The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  On the appointed day, Whately entered the city of Hersa from the southern road. At his left walked the hulking prince Gedda, with his broad axe hung upon his shoulders. They came to the Seaward Inn, where they were informed the Lord Holthnen was awaiting them. Skatlor and several other brave men of the Clan were following close behind, though a good sprint lay between them and their companions.

  But upon entering the inn they were met by a dozen armed men. They grabbed Whately with ease, as he was swift to realize the futility of resisting such a group. Gedda, however, had more pride than cunning, and made his captors pay dearly for their prize. Teeth clattered to the inn's wooden floor like drops of rain as Gedda the Mighty broke the faces of the Harz deceivers. He slew three men, broke the arms of two others, and put up such a fight that not a single man left without some scrape or scar by which to remember the skirmish. But in the end all his struggling was not enough. They bound Whately with ropes and Gedda with chains.

  More men appeared from the streets surrounding the inn and the captives were swept away beyond the reach of the Merkata warriors. The captives were thrown onto the backs of swift horses and borne away toward the Citadel of Harz; to the Mountain of Fire.

  In fierce anger, Skatlor made a swift end to the Harz conspirators, including the liar Arthus. But they were too late, the captives had been carried out of their reach. 'The strongest arm, the sharpest axe, taken away! My brother!' he mourned. 'Thou Fire-dwellers of Harz,' he cursed the captors, 'You will learn to hate fire yet. The flame of the Merkata is about to break forth, and it will burn the bones of every man and woman until they are purified. A grievous blow this is to the Merkata; but more grievous will be our retribution.'

  Chapter II:

  Natham

  The Farm

  The Merkata were now effectively leaderless. Agnoril proved himself to be brave, and Skatlor proved himself to be strong, but they could not command the people with the same kind of wisdom with which Whately had guided them. They proved themselves capable of holding the lands that they had already gained; but that was all. It began to seem as though the Queen would have to settle for half of what she desired. Already there was talk of treaties and truces. But the Queen would not have it; for her it was all or nothing. And she would not so much as speak with the emissaries of Harz until her son was returned. 'In Gedda,' she moaned, 'is housed bodily all the might of our ancient race. Sore was his loss, and sore will be his captors in the day of our ascendance.'

  But while they spoke boldly about their day of revenge, it was becoming more and more apparent to them that without their cunning captain they were at a loss as to what to do.

  In that desperate hour it occurred to Naran, the youngest son of Queen Malia, that perhaps there was some of Lord Whately's wisdom to be found on his estate. 'For he was a lettered man,' Naran reasoned, 'He was learned beyond any of us, and he was familiar with many strange tongues and strange letters. Perhaps there is something to be found among his possessions that might be of some aid to us.'

  The Queen quickly agreed and sent Skatlor along with Naran and twelve other warriors to Whately's estate to scour his belongings in hopes of discovering anything that might bring them hope against their enemies.

  When Whately was first accepted among the Merkata he was given a small plot of land in one of the more habitable portions of the southern desert. His incredible cunning extended beyond warfare apparently, for within six years the land was rich and healthy, where it had been all but sand. This he attributed more to fortune than anything else. No one knew how this transformation had been accomplished, for he had never welcomed even a single visitor throughout the period he dwelt there.

  As the party approached Whately's land their breath was stolen away by its richness. At first they walked amid sandy wastes and empty plains, but eventually they came to a small group of hills, the southernmost of which was covered with healthy green grass. With each step southward the air seemed to become more fresh and the land more alive. Skatlor was almost startled at the first sound of a calling bird, but soon these became so numerous that they began to pay them little heed. Animals began to appear also. At first it was only a squirrel or a hare, darting away as they approached. But after a few more hours they began to see roaming herds of wild sheep, the rams staring at them suspiciously as they passed by.

  'Master Whately's estate has lost none of its renown during his absence I see,' Skatlor said as they walked.

  Naran looked around and sniffed the air, 'It is more than likely that a man of such prudence would not have left his entire estate bereft of care while he was away. I suspect he has hired someone to mind his farm and his house until he returns.'

