by Jake Yaniak
The other group of rebels were the Merkata. These strange people had existed for as long as any record of man can recall. It was believed that they were ruled over by a mighty witch named Malia, who by fell craft had attained an immortal body. But in truth she was simply one of the immortal elves that in those ancient days made their habitations among mankind. As much as it detracts from the glory and splendor of the elven histories, it must be admitted that there were in those days many elven kings that ruled over the more simple humans as gods and goddesses. If by witchcraft they mean, elf-craft, then I will wholeheartedly agree. But if they mean that a mere mortal somehow transgressed the universal law of death that is passed upon all sons of mankind, then there we must part ways. Human beings cannot possess such powers. The task of the historian is to record the past so as to explain the present. But the task of the elven historian has always been to create a past that would justify the present. But in so doing they must pretend that no elf ever crossed the sea or meddled with human affairs until the sons of men brought war and tribulation to them. But if my readers will forgive my departure from the traditional histories on this point, and examine the evidence with an unprejudiced mind, they will soon see that the history of mankind is filled with the meddling of wicked elves. Men called them gods, and served them as such. But elves are not truly immortal, for an immortal cannot die, neither by the hand of age or of war. The elves are, therefore only half immortal, inasmuch as they are not prone to the weaknesses that long life brings upon human beings. But insofar as they are pervious to the sword they cannot be called immortal. And if not immortal, then not gods. If not gods, then the ancient elves of the east must be condemned as usurpers and manipulators, who rose over the frail minds of mankind to make themselves into tyrants and cruel lords and ladies.
As one tribe of men warred against the other, the elves fell alongside the battle-slain. The gods diminished; until all that remained of them were the failing descendants of their servants. Their own children lived long lives, but as a candle is nothing to the sun, so is the long life of a half-elf to the unending souls of their fathers. But in a few corners of the world, the old gods survived. It is said that in the Jungle of Snakhil there is a fierce immortal god surviving to this day. Also there is said to be such a being living in some hidden city in Kharku. But in the northern world, the only such survivor was the so-called witch, Malia.
The Land of Vestron
Before I explain anything more about the inhabitants of this land, perhaps it would be best if I gave a brief description of the territory for which all of these peoples so long struggled against one another.
Vestron is a turbulent land. In the north, bordering the Frozen Sea, are the impassible Novest Mountains, jagged and icy. They do not permit any living creature to pass over them. Just beyond the Novest mountains lies a frigid and treacherous coast where only goblins and a few daring bands of pirates dwell. The eastern shores, while less deadly than their northern counterparts, are nonetheless dreaded by mariners. A navigator that is unfamiliar with the secret paths to the shore will almost certainly run their ship into a submerged boulder or a hidden pillar of stone. Were it not for the kindness of dolphins it is doubtful that any mariner would ever have survived long enough to commit these unseen paths to memory.
All this difficulty made the entire land of Vestron almost inaccessible from the outside. To the west are the Veste Mountains and the dark forest of Olger, which are too thick for any significant traffic to pass through. Beyond this is the land of Olgrost of which I will give greater detail in its proper place. To the south was a land of endless mountains, stretching as far as the eye could see. There were many villages and tribes of people living in the southern mountains, but they do not figure into any tale or history. South of these mountains lies the land of Dominas, where mankind is believed to have originated.
The whole land of Vestron is just under three hundred leagues from north to south and a little more than two hundred leagues from the western mountains to the shore. Just north of the center of the region is the great mountain Fhuhar, which is called the Mountain of Fire by those who lived within sight of it. Every day since the dawn of time this mountain has spewed forth smoke from its great cavities and leaked molten rock out onto the lands below. As if spitting in the face of calamity and chance, the Harz Nobles chose this place for their mighty citadel. Thasbond they called it, and from there they ruled over all the land of Vestron. Those who lived near the volcano thought of the whole mountain as a god; and those who were unfortunate enough to fall out of the favor of the Harz Nobles prayed to this god for a burst of flame and ash sufficient to end their tyranny. But despite their prayers, and the seeming foolhardy bravado of the Harz builders, the citadel remained, even after many violent and powerful eruptions. It seemed that for the time being the gods favored Harz. And as long as their citadel was guarded by the flaming mountain and as long as the terrible mountain god saw fit to sustain them, they were invincible.
