[Will do, Mother,] said Ares with a delighted grin.
~The Dark Excellency~
As Moff entered, he saw the Dark Excellency with head bent, near a Jugazi he did not recognize. They were in conversation, and Moff flinched as both turned their eyes on him before going back to their discussion. Waiting patiently was a strong point of Moff's, and he spent the time deep in thought.
The previous fortnight was one to forget. He remembered the long line of captive slaves led up the side of the volcano to appease what he found out later was Logi, the God of Fire. Rarely could Moff remember such screaming as had occurred that night. Over several hours the sacrifices were thrown in the pit of lava, one by one. He was only thankful the Dark Excellency's own personal guard did the throwing and not his own troops.
Finally, the whispered conversation ended, and as Moff watched curiously, the Dark Excellency removed a smooth, glistening stone from his robes, handing it to the unknown person. Moff said nothing. He was not sure what he was supposed to see and what he was not. He found the optimal solution was to play dumb, except when it came to troop deployments of Jugazi and the conforming of the other races to the will of the Dark Excellency. The unfamiliar one bowed as he tucked the item away in his own tunic and turned, departing. Moff avoided his eyes as he neared, instead concentrating on a blank spot on the nearby wall he thought might be a safe distraction.
"You have updates for me, General Moff?" inquired the Dark Excellency, and Moff nodded, swallowed hard, and held out a parchment, which, as usual, was ignored by his superior.
"Yes, Dark Excellency, I have moved thirty thousand troops into place against the Thana. I have assembled twenty thousand at the main pass and five thousand each on the two other smaller entrances. I am getting hourly updates by flier, and there appears to be no resistance as of yet, which makes me suspicious. I would prefer to have our mages clear the landslide instead of scaling it. If my men need to retreat, it will be all but impossible to do so quickly. I also have other news. The Lorr have joined the Thana."
"The Lorr? Well, I suppose it was expected. How many?"
"That I do not know, Dark Excellency. We cannot get a scout inside their territory, well, not one that survives long enough to report back. I base the Lorr commitment from the eagle flights, high in the sky."
"I see. It is troubling but nothing we cannot surmount. Proceed with the planned attack. Anything else to report?"
"No, Dark Excellency, and the attack will proceed as planned."
Moff quickly backed out of the room, high in the tower, and hurried down the steps as quickly as possible. He wanted to put as much distance between them as he could.
~Dru~
They stayed there for three days before daring to venture from the thick woods. Three days of nothing but he, Keepa and her three siblings, and the God Dionysus, of course. The god, normally of few words, had become a regular chatterbox in Dru's head, often pestering him right when he and Keepa were about to kiss. That was a new development also. First, she had kissed him for saving her life, then for each of her siblings, then for catching small game he could roast to feed all of them, and finally because she wanted to kiss him. Finally, the day came when…"
[You can leave now. The others have left.]
Thank you, Dionysus.
"Come on, Keepa, let's get the kids together and get out of these damp woods. Dionysus says they've finally left the post," he said as he turned to the girl he had hopelessly fallen in love with.
”Oh, I'm so glad, and the kids will be happy to get home too."
"Keepa, we talked about this. Dionysus says there's not much left of the post. He might do a lot of things, but he wouldn't lie about that. Sometimes, I think I'm his only friend or follower, and he doesn't want to lose me."
[True, but don't let it go to your head,] the god replied.
Thank you, just the same.
At least, now they would not have to walk back. While out scavenging, Dru had come across rider-less horses. They were obviously Illian, with dried blood splattered over the saddles. In total, he had come across six, which were now grazing in a makeshift corral he had fashioned beside the small hut. Being an old hand at stable work, he quickly had the horses saddled and everyone mounted on one. Dru took the largest, even though little Amiel wanted it for himself. But Dru was a large man, and Illian horses were a bit smaller than the average equine of Jordache. Dru had wondered about that until the god informed him it was due to the light grazing within the borders of Illian, which had stunted the horses’ growth. However, they were still hardy animals that loved the attention Keepa and the children gave them.