  'Let us hope that is the case, for it seems to me more likely that some usurper has taken over his land.'

  They came to a strong wooden fence that stretched as far as the eye could see to the east and the west. There was a gate some ways to the east, and a road passing away toward the south. They leaped over the fence and made their way toward the road. By this time it was nearly sundown. 'We have but an hour of light remaining,' Skatlor said gloomily, 'Let's make haste, and perhaps we can come to the house ere nightfall. I do not wish to spend another night out of doors.'

  They hurried along until they came to a tall hill. The road swerved around toward the right and wrapped around the hill as it rose toward the top. When they reached the top of the hill they looked down into a small bowl-shaped valley. Everything was gray in the failing light, but they could see a tiny cottage in the midst, surrounded by a beautifully tended garden of many colored flowers. 'I would like to see this place in the daylight,' Naran said as he gazed in wonder at the beauty of the place.

  'You will no doubt get your wish,' Skatlor said as they started down the winding road toward the house. 'But look,' he pointed with his finger. 'There is a light in the window, and a tuft of smoke rising from the chimney. There is someone living here. I hope for his sake that he is a good host.'

  When they drew within sight of the door they stopped suddenly, for there was a large shape approaching from the back of the house, much too large to be an ordinary man. They kept out of sight until the form had passed, then they moved some way to the west and approached the house quietly from the side. When the figure appeared once more, this time leading a pony on a rope, they leaped from the shadows at Skatlor's command. 'Do not let him speak until he is bound with chains!'

  The warriors charged him with their blades drawn, Skatlor with his fatal spear pointed at his throat. There was a roar and Skatlor stopped dead. The creature grabbed his spear with one hand and snapped it in half in his fist. Skatlor the brave fell to the ground, his face as pale as death in horror.

  In a flash the warriors pounced upon the creature, dragging him to the ground. But his strength proved to be too much for them. He cast them aside like they were bits of straw tossed in a gale. Naran backed away and put his blade on the ground. By this point, Skatlor had regained his wits; he rose from the ground, drawing his sword from it's sheath. Hate and anger were in his eyes, for no man had ever turned aside his spear, but this brute had snapped it like it was a twig. Two warriors came upon him from the left and tried to wrestle his arm down; two others came from the other side, grabbing hold of his right arm. Skatlor came toward him from the front, with his blade gleaming like cold death in the moonlight.

  He thrust it with all his strength at the beast's broad chest. There was a clang of metal and the blade was turned aside. The unexpected resistance so shook Skatlor that he dropped his blade on the ground. Suddenly, from beneath the creature's clothes, an arm appeared, wielding a small dagger, now notched from Skatlor's powerful blow. This deft limb was in an instant clenched about Skatlor's throat. The other warriors released his arms and backed away, with eyes rounder than the glowing moon. He swept the blade from the ground with his right arm, still clutching Skatlor's throat tightly. Skatlor struggled fiercely, but to no avail, his mighty jolts and convulsions were like a child's r
age compared to the might of this beast.

  The other warriors all stood around with their blades drawn, smarting from their wounds. 'Ask them their names?' the creature seemed to ask himself in a gruff but intelligent voice. 'I will ask the little one.' The creature turned toward Naran. 'What is the meaning of this? Do you not know that this is the home of Lord Whately? Do you not know that no one enters these lands unbidden? Speak brigand, or I will snap his neck.

  Naran stammered and stuttered in fear but managed to tell the creature of their mission.

  'Then Lord Whately has been taken captive?' he said with a hint of sorrow in his voice. 'Does he still live?'

  'We believe that he does,' Naran said, 'More than likely he is bound in the deepest dungeons of Thasbond. But they will not kill him while he can be of use to them. He knows many secrets, and they know how dear he is to Queen Malia. If they can trade him for a truce they would do so.'

  'Then let them,' the creature said.

