Missy flew on in silence, heading for Hae Terrae's face. She always felt comfortable talking to the Entwife there, as if she were listening. She looked to Hae Terrae's beautiful face when she arrived. A soft, rounded chin lead up into full lips which were flat in relaxation. High cheekbones angled themselves to a soft, long, thin nose. The eyes were enormous. If they had been hollows in the wood, Missy would have been able to use one as a house. She was beautiful, and though the bark's wrinkles ruined the ageless wonder look, the face was still young.
Missy flew to Has Terrae's nose, hugging it as tightly as she could, pouring love towards the tree. "I wish you would talk." She whispered softly to the wood. "I feel lost. Our last great champion from the dragons has fallen, becoming a Wyrm." Tears began to make a slow stream down her face. "First to fall, the mightiest of dragons, and Dalanar's brother, Asheron. Saw what men were doing to the world, and he wanted to avenge it.
"That was the start of the Dragon Wars, in which the poor humans were decimated. Now all they have is the Mouth of Truths far to the north. We lost our second champion in that war. Dalanar was our genius. He always found a way to come out on top. I believe the people of this world were his treasure, and that's why he sacrificed himself to save us."
Missy slammed her fist into Hae Terrae's eye. "And now Tryton, son of Dalanar, and our last hope, has twisted and become a Wyrm." She flew back from the nose, turning away from the Entwife. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. You won't help, you haven't since your kind was wiped out. I understand why, but it doesn't make it any easier." Missy tore a hole through reality, and stood staring down at the Anuunaki army that she could see streaming by. "I guess it's time to put our faith in the unknown. I just hope Lovonian doesn't buckle under the pressure." She crossed her rip, closing it behind herself.
Chapter Thirty Two
The'oak smiled at Lov as he slapped the frog in his hand upon its back. The frog croaked, its back beginning to cover in a thick clear goo. The old orc carefully scraped the slime into the paste he was making in a clay bowl. Mostly goose fat and crushed beetles, it was a thick, grayish white. Lov's stomach churned just looking at it, but he knew he would have to eat it. The orcs needed proof that he was man enough to be a chief.
Yesterday, they had thrown him into a pit with what they called a kegaroth, an eight foot lizard. It had been an interesting challenge: him bare handed, it with its three inch claws and razor sharp teeth. A large brown frill had stood out from the neck when it charged Lov. He still wasn't clear on what he had done to kill it, and he hadn't escaped unscathed, as it took a small chunk from his upper arm. He still felt hazy with the effects of its venom, a poison that knocked its victims unconscious for hours if not days.
Lov shook his head as he watched The'oak mix the slime into the paste. The orc was being careful not to touch it, always a good sign in Lov's experience. The'oak had been helping Lov pass this, his test of manhood. The young half-dragon had the feeling that the old one's life depended on it. The shaman stood shorter than most orcs, easily a foot shorter than Lov. He was also impossibly skinny. Not that there weren't skinny orcs, but this one looked so thin, like he had been starved his whole life.
The'oak handed the light gray, pasty slime to Lov, gesturing for the young half-dragon to eat it. "Eat it all! This will send you to Gruumnsh's halls, so you can commune with the god himself."
Lov sniffed tentatively at the slime. It smelled like unhealthy dog excrement, a strong pungent odor. The half-elf wrinkled his nose, setting the bowl on the table, and pushing it away from himself. "I think I'll pass on that." He said, turning from the table, heading for the door. The'oak jumped in front of Lov, pushing him back towards the table.
"Not my fault you smelled it!" The old orc said, pointing to his chest. "You're the one that wants to head the tribe." The'oak said, shoving Lov into a chair. "Now you want to walk away with the test half done?"
"I only wanted to be chief because those idiots won't stop trying to fight me!" Lov exclaimed, slamming his hand onto the table.
The'oak caught the bowl as it bounced off the table and into the air. "Listen, Bawldy, you started this shit, made me back you up, you are damn well finishing it." The'oak handed Lov the bowl, then strode to the door of his crude hut, whipping it open. The'oak gestured to all the nearby tents and hovels. "This is just a small part of our tribe. Either you finish this, or they and everyone else, will want a piece of you. The only way out of it, is for you to take the chiefdom."
