The God Warriors

by Sean Liebling

  His door thumped, and Cyrus, the Lorr General, walked in, pulling a chair up to his desk. Thorvald didn't ask the man if he wanted an ale. He knew the Lorr universally preferred wine and instead asked what the other wanted. Since Thorvald detested wine, he kept none on hand, not even for visitors.

  "Cyrus, what can I do for you?"

  "I was just going over these plans of yours for the invasion of the Northern Wastes."

  "What invasion? I labeled that document 'Retribution,'" scowled Thorvald.

  The Lorr General simply looked at him and then back down at the papers while remarking, "You do realize they have millions of warriors? All this will do is bring their wrath down on the Thana. They will squash you like bugs, then hold off for a generation to build their numbers back up and only then attack the humans. What were you thinking when you planned this?" Cyrus pushed the sheaf of papers across the desk to Thorvald and leaned back in his chair to wait for an answer.

  "Retribution!" growled Thorvald as his finger stabbed down at the name written at the top.

  "After reading this, my first thought was it would be better named ‘suicide,’" commented Cyrus dryly as his own finger stabbed down next to the king’s.

  "Blood begets blood, old friend. They blooded us. We must pay them back," growled Thorvald even louder.

  "Not so. I have a much better plan you should consider." With that, the Lorr reached within his robes and removed a tightly wound scroll. Unraveling the parchment, he smoothed it out before passing it over, and then bent over the desk to point out parts of the writing for Thorvald's attention.

  "Here and here and here, you pull back. Let them scale your landslides in these places. They will gather their troops just this side of those passes."

  "What good does that do but let the enemy in our door?" complained the King.

  "You have underground deposits of oil don't you?"

  "You mean that thick stuff that burns like tar and sulfur combined?"

  "Yes, and I know you also have tar pits, correct?"

  "Well, of course to both, but the oil is useless for anything other than greasing wagon hubs, and while the tar makes a great water-proofer, it's too sticky for general use."

  "No. You heat the oil in large pots. Almost bring it to a boil then skim of the top third layer after several hours. Then you take this skimmed portion and mix in equal amounts of tar."

  "What is it then? Super tar?" joked Thorvald.

  "No, it is a highly combustible substance that will stick to anything it touches, which is why I will assign one of our mages to this project. There must be no flames anywhere near it. You let the enemy in the pass on the other side of the rockslide, but keep them within the pass. Our eagles will drop bags of this thick liquid on them, causing it to stick to everything, then, when the entire enemy troop is doused, you'll shoot flaming bolts into them. Trust me, my friend. The Jugazi will explode with fire. Our mages and my common sense predict the Jugazi will come at you with no less than thirty thousand troops for pacification purposes. They will attack all the passes simultaneously. We will destroy them. Perhaps then, they will leave you alone. I doubt it. They need your numbers for their attack on the humans, but we'll do what we can with what we have. At least this way your people are simply protecting your borders, so the Jugazi will probably not declare all-out war on you."

  "Are you sure this will work?"

  "Oh yes, I'm quite sure."

  "How do you know all this?"

  "We didn't always live in the woods," smirked Cyrus."There is another item we need to discuss."

  "What? Cyrus, that was my only ‘suicide plan,’ as you call it, so anything else is all on Eric!" exclaimed the King of the Thana with a mock expression of outrage adorning his face.

  "It's funny you should mention Eric." The general smiled to the king.

  "What did Eric do now?"

  "It's what he should do that you will consider, Thorvald."

  "Would you stop speaking in riddles for just a few minutes? You're starting to sound like that drunken sot of a Thana I occasionally refer to as my head wizard," replied the king of the Thana in an exasperated voice.

  "You should send Eric along with nineteen warriors to the games this year in Jordache. I will be sending Neven and nineteen of my own."

  "The games are a month away; we'll never make it in time. I'm needed here, and besides, we've never participated in the human's games.

