, exercising, collecting food or training bears. Under Fritigern’s command, every warrior at Fort Hope worked with that same intensity but with the additional tasks and urgency required by the looming threat of the South.

  Moving away from the training ground and towards the front of the fort he passed smiths carrying buckets of metal they would turn into armor and weapons. He could see carpenters building aqueducts to carry water from the river that flowed through the fort out to their crops and animals that now covered every available inch of ground inside the fort. Fritigern’s students worked farms outside of the fort as well but the more food they could grow inside the fort the safer they would be. The farms and gardens needed his guidance but it was the endless stream of students dumping piles of sandy rock against the inside of the fort’s wall that drew the commander’s attention.

&n
bsp; The Elves had told Fritigern the sand would absorb the shock of the catapults the South would use against his walls and he had followed their instructions even though his mind could not conceive of a weapon that could hurl rocks large enough to cave in a stonewall. The master builders of the Dwarves had guided Fritigern’s students in the creation of three walls of stone and wood, each several feet behind the other, behind the outer wall that covered the mouth of the box canyon. In between each wall the workers poured the pulverized sandstone that would absorb the shock of the South’s assault.

  Fritigern had been amazed at how fast the walls had been reinforced. With the strength of the Giants, who could position building materials on a great scale, the speed of the Centaurs, who could move supplies from the surrounding farms and forests into the fort, and the ability of the Cherubim to move up and down the walls with ease, the work had been completed in a fraction of the time it would have taken for them to do it with a comparable number of workers drawn from a single race. The master instructor watched the sand filling the gaps between the walls with pleasure. Just like ants.

  “Good work!” he called out to the arrayed workers. Positive feedback was one training technique he had not learned from Aram.

  He moved to the northern corner of the newly erected walls where buckets of sand were being continually hauled up like water from a well. The tunnel provided the filler for their walls however that was not its main purpose. The tunnel was designed to connect their fort to a larger network of tunnels that were being constructed in the Canyon Lands that ran for miles into the plains. The sandstone, whose erosion over the eons had created the canyons and rock formations that dipped below the endless plains in that part of the Blood Lands, now played a critical part in the battle plans of the North. If the South wanted to capture Fort Hope, thereby eliminating a threat to their army as it moved to attack Therucilin, they would need to camp in or near the Canyon Lands. Fritigern planned to use this fact to make the Southlanders pay dearly if they wanted to attack his position.