Lov grimaced, considering his options. "So, I can eat this…goop, become chief and have everyone listen to me like a king. Or, I can throw this out, and guarantee that everyone out there wants to fight me."
Lov considered the slime in the bowl as The'oak smiled and replied, "King is too weak a word, more like dictator."
Lov sniffed at the goop again, turning back to The'oak. "Can I at least get a drink to wash it down?"
"Sure!" The small orc said, turning and pouring a thick brown liquid from a pitcher. "This grog will make you forget the taste of the paste!"
A strong alcoholic smell wafted from the cup as The'oak set it in front of Lov. "Never mind, I think I'm good." Lov said, pushing the cup away. "Alcohol and I don't mix well."
The'oak shook his head taking a large pull from the cup instead, "Then hurry up, there's more to this ceremony."
Lov took a deep breath and plugged his nose. He scooped half of the slimy goop from the bowl and shoved it in his mouth. It was salty and vinegary with a hint of rotten fish as it slid around his mouth. Lov's stomach churned as he struggled to force himself to swallow. It felt like snot running down the back of his throat.
"Good, good. Now take the rest of it, and we can take you to the rock." The'oak said, drinking the grog Lov had pushed away. "Can you hurry up? I need to take a big shit, and I can't until we get you to the last leg of this."
Lov closed his eyes and shoved the last of the paste into his mouth, his muscles trying to reject it as it slid down the back of his throat. The young half-dragon shook his head and shuddered, struggling to keep it down.
The'oak slammed the now empty cup on the table with a loud belch. "Alright, boy, follow me." They strode from the rude hut, Lov trailing the shorter orc, the old, odd man calling out their way. "Kuta iata! Chifte tola hitu Rok!" Orcs began to fill the sides of the path, cheering and hooting. Lov watched as a larger orc picked up a smaller one, swinging him like a weapon, clearing room. Lov shook his head, there were going to be some changes here soon.
Lov continued down the road, keeping close to The'oak. The people were jumping up and down, screaming obscenities and cursing him. It seemed some wanted him to succeed, and others didn't. But today would be the last time they could approach him as an equal. If he succeeded, he would be a chief of a small tribe. If he failed, he would probably be killed and fed to the young to increase their power.
As he walked, he began to see other peoples mixed in with the orcs. Here a halfling,
all but punching the orc behind him in the genitals as it jumped and cheered, fist pumping in the air. There an elf, their ears cut off, hooting and hollering as no proper elf would. And humans, thousands of them, seemed to mix with the orcs. Also scattered among the masses were tall beings that towered over the orcs. They seemed reserved compared to the other people Lov saw, but he could tell they were being enthusiastic.
As they approached the town's central monument, a giant pillar of stone with a large balancing table rock on top, Lov saw a figure clutching the pillar. The figure was twenty feet tall with the strong muscular body of an orc. Its muscles tightening and loosening as it gripped the pillar. But where the face should be, a giant yellow eye stared down on him. Lov felt a sense of awe wash over him as he approached the figure. He felt as if he should bow down to this omnipotent being.
A deep booming laughter filled the air. "Don't do that, little boy. Those who worship me properly would rip you limb from limb." The figure that Lov now understood to be Gruumnsh,
disappeared, leaving the pillar behind. The other peoples vanished from the crowd at the same time, orcs were the only ones cheering him on.
Lov shook his head to clear the vision, then approached the pillar, confident that he would climb it easily. The crowd died down, eagerly waiting to see what he would do. Lov climbed up the red clay steps, soaking in the look of the pillar. It was smooth and a slightly darker red than the steps leading up to it. He ran his hands along it, examining the stone. It felt polished. Lov was searching for a hand hold, a foot hold, anything to get him started up. A shout rose up from the crowd, "Will you get on with it already!"