  "I did not say you, King Thorvald. I specifically said Eric. He is young and one of your best fighters. I cannot explain it, but something has been gnawing at me for days. I feel this is important, and so does our head mage. I will have them transported there on a squadron of eagles. They will be on time."

  "Well, I suppose, but only because you think it's important," said the king gruffly.

  "Good man." Now Cyrus was grinning. He felt this was the right thing to do.

  ~The Lorr - Cyrus~

  Cyrus paused to rub his forehead upon entering his chambers for the evening. It was somewhat trying, dealing with the Thana. They were impetuous and overridden with emotions. Perhaps he would feel the same if in their shoes. Since that feeling of the need to hurry had never happened, he really could not relate but gave them the benefit of the doubt. The Lorr mages and council were convinced the Jugazi expected to garner up to two million Thana for their latest attack of domination over the human lands, and if Cyrus had anything to say about it, that event would never happen.

  Right now, he was waiting for one of the mages to appear. He desperately needed to consult with the council and his staff back in Lorrwood. He poured himself a much-needed goblet of wine just as a knock sounded on his door.

  "Enter."

  "Greetings, General," said the smaller Lorr that entered. This one was obviously old but nowhere near as old as Sorlen. "I understand you need to communicate with those back home?" Cyrus noticed the man was lugging a large heavy sack that seemed to be filled with bulky objects.

  "Yes, Adros. I do. I need to speak with the council and then Neven, my sub-commander. Can you arrange it now?"

  "Of course, but let's make ourselves comfortable first, General."

  "Would you care for wine? I brought my own, so it's of good vintage."

  "No, thank you. I've a fondness for the ale they produce here. I will have to secure a few dozen kegs before we depart. Oh, my coin pouch," moaned the mage in mock theatrics.

  Cyrus laughed then pulled the bell cord, signaling for a servant. Almost immediately, there was a knock at the door and a typical Thana female entered, wearing a clean and neatly pressed maid’s uniform of the king’s household. Taking Adros's request for a pitcher of ale and empty tankard, she hurried off. The men passed the time until her return by discussing small things, events in Lorrwood and the recovery operations conducted in Ashstone. Soon, she was back, and after seeing the wizard properly settled, Cyrus began.

  "I would first like to contact the council, Adros. They should still be meeting, and I need to bring them up to date on today's events." The wizard nodded and opened his satchel to remove a large very shallow crystal bowl along with a good-sized jug. Setting the bowl on the room's sole desk, he uncorked the jug and carefully poured the contents into it. Cyrus watched expectantly, having seen and utilized this method of communication before, as the jug of water emptied into the crystalline container and almost immediately became motionless. Cyrus knew the water was enchanted to ease speech through this medium and continued to watch as Adros passed a hand over its still surface, mumbling unintelligible words under his breath.

  The words were not strictly necessary and only served as a method of concentration for the wizard. What was necessary was the binding of the enchantment within the bowl to the location the wizard chose, and after a moment, its surface turned silver and a face appeared within the depths. Standing beside Adros, Cyrus saw the visage of the High Mage Sorlen himself.

  "Greetings, Sorlen. I assume the council is still meeting, and you are in their prese
nce?" asked the general.

  "Yes, General. We are all still here. What is your current report and situation? It has been some time since you last updated the council?" responded Sorlen.

  Cyrus proceeded to spend the next half hour bringing the council up to date on the military situation, the salvage operations, Thorvald's new militia training, and finally, future plans in progress, including his idea to drop distilled ground oil on the Jugazi when they attacked next, as there was little doubt the dark ones would. He finished with a request to have one of the mages assigned to the distillation process to ensure it was done correctly.

  "I will assign two, one for the process and one to ensure safety. You are talking about a highly volatile substance that could cause a chain reaction within the city. I do not wish the Thana attempting this without adequate wards in place. The second wizard will also ensure proper ventilation."

  "Agreed, and thank you, Sorlen. Now, if the council is satisfied with my report, I will contact my second in command, Vice General Neven."