  'The Queen would never do that,' Naran said with his head lowered. 'Nor would she do it for her own son, Gedda, the mightiest warrior of the Merkata. As things stand, we can do nothing. For without Lord Whately it seems as though all that we attempt ends in sorrow. Bravery and strength have not compensated for his brilliance, and we can go no further in our campaign. The Harz nobles know this only too well, and for them it is of little consequence whether we make the truce and save Whately or meet a sorrowful defeat without him. It is all the same to them; the truce, however saves them some trouble.'

  'Very well,' the creature said with resolve, 'I will go to him. Perhaps there is something that can be done.'

  'You are going to come with us?' Naran asked.

  'It is not in the interests of Thasbond to release their captives at this time. I will make it their interest,' he said, as though he spoke to someone else. Naran just gazed at him in wonder. He finally released Skatlor, who fell choking to the ground.

  'I am Naran,' the youth told him, 'I am the son of Queen Malia of the Merkata, who rules from Oblindin. 'What are you called?'

  'I am called Natham,' the creature responded in a cold voice.

  The Monster Comes To The North

  The battered warriors made their way swiftly back toward the north, now being followed by Natham. Skatlor skulked along in the rear, still rubbing his sore neck. He was not at all pleased by this turn of events, but seeing as it was beyond his power to stop the monster, he relented and permitted him to join. 'We will see what happens when we get to Oblindin,' he thought to himself.

  But when the full tale was told, the Queen only laughed and commanded that the monster be brought before her. 'If he can so easily best Skatlor the Strong, then we would be fools not to make some good use of him.'

  'But war is not a mere matter of brute muscle, my Queen,' Skatlor argued, 'There is a great deal of cunning required.'

  'We will see,' was all that the Queen would say. 'There is cunning that no common might can overcome; such was the Lord Whately. But it may well be that there is strength such that no cunning can countenance.'

  Throughout all of his childhood Natham's very existence had remained a complete mystery. There were some clever gossips who maintained that Whately kept some bastard son hidden away on his farm, but none of them suspected anything of this sort. Accordingly, his entrance into the city of Oblindin was a matter of great curiosity among the Merkata. The streets were lined with onlookers as he was brought before the Queen. There was such a noise of murmuring and whispering that one could hardly hear the sound of the horns that blew to announce the entrance of prince Skatlor.

  Since the city had come into her possession, the Queen lost no time in restoring its beauty. The well was now fully repaired and housed in a small, open-air temple. There were five pillars holding aloft an arched ceiling, the underside of which was plated with bronze. This ceiling looked as if it were aflame due to the sparkle of torches, which were hung on each of the pillars. The light from the torches and the reflection of the water in the well made the whole structure seem to be alive with magic. In the center, seated on a wooden throne, was Queen Malia, holding a small golden rod in her hand. At her side Natham saw a small boy, leaning upon the arm of her chair.

  Natham was brought before her. Immediately the others knelt before the Queen. But much to the shock of all those around him, Natham, having no knowledge of court manners, remained on his feet. After a moment of hushed surprise, the Queen smiled. 'You are welcome here, Natham, charge of Whately. I have heard of your great strength.'

  Natham said nothing. He just stood there with his head almost bowed, looking at the stones on the ground.

  'I am glad that you have come,' she continued, 'We have need of you. Indeed, Lord Whately and my beloved son, Gedda have much need of you.'

  Natham looked at her for the first time. She was indeed beautiful, more so than he had heard. Her black hair would have hung down to her ankles had it not been so carefully braided and set upon her head. It was set with diamonds and other precious jewels so that it sparkled like a living crown. Her face was pure white and smooth as an eggshell, though she in no wise looked young. Her age was in her eyes, and one glance into those portals would lead a man into dark and forgotten ages where no mortal memory could pierce.

  'You broke the Spear of Skatlor,' she said. 'Will you fight for me?'

  There was a very long pause. Natham seemed to be listening intently, though there was not so much as a sound in the air. Even the sound of whispering passed away to make room for silent expectation. The quiet lasted longer than any would have expected. It had never occurred to the Merkata that the creature might possibly turn her down. 'Who could possibly refuse her immortal beauty?' was a rhetorical question among the men of Oblindin. But the silence held for so long that it turned into fear. It seemed almost to have become a struggle of their wills. The mighty beast stood before her, with little more than his nose and eye brows showing from under his cloak, showing no sign of change. The Queen had a stern and serious look in her eyes, but she showed no sign of doubt.