To the north, the whole land was fed and nourished by the volcano, so that the grass grew thick and strong. Many herdsmen lived there and the sheep and bulls that were raised in those plains were claimed to surpass all the other herds in Tel Arie. Along the northern shores there were a few large fishing ports. The uncommonly warm waters of that volcanic land were teeming with all kinds of fish, a circumstance that attracted many sharks, whales, dolphins and, some say, aguians and sea serpents.
To the south the land quickly grew more wild and inhospitable to both hoof and boot. The Wilds was the name given to the brush filled uncultivated territory to the south of the mountain. Here there lived many outlaws and nomads, vying for their survival in the desolate places.
Beyond this is the Rugna Desert. This was the territory of the Merkata Clan. Before the coming of the Harz Nobles, the Merkata claim to have lived upon the great Mountain of Fire. There, according to their lore, they maintained a great temple where the witch Malia was worshipped by the Merkata and all the other tribes who dwelt within her reach. They say that she ruled over all the lands within twenty leagues of the Mountain of fire as well as everything that lay between Fhuhar and the southern mountains. But when the Harz Nobles overthrew her dominion she was driven into exile with her kin in Rugna. There they were doomed to hide from the hot sun beneath the dark shadows of boulders and to huddle close together during the night to escape the freezing wind. For water they relied on the Ollnar well, which was located in the southern part of the desert between two great monoliths. Water was drawn from there and carried by horseback in great bladders of whale skin to the various settlements of the Merkata.
The Table of Malia
It was always in the heart of Malia to regain her ancient homeland and build her palace anew in the place where it had anciently stood. But thus far all her efforts had come to naught, and the Merkata had been beaten down to a small race of brigands and wild men.
This circumstance began to turn around when Whately appeared. For the first time in an age it seemed that the Merkata clan had some hope of victory. Malia, fearful of being wiped out altogether, had kept the number of her warriors hidden for nearly two hundred years, until her old enemies perished and the new rulers of Harz forgot that the Merkata ever fought against them. Indeed, many of the young nobles among the Harz began to openly doubt whether there ever was such a group of outcasts.
But despite their ignorance the Harz Nobles were not lazy or careless. Their soldiers were both well armed and well trained. In addition they had among them many heroes, the most powerful of these being their great ruler Noble Vullcarin and his two brothers Rikin and Samor. These men had proved to be so valiant in their struggles against the Exiles of Ohhar as well as against the many goblins on the northern coast that Malia was reluctant to see the blood of her people likewise spilt. It had been in her mind to wait these brave nobles out, and when their sons came to the throne to come against them with a mighty army and with renewed vigor. But when she beheld the deeds of Whate
ly and how well he instructed the youths of the Merkata in the arts of war, she began to reconsider her strategy. Might her day of vengeance come sooner than she had imagined?
The warriors of the Merkata Clan were not idle either. They concealed their identities and went abroad as common brigands, plundering from the Vestri and any other people who lived in the lands near the Wilds. The Harz responded with soldiers, and the Merkata were put to the test.
Under Whately's guidance the small bands of Merkata warriors proved themselves the better against even large groups of Harz soldiers. They still concealed their numbers, and more importantly they concealed their heritage, but they made bold advances against Harz territory until they had secured for themselves territories and passages within fifty leagues of the Mountain of Fire.
After some time had passed, the Witch called Whately before her and honored him with a banquet in gratitude for his efforts on behalf of the Merkata Clan. For all the years he had lived among the Merkata he had not once so much as set eyes upon the great Matron, as she was called. Though reluctant to meet with her, he nonetheless condescended, knowing enough about their customs to understand that one does not turn down such an honor lightly.