Lov sprung into action. He listened to his hunger, as it told him what to do. He jumped his highest and best, slapping a hand onto the rock. The scales of his hand found a way to grip the polished stone, leaving him hanging there by his palm. He released his hold, falling back to the top step. A collective groan rose from the crowd, and he heard some say he had given up already. The half-dragon calmly pulled his boots off, listening as the orcs threatened bodily harm. They started chucking small pebbles at him. When he had his boots off, he jumped again, this time catching the rock with the scales of both hands and his feet. The crowd shushed again, watching, waiting, and full of suspense.
He scaled the pillar easily, like a spider at home on its web, but was stuck once he hit the rounded table top. He could see the slight curvature of the stone. Lov placed an experimental hand upon it, and felt it shift, slowly rotating to the right. He could catch the very edge of the table if he tried, his fingertips could get a solid hold there, but he didn't know if his fingertips would be strong enough to hold his weight. His dragonhunger laughed at him, calling him a coward. Lov shook the thought from his head, and took it on faith. He let go of the pillar with his other hand and feet, leaving himself hanging thirty feet in the air. The table top slowly rotated him around. The watching audience below hooted and hollered exuberantly, some calling out, "Fall!" Lov reached up with his other hand, slapping it down flat on the smooth stone. He released his first, and felt himself slip. His hand that was firmly planted on top of the rock slid to the edge, the only thing holding him up were two fingertips. He momentarily panicked until he felt his fingertips supporting his weight.
Lov reached his other hand up, getting his fingertips along the edge, and pulled with all of his might. Once his face was level with the edge, he swung his legs around until a foot found purchase on top of the rock. He managed to pull himself the rest of the way up, then rolled onto his back, his heart thumping with the heat of the moment.
Lov sat up, the table top continuing its slow rotation, and surveyed the orcs below him. They were looking up at him, arms raised, and cheering while yelling his name like a chant. "Lovonian! Lovonian! Lovonian!"
The'oak stepped forward from the crowd, motioning for silence. "We all knew this day would come! The Tribe of the Eye would rise on the back of a storm cloud! I think Lov is that storm cloud! The one to forge our fallen society into a true power!"
The orcs all stared at The'oak, confused looks upon their faces. The'oak rolled his eyes, then explained in simpler terms. "Lovonian help us conquer all tribes!" The orcs, big and small, fat and skinny, all burst out in loud cheering, and Lov knew he had found his first army. He remained seated in the center of the stone, searching the horizon for what to do.
Lov shook his head at the vision he saw. Across the rocky plains, he saw his uncle and companions. Sanche, Nord, Jaxon, and Missy, all being carried by a giant colony of ant like beings. They swarmed across the rocks like a flash flood. As they drew nearer though, Lov saw that Sanche was taking wounds. The rest seemed fine, but Sanche formed a scar above one eye, then lost the bottom half of his arm. Lov didn't see anything doing this to Sanche, it just was. As they climbed up to join him on the pillar, Sanche lost the left half of his face, collapsing on the very edge of the platform.
Missy, Jaxon, and Nord continued to him, as if nothing had happened, smiling at him, saying how proud they were, before the Anuunaki carried them off. Lov approached Sanche, fearing the worst, but his mentor sat up, and turned a smile to Lov. His face, where half had gone missing, appeared mist-like and Lov could see through it. The same with the partial arm Sanche had lost. His mentor nodded to Lov, waving with the misty hand, then disappeared on the wind. Lov shook his head again, and saw he was bent over the edge of the rock, looking down at his new tribe. It was time to enact some changes.
Book Two
Chapter One
Tyrosh stood at the top of the temple complex that stood well above Heart. Tears streamed down her face as she watched a procession of Ogier marching from the city. She had tried to warn the Titanbringer. Soon the great bounty of food that the Ogier supplied to Heart would stop. Koan attempted to stop Martell from beating his brother, but the stubborn human had ignored the advice of everyone.
The day after, all of the Ogier who were acolytes had walked from the temple grounds. Their heads held high, they preached the greatness of Dalanar while calling out Martell for his mistreatment of a direct descendant of the savior of the world. Tyrosh may have committed crimes, they argued, but no proof had been shown. They had continued to exonerate Tyrosh and all that she had done for the people in the war against the orcs.