  At long last Natham cleared his throat. When he spoke, all the men of Merkata dropped their jaws in horror. He said:

  'I will fight against Harz until the captives are restored,' he said. A murmur arose among the Merkata like a tidal wave. Swords rattled and the warriors grew irate. 'Who is this beast?' they cried out in anger, 'Who is this that dares treat the Lady of the Merkata with disdain?' All this commotion, of course, was due to the fact that he had not answered her question. As they took it, he had implicitly refused to fight for the Merkata. The boy that had stood at the Queen's side darted away without a sound and without being noticed.

  The queen, however, was growing more and more desperate, though her countenance revealed nothing. She calmly nodded and said, 'Very well, Natham, I welcome your strength.'

  The Lost Child Duri

  That evening Natham lodged in the finest inn in Oblindin. He did not sleep, however, for his master's sorry state was ever on his mind. He could recall the day when Whately went away to the feast of Malia, and all that he had said upon his return.

  'Was she not beautiful?' Natham had asked, when Whately told him of her proposal.

  'Why do you ask me this?' Whately answered.

  'I have heard that the Witch is enchanting to look upon, that once a mortal has seen her eyes he is forever placed under her spell.'

  'Such a thing is not true, for at least half of beauty is in the eyes, my child.' Whately said as he looked at him. 'That is, half of beauty is in our own eyes. As every man has their own eyes, that which is beautiful will ever vary. But there is more beauty in this world than the eyes alone can perceive, and some things may be beautiful in ways the eyes cannot perceive at all.'

  'What do you mean?' Natham had asked.

  'Someone may have beautiful hair, yet be covered all over in spots and wrinkles. One may be tall and lean, yet horrid to behold. There are some who have skin as smooth as glass and white as silk, yet
their bodies are broken and contorted. There are many flowers in this world that are beautiful to look upon, yet obnoxious to the nose. And many a fair instrument has produced hideous sounds when played by the wrong hands. It is no difficult thing, then, to understand that someone may be beautiful to look upon, but revolting to know. It is not only our face, Natham, that can be beautiful. Every word and every deed can show forth beauty. Or ugliness. And THAT, my son, is the only beauty with which we ought to concern ourselves. For whether we are born with skin like leather or skin like down is beyond our power. But that beauty of action, that singleness of purpose, is entirely within our power to affect. The face of Lady Malia shines, but her heart is shrouded by the bitterness of revenge. Her beauty is more like the beauty of the stars. Shining forth in splendor, but cold. I would rather she shine like a good warm fire, not so brilliant and lofty as the astral gods above, yet loving and life giving all the same.'

  A voice suddenly startled Natham from his memory. He turned and looked around the room. 'Who is there?' he demanded.

  'For longer than I can remember I have watched the Lady of the Merkata,' the voice said. 'Only twice now has her will been refused. There was a man, your own master Whately, who turned away her love, and now you, who would not bow down to her. This is odd beyond words. Have the stars above shifted? Is a change coming to the changeless maiden?'

  'In all my days,' Natham began, 'I have never been bound by yoke or by chain. Neither was my master. He worked for the Lady freely and was compensated only with that which he had fully earned. He was given a wasteland in which to dwell; he turned it into a garden. He was given little pay, but he made such wise use of what was given him that he soon had more than he needed. Whately saw fit to aid the Merkata, and of his own volition bound his fate to yours. In that I had no part. I have no obligation to the Merkata, nor to their lady. What sense would it make if upon hearing of my master's imprisonment I marched straight to Oblindin and bowed my head to receive the yoke of Malia? I owe nothing to Malia, so why should I change that? Indeed, what I owe, I owe to the stars above and to Master Whately alone; surely binding my will to the desires of the Queen would be a betrayal of my duty to my master.'