Now, when they returned, he just hoped whoever was in charge would let him keep them. He did kill over a half dozen of the invaders himself. He was also hoping to get a better job, now that he was a champion, instead of shoveling hay and manure. Perhaps even that of a guard to patrol to defend a village. He had also been religiously practicing with his large hammer and thought he was becoming quite good at using it. He had taken a bit of saddle hitch and secured it around the handle, creating a loop, which he hung, wrapped around his wrist. He found he could twirl it by the strap in his hand so fast it blurred with enough force that when he finally did hit something, it invariably shattered, even eight-inch thick trees. Then he'd gone on to practice throwing it, but he had a lot of work to do, as his accuracy was nonexistent. The first time he'd tried, even Dionysus had laughed.
[You look like an amateur Thor, God of Thunder.]
I do? I've never heard of him.
[Well, you do look like the pictures depicting Thor. He carried a hammer similar to that and twirled it like you do. He was even able to hit what he aimed at. In reality, he was not real, just another made up god to appease lonely peasants.]
Then why don't I remember him?
[Because Thor was never part of this world's pantheon, real or otherwise. Other worlds worship him erroneously.]
Soon they found themselves approaching the still smoldering remains of the trading post cautiously. The palisade was down in most places. Over half of the buildings lay destroyed and most of those that remained smoldered, half burned.
"Hello," Dru shouted as they slowly entered through a gap in the fencing. "Hello," he shouted again, much louder than the first time, and then Keepa joined him in calling out for friends she had known. She did not call for her parents, as Dru had given her the news of their demise. Then he saw the graves, and he knew why no one was answering their shouts. As he gazed down the rows of freshly dug earth, he counted and stopped when he'd reached over half of the town’s previous occupants.
"Keepa, they're gone, any that survived, that is," he said as he looked around, spotting a pile of something familiar on the ground near what used to be the tavern, now a burned out hulk with few timbers left standing. Kava leaves covered with the remnants of a meal ration in the dirt…the distinct print of a Jordache guard horse’s iron shoe.
Why didn't you tell me the guard was here? I could have gotten Keepa and the kids to safety, he demanded of Dionysus.
[Because you are both unmarried, and they would have immediately separated the two of you. You can thank me later by doing what humans do best and getting her pregnant,] responded the god, and Dru swore he was using a smug tone. But the thought of getting Keepa pregnant was an action he found hard to even think of, as so far they had only kissed. He'd been unable to even caress her, other than her back or arms.
[I told you, be a man and take her as your own. If you had followed my advice, she would probably be pregnant by now.]
"Well, there's no help for it, Keepa. We'll have to gather what supplies we can and head south to the next village. Hopefully, we'll find the survivors there," he said to her with a nod. She was too busy holding the children, tears rolling down her cheeks. The god, he ignored.
Eventually, he was able to fix a half-broken wagon and, using the extra mount, fashioned a harness out of scrap leather from the tanners. It was all
makeshift but would serve their purpose until they reached the next village. Then, getting the kids to help, they scrounged for supplies, finding surprisingly few items but enough to last a few days, including quite a few blankets in some of the unburned homes. The kids immediately fashioned a comfortable area they could sit on in the back of the wagon, leaving Dru to tie the horses on a long string leading from the back of the wagon. Keepa decided to ride in the wagon also and took the reins from Dru, forcing him to be the lookout rider, even though he would rather sit on the wagon bench beside her. It was afternoon before they started, and though he asked Keepa if she would like to stay the night here where there was shelter, and then head out first thing in the morning, she refused.
Dru looked back over his shoulder at the trading post he had called home for almost a half year. He swung his hammer, walking the horse south down the road towards the next village.
Chapter 15
~The Wolven~
Ariston slunk through the night towards the village of Premise on the northern border of Jordache. The fifty Wolven he led hid throughout the woods behind him, where he had commanded them stay put until he returned. His goal was simple. Only three weeks remained until summer solstice and the start of the games in Jordache, and right now Ariston was concentrating on finding a white piece of cloth for the flag of truce he needed for safe passage.