The imprisoned dragon smiled inside, hearing the Ogier defend her to the common people. And for a brief flicker of a moment, she dreamed of freedom, but humans can be cruel. The first fruit thrown stopped the Ogier, shock clear on their faces. They were usually seen as the benevolent brothers. They fed the entire continent from their beautiful farmlands. And now, they were being treated like filth. Like criminals. The sight had driven Tyrosh to tears, until she saw Martell smiling gleefully at her pain. The idiot didn't even realize the damage he had wrought.
Those that were leaving now were the last of the Ogier stone masons. They had stayed to finish their contracts. Finding that they couldn't honor a dragon in person, something the Ogier lived for, was driving them from the city. This was a sad time for Heart indeed.
Chapter Two
A robed figure moved down a narrow hallway. He was deep underground, using his infrared vision and memory to guide him. If there had been a torch, a long snaggle toothed snout would have stuck out from the robe. The figure's five fingers ended in sharp curved claws. He carried a jug full of a thick, black, putrid liquid that Draka, his beautiful mistress had given him. He marched purposefully into a wide hallway.
In the center, a pool of mud, soaked with the blood of dragons and Wyrms slain during the battle that formed the Great Wyrm Desert. He stood over the mud, searching its depths for what he sought, a way to cripple his enemies. The Tuthan spotted his target in the dark wet sand, muttering a curse under his breath. He poured the foul black liquid into the rich brown earth. The blood soaked mud hissed and screeched, as if alive, as the black ooze soaked into it. And the robed Tuthan smiled, eager to see how this great foe would handle it.
Sanche watched the line of Anuunaki pass him by. He had been riding one at the head of the column, but over the past few days, some scouts had gone missing. Others had come back, talking about a nice place to set up camp, and how there may even be water there. That alone made it worth checking out, you could never have too much water in the desert. Sanche had decided to hang back at the last rendezvous point, hoping one of the missing scouts would show up.
The old elf dismounted from the Anuunaki he was riding, pulling a rolled up mat and pencil case from his bags. He looked down the side of the tall dune, searching for a good spot to wait. A large claw extended halfway down, shading a sliver of sand. He climbed down, confident that any scouts would spot him on the sand dune. The shade was hot, but no where near as hot as the sand directly under the sun. He watched as heat waves radiated from the brown granules, scant feet away. The forearm of a great Wyrm towered over him, and he sat lightly, the sand contorting to his seat. Sanche leaned back, the grit slightly sucking his body into it. It cradled him comfortably and he surveyed
the scene before him.
Unbeknownst to him, between the top of the dune and where he sat, a long dark stain threaded its way across the sandy expanse. Periodically, a bubble would form, giving sight to the slick. They popped lightly as it glided across the sand, reforming bubble eyes and sending out probing tendrils. It crept close to the earless elf, peering over his shoulder, watching as he drew the horizon. A soft step sounded in the sand above the sludge, and it burrowed under the top layer, out of sight.
Sanche looked behind himself, searching for whatever had made that slight popping noise. The sound was distracting, causing him to break his concentration. Now a sharp line slashed through the skull of the great Wyrm that he was drawing. He frowned, then turned hearing the sand behind him slide.
Talia approached, a covered tray in his hands. Sanche had tried to explain that he didn't need a servant, but the ant being had insisted. The Anuunaki had been mending Sanche's clothes, fixing him meals, making his bed, and any other menial tasks he could perform. Sanche had tried to pay him, but Talia had refused saying, "It is an honor to serve a general. Plus, we Anuunaki must protect our investments. After all, there may be other contracts after this one."
Talia whipped the cover from the tray, presenting Sanche with a portion of deer steak, grapes and bite sized tomatoes to the side. Sanche's stomach rumbled, the only thing that stopped him from telling Talia off. Sanche was a private man, and he loved his solitude. It was hard to yell at someone with such impeccable timing though.
Breath of the Titans: The False Titanbringer: Complete Trilogy Page 17