The Matron called every ruler and chieftain among the Merkata to a feast in the Merkata city of Salit, which was hidden among the rocks of the sea. Every dainty that was available was brought before them to dine on: crabs and lobsters were boiled in huge cauldrons, set on tripods over leaping flames. Fish of many varieties were flayed and roasted on grills or over open fires. There was also an abundance of fruit and legumes carried from the southern lands where the wasted desert ends. Such a feast had not been held among the Merkata for many hundreds of years; not since she sent her people to war against Harz under the command of the mighty Oannes, who made it as far as the high walls of Harz ere the enemy slew him and drove his army back to the wastes. Since then no hero had arisen among the Merkata and their long silence had made their old valor a forgotten piece of legend.
A place was set for Whately at her side, next to all the lords of the Merkata and among her own sons. She had birthed many sons throughout the long ages of her reign, though they were all sired by mortal men and therefore doomed to perish with their fathers. But her lifeblood had now passed in among the Merkata so that they were some of the most long-lived men in Tel Arie. These sons of hers had sons of their own and in time it came to be that almost every family among them boasted descent from the great Matron through this or that father or grandsire.
It was presumably from this circumstance that arose the peculiar rumors that the Witch of the Merkata was in quite a literal sense the 'Mother' of them all, marrying her own sons and bearing her own grandchildren. But contrary to the legends, she very rarely married anyone from within the Clan. Her husband had recently died, at the age of one hundred and sixty, and she was desirous of another man to draw forth sons and daughters from her immortal womb.
Had Whately known what would come of all this he would have passed beyond the borders of their land and come to Harz or some other place long ago, and not become so deeply involved in the lives of the Merkata. But as it was, he found his feet planted deep in the Wilds and in the sands of Rugna, and he felt that he ought not seek a welcome in Harz since he had done so much to aid their enemies, secretly or not.
Seated all around him were the princes of the Merkata, some more than eighty years old, others barely more than twenty years of age. There was aged Rulbin, the ancient son of a previous marriage, he was over one-hundred and eighty years old and now looked quite frail and almost mindless. By sight, he might have been her great-grandfather's father, but he had been a babe in her lap in days now known to no mortal man.
The most important of them were the seven youngest, as they had within them the most vigor and strength. The eldest of these seven was Oannor, who was the wisest of his brethren, even among the older sons and daughters of the Matron. Next was born Janik and then Pelon who were renown swordsmen. Faruk the archer, Skatlor the spearman, and Gedda the axe-man followed in turn. Finally, there was young Naran who was scarcely more than nineteen years old. But despite his youth he was strong and brave, and his skill grew with each passing day.
When they had dined, and when some songs had been sung, the Matron commanded that fresh bottles of wine be brought to them. She poured a deep red liquor into Whately's goblet and then sat down on a cushion at his side.
'I have watched you from afar for some time,' she said in a pleasant tone. 'For many years the Merkata have been without a guardian. I am left with many mighty sons, but there is none to be their lord and protector. Lest my beloved tribe come to an ill end I must find them another to guide them in battle. I am ashamed,' she said somberly, her eyes turning toward the floor, 'for I myself have not the mind for war or battle, nor does my arm have the strength to wield a weapon against such powerful foes as we have in the men of Harz.
'Yet for all this I am not altogether useless. You should have seen it, bold Whately, the beautiful Temple of Fire in which I once dwelt. The red light of the mountain admixed with the flame of the sun turned every corner of the edifice into gold. Upon every window there hung curtains of crimson or purple. There was such woodcraft as will never be seen in Tel Arie again. Every detail of this I arranged according to my wisdom. We had vineyards in the southern hills too, and flocks of sheep and goats to provide milk and cheese and meat. Such dainties we ate in those days!