It was four in the morning, with almost all asleep within the village he quietly crept towards. Before him was the log palisade, a barrier designed to keep out the bad, but in reality, it was not very well designed at all. He jumped upward, catching the tips of the sharpened stakes in the palms of his hand. The calluses, from decades of climbing rocks, were more than enough protection from the sharp surfaces. Quietly, he raised himself upward until he was able to flip over the wall to land on the balls of his bare feet, crouching low and listening for any guards.
This was not a raid of conquest. This was a one-man raid of acquisition. There, and he saw it. A clothesline the humans were so fond of for drying their clothes. Upon the fiber line were many articles of that same clothing hanging from the ropes to dry them by morning, Though he was skeptical, they would be dry by then, considering there was no breeze within the compound, and it was fairly humid, the palisade keeping it at bay. However, it was warm, so who really knew? Near one end of the long line of clothes was what appeared to be a female nightgown with some sort of lace along the bottom. The lace did not matter one bit, but the color did, and white was white in Ariston's opinion.
It took only a moment to remove the linen garment from the drying line, and he was soon approaching the wooden stakes of the compound while stuffing the item within the pouch he had brought along for just this purpose. Then a quick leap to the top, a summersault over, and he was quickly loping through the woods, away from the stench of the human village. And smell it did. For the life of him, he could not understand why some races defecated and urinated within the confines of their own dwelling areas. So uncivilized when you thought about it. The Wolven were much more practical and clean, doing their personal business away from any gathering, and then burying it in the dirt and leaves of the forest so as not to contaminate their surroundings.
Ariston ceased to ponder such weighty matters when he reached the Wolven encampment deep in the woods. The others were all awake by now and gathering around small campfires, not to ward off the chill of the morning, for that did not affect the Wolven with their thick fur, but instead to take a measure of comfort in each other's company. It would have been inaccurate to say any of the Wolven were scared, but if any of them admitted the truth, it would indicate each of them felt a bit apprehensive being so far across their enemies’ borders.
As he reached Tolthen, his second handed him a mug of hot jayy root tea then held up a small bowl of sugar, which Ariston declined for the moment. Though he did like the sweetener now and then, he preferred his tea to remain bitterly sharp with a bite to it. He took a careful swallow of the hot brew and felt the restorative powers of the drink course through his body, pushing any lethargy he might have been experiencing away.
"Thanks, Tolthen, were the men successful in the hunt this morning?" Hours earlier, when Ariston departed in the middle of the night, he arranged for a few small parties of hunters to canvas the woods for game. The Wolven, having almost supernatural abilities of sight, sound, and smell, hunted most successfully at night. Animals largely slept at night, often bedding down short distances from game trails that they followed during the day. It was quite easy for the Wolven to silently approach a sleeping deer or rabbit out of its warren, then slit the throat.
"They were very successful; pack leader and the men are cutting up the two small deer and a half dozen rabbits they captured, now. Soon, you will smell the meat roasting over the fires," answered Tolthen with a slight grin on his furry face.
"Excellent." Ariston busied himself between sips of tea and rummaging around in the backpack all Wolven carried while out on patrol. Within each large leather satchel, there were many small packets, jars, and flasks of various needed substances. Each of them carried a small fire starter and tinderbox, packets of salt, sugar, and other various herbs, including tea. Jars of healing ointments, in case of wounds and other various sundries one might expect of anyone making a journey. Also, near the bottom, were changes of what brief clothing each wore for modesty's sake. Also included in a pocket sewn into the side, but covered with a tie flap, were the sharpening stone, a small flask of oil, and an even smaller jar of beeswax. These instruments were to sharpen their knives and spears, and to keep their bowstrings supple. Most also carried at least two extra strings for the short bows, in case of breakage, and Ariston brought along a medium sized pouch containing Illian coins of gold and silver, along with a handful of coppers for purchasing any supplies they might need while in Jordache territory.