  "Yes, the report is satisfactory. Thank you for that, Cyrus," and without further comments the mage disappeared. Cyrus turned to Adros, noticed his tankard was almost empty, and refilled it immediately. Adros was one of those wizards that could get as drunk as he wanted and still perform what to him was a basic manipulation of Order and Chaos, like the communications binding, which was very similar to that used by Thorvald's own head wizard, Regin.

  Idly, Cyrus wondered if the requirement for an accomplished mage or wizard was how much alcohol they could consume and still function, but now that the man's drink was replenished, Cyrus asked, "Would you be able to contact a Lorr host mage closest to my second, please, friend Adros?"

  "Of course, General. One moment while I locate the right person for you.” Once again, the mage’s hand passed over the still pool of water, and again its surface took on a silvery sheen. After a long moment, he looked up at Cyrus, stating. "It will be a bit. He needs to find Neven for you."

  "That's fine, I think I will pour myself a bit of wine while we wait," said the general, walking over to the sideboard in his room and selecting a particularly nice looking bottle, proceeding to pour a crystal goblet three-quarters full before returning to the desk. He sipped the vintage thoughtfully as he pondered his plans. Soon enough, and before his wine was finished, the crystal bowl chimed, and Cyrus hurried over to gaze down upon a wizard he only vaguely recognized.

  "Greetings, Braran, Is the vice general there with you?" asked Adros.

  "Yes, Adros. He's right here," and Braran moved away to make room for yet another Lorr, who wore the silver breastplate of the host, his features clear and blue eyes bright with concern.

  "Cyrus! Is everything all right? Do you need more than the thirty thousand host you took with you? Or, do you need another squadron of eagles?" asked the other man quickly.

  "No, Neven. Everything is fine. I just wanted an update on our northern border situation with the Jugazi and to discuss another matter afterward."

  "Good to hear. To answer your initial question, the northern border is quiet. True, a few scouts were encountered, but we have been careful to leave one alive to report back. The enemy is not at the testing stage yet, so I foresee no invasion in the immediate future. Moreover, I seriously doubt they will go that far because it would be suicide for their armies. Flights over the passes indicate no massing of troops either, but the host remains vigilant, General."

  "Good. Now have you picked out the party to go to the games this year in Jordache?"

  "I have more volunteers than I can count, honestly. Personally, I think some of the younger Lorr simply wish to get out of the woods for a while and see the world. I haven't yet picked my replacement for your approval so that I might attend with the members of the host, but as soon as I do, I'll get his name to you for approval," finished the vice general.

  "I have decided that is not necessary, Neven. I will take back command of the host in your stead and will take an eagle to Lorrwood before you depart. Remember, nineteen handpicked for the games and yourself. I wish you to meet this champion all the gods are making a fuss over and give me your opinion of him."

  "What? Do you think to ally ourselves with the humans?" asked Neven in a shocked voice.

  "No. I simply wish you to meet him and to hear your opinion of his character and competence. Besides, any treaty to that effect would require the council's approval. Again, no. You will go, possibly participate, and carefully look around."

  "Understood, General. Is there anything else?"

  "Not at this time. Remain vigilant as always, but now it is my bedtime. Fare thee well, Neven."

  "You also, General," came the response, and the silvery sheen disappeared. Adros sighed as he released the binding.

  "Well, that does it, I think," said Adros as he carefully slid the bowl to the edge of the desk, and then tilted it to allow the water to pour back into the wide-mouthed jug. Miraculously, the water entered in a tiny stream without spilling a drop and Cyrus was equally sure none remained within the bowl.

  "Thank you for your services, Mage Adros. May you sleep well this evening."

  "You also, General," replied the mage as he placed the objects in his sack, leaving the empty tankard and pitcher behind as he exited. Cyrus knew the king's maids would clean his quarters of these things in the morning and gave them no further thought as he readied for bed, but sleep was elusive, as Cyrus had much to think about.