'But those are all old tales now. None of my sons, nor any of my countrymen can recall them, for they passed away ages ere any of them left the matrix and arose blinking in the sunlit world. But for me, not a day has passed. I can still smell the fragrance of the wine we made in those days, wine which makes that which we drink tonight reek like a swamp. Lovely it is, you say? More lovely it was!'
'My lady,' Whately said, looking into her eyes, 'you know that your servants will do anything for you. I have watched over your flock for many years now, and I have seen what they can do. The blood of an immortal goddess flows through their veins. There are deeds of daring lying in every breast, ready for the winds of fate to bear them out. My lady, I cannot promise great strength or power, but what gifts of cunning and skill that I possess have ever been at your disposal. I pray that you would accept my service, and call me one of your own. The Merkata have been kind to me, as no other race of men would have been. To take me in as a brother, who was a stranger wrecked upon the rocks is a gift not to be forgotten. Let me repay the favor that your people have shown me.'
The Matron sat up straight in her chair and said, 'Your service you have already given; and you have given it in abundance. Yet we have never rewarded you properly.' She paused for a moment, almost seeming suddenly timid, if that is possible for such a creature as she. 'It is my desire that you would be made the father of our clan, and not merely its mighty but unregarded benefactor.'
The lady pressed in close to him as she spoke. Her hair was black as coal, untouched by gray despite her many years. She was quite beautiful to look at, and terrible, for her authority and wisdom shone from her eyes like the sparkle of ancient stars that send their light upon the faces of aged men and infants alike yet remaining themselves unchanged.
He found her beckoning difficult to resist. He was of half a mind to lean in toward her and embrace the fate she lay before him. But the other half of his mind bid him flee at once from the table and disappear from the land forever.
'My lady,' he told the Matron. 'I did not come to live among the Merkata to become a master among men, nor yet even an instructor of war as I have lately been. I have come first to escape a dark fate; secondly, I came to fulfill a vow, hastily but earnestly made. But of these two motives I can speak no further. I cannot be what you desire, so long as my oath remains bound upon my breast. For that I beg your mercy and your grace; further I beg that you turn me not away for refusing you. It is in my heart to do as you desire, but it is my duty to do otherwise. Nonetheless, inasmuch as it lies withi
n my power, I will bring victory to the Merkata Clan.'
The City of Oblindin
Oblindin was once a great city of the Merkata, though in this age every trace of their ancient habitations has vanished. Deep under the sand of the desert their old stone houses were buried, never to see the light of the sun again. There was a great temple in the center and a statue of the Matron that stood thrice the height of a man. But even this was buried now.
The City was under the rule of the Harz Nobles, but its inhabitants were almost entirely of the Vestri. It was an important city in those days because in it there was to be found one of the last sources of water ere the desert's endless sands begin. If the Harz Nobles were to have any hold in the Wilds and in the dry southern region, then they must keep this city, and its wells, firmly under their thumbs.
Hence it was that it entered into Whately's mind to lay siege to this city, and finally reveal the strength of the Merkata as well as their identity. He had grown quite confident that they would be capable of both taking the city from the frail Vestri and holding it against the armies of the Nobles.
So it was that on the morning of the twenty-second of Fuehas five thousand brave men of the Merkata approached the city from the south while another two thousand came upon it from the east. They did not come against the city as brigands or nomads. They bore on their armor the ancient symbol of the Merkata, a black orb, with a red flame within. A great standard flew over their heads as they marched. Tall spears and strong square shields they bore with them. The edges of their swords were jagged, more like a carpenter's saw than a warrior's blade. The soldiers of Oblindin poured out and met them in the arid plains. But as Whately had expected, they could not withstand the cunning and strength of the Merkata. A thousand men of the city lay slain upon the plain ere the trumpet called them to retreat. Like a whipped dog they turned back, crying and weeping for the fallen. Soon they were shut up fast within their gates with archers on every tower. Riders they sent out to the north, but none of these escaped the hunters of the Merkata who roamed the northern lands to slay any who might try to escape.