Finally, finding what he was looking for, Ariston removed a small bottle of dark ink he had secured from one of the female Wolven days earlier. The ink, needed to draw the image of Fenrir upon the white material for the Wolven flag of truce, dried not only quickly, but was also permanent so Ariston was careful with his brushstrokes. Making himself comfortable beside the fire, he pulled out the garment, then his knife, quickly cutting the bottom hem of the garment away before throwing it in the fire. Since they had caught enough wild game, there was no reason to go into the nearby village to trade, but Ariston had not made pack leader by being stupid. He needed the item of clothing to resemble a flag and not some female's undergarment that would be sure to draw questions from humans on how they acquired it. Finally, he removed the shoulder straps then slit the linen up the side to unfold its now rather large length, laying it carefully on the ground beside him on a bed of pine boughs freshly cut to provide a flat surface for drying.
The meat was already sizzling nearby, its aroma filling his nostrils and making his mouth water, but he wanted to get the flag done first, in case hunters happened upon their camp. Using the small brush that came with the bottle of ink, he carefully drew a large version of the stylized wolf's head that was Fenrir's symbol. First in fine light strokes then, when he was satisfied with the image, he went over it again much thicker, creating a bold representation of their god upon its clean surface. Once done, he pushed the cork back in the bottle, wiped the brush off on a leaf, and attacked the cooked meat that was by now heaped upon a wide rock near the fire.
Wolfing down his share of the morning’s catch, he found the flag to be dry, allowing him to turn it over and retrace the image on the other side, where much of it had bled through. It was a quick task that was completed in minutes, and once again, he was cleaning the brush and storing everything away within his backpack. Now they just needed a tall pole to attach it to, and he sent one of the Wolven into the woods to secure one, while he helped clean their camp, allowing little trace to show they had spent the night here in these woods.
As they were leaving, a young, yet large, Wolven ran to Ariston with a long
pole he had cut from the woods. It was strong and just the right size, he thought, at just over eight feet in length, and Ariston quickly tied the new flag to its end before holding it up for all to admire. Flapping in the light breeze above their heads was now the symbol of their god, and they were finally ready.
No sooner had they moved onto the well-worn road with flag proudly waving at the head of their small column than they met with a company of the Jordache guard, who surrounded them with swords drawn, angry expressions upon their steel helmed faces. Behind him, the Wolven bristled but none drew blade, spear, or bow as they waited. Finally, one of the guard walked his horse forward to address them.
"Surrender peacefully, and we will make your ends quick for the devastation and slaughter you have brought upon a half dozen of our villages, wolf," he snarled from above Ariston, who only smiled slightly while gently moving the flag of truce back and forth overhead. Ariston took his time in answering, finally saying,
"You would violate your King’s two moon truce upon the land for this year's game? Do you even possess the authority to do so?" Ariston raised one eyebrow. He knew this was a human expression of skepticism.
"The flag of truce you wave does not apply to cowardly acts of murder, rape, and pillage, animal," snarled this officer even louder as his hand held a drawn sword. Watching him, Ariston saw the officer's hand tightening upon the hilt and wondered how many of the Jordache he would kill before his pack brothers finished the rest.
[Help is on the way and will be there shortly. Tell this uncouth human the truth of your actions,] came the voice in his head, causing Ariston to swallow hard, but he did not prostrate himself, not this time, in front of these humans.
"Listen closely, supposed officer of the guard of Jordache. The Wolven have harmed no one within your borders, nor have our packs ever attacked any human of Jordache. Those humans we do war with are of the mercenary bands of the north and the Illians. Perhaps those we also fight cause the trouble you experienced. Now, I would suggest you honor your laws and let us pass. I tell you truthfully that our god is less than pleased by your barbaric actions. I would also recommend you cease to insult us. It is not we whom are in the wrong here."
The God Warriors Page 20