  ~John~

  "Adrostos, question, young man," intoned John in a serious voice. Currently he, Alvaldi, Ulf the Sotar, and the wizard were walking from the gatehouse, bailey, the two Lorr wolves, and Shadow following behind, along with a hundred of Ulf's men and women, the rest remaining back at the gatehouse where one of the general’s men would direct them to the visiting guard barracks.

  After mounting Shadow, John had ridden around the courtyard for a few minutes before sliding off. It was not that he didn't enjoy riding his new present from Shianna. It was that he wished to converse privately with the wizard, which was hard to do on horseback without raising his voice. Now he held the reins in his hand as he queried the young man.

  "Yes, my Lord," answered the wizard eagerly.

  "I'm concerned now with operational security, so is there any way you can shield us from prying eyes? Or, rather shield your spells from prying eyes?"

  "My Lord, any spell I create is automatically shielded. We protect our rights. No one will be able to see the manner of my bindings, unless it's a god, or possibly you," answered the wizard.

  "Good. I need a metalworker first. I have items I need made. Lead the way." As they walked, John quizzed Adrostos on everything from protective spells to magnetism, and was smiling when they finally entered the metalworkers’ building. John turned to Ulf and said quickly, "Ulf, just stay alert, quiet, and listen. I'm sorry, but I don't have time right now to bring you up to speed on what's going on, but I will as soon as I'm able." The other nodded and John turned back to Adrostos as the wizard began speaking.

  "This is the one the guildhall uses, my Lord. Wiscar does really nice work, and he is quick too," said Adrostos, as a soot-covered burly man walked up to them, smiling at Adrostos.

  "Greetings, Wizard Adrostos and Captain. How may I serve you?" asked the man, cleaning his hands on a dirty cloth. Belatedly, he eyed the Lorr wolves and Ulf, and then shrugged as if they were of no consequence. Adrostos deferred to John, who stepped forward.

  "I need some items made to approximate specifications. Ten of the first, ten of the second, four of the next, and one of the last," he told the man. "I'll need some drawing paper and a writing implement to show you my designs," he finished.

  "Yes, of course. Let me get those for you. Whatever it is we can have ready within a moon," said the man as he hurried away. When he returned, John was already digging within his pouch and pulling out two gold pieces by touch, laying them on the counter near the man.

  "You do not understand. I need these by
tomorrow afternoon at the latest," said John, frowning.

  "Well, I am always behind, master, but that is a princely sum. Let's see what you need first before I commit myself," responded the metal smith in a practical tone, while placing a stick of carbon and several sheets of paper in John's hands. "Please show me what you need," he said as he stepped back and waited.

  John quickly sketched out his grenade idea, including approximate measurements, the shaped placement charges, and the long-shot bazooka rail gun with its rounds he was hoping Adrostos could help him perfect. Placing them before the smith, he waited.

  Wiscar looked over the sheets, then sat down and scribbled notes on each drawing. John tried to read what he was writing, but it appeared to be a form of shorthand, and unfortunately, his gift of tongues did not extend that far. Finally, the man stood, tapped the papers in his hand twice then approached John again.

  "Casting these eggs and drilling the holes will not be an issue, but why do you need a different metal at the bottom of the larger drill hole?"

  "To contain a spell, so it needs to be of a different substance. Anything will do."

  "Okay, I get that now, but what is this tiny pin you have sticking through the side of that other piece of metal or wood that's inserted in the hole?" Wiscar asked, pointing to the cotter pin John had drawn, which penetrated the two and a half inch ovoid object.

  "That's a split pin of softer metal. You bend one side of it to prevent the pin from being removed unless you bend it straight again."

  "Ah, yes, an axle stay. Sure, I can make smaller ones. Let me show you what I think you mean." Then Wiscar rummaged in a box that rested on an upper shelf of the front storeroom and pulled out what was roughly a four-inch metal rod that split down the center. It was made of a soft iron and would bend easily. Then John realized it was lead and nodded. It would do, if sized correctly.