The God Warriors

by Sean Liebling

  Those two were crazy, Elsa thought as she watched them try on outfit after outfit, each more daring than the last, before finally settling on something she would never wear, but at least would not get them arrested on sight. By then, Fato was back and trying on her new tight new outfit, which hugged her curves, the skirt riding lower and the top higher than she liked, but she did have to admit it looked great! Perhaps she would forget to misplace it the night of the dance after all.

  ~Dru~

  Dru looked around in wonder as they entered the outskirts of Crystal City. He had never been to a large city, let alone the capital of Jordache, and everything was both insanely bizarre and exciting to him. If forced to admit the truth, a bit of trepidation also crept into his thoughts, as he watched strangely dressed people and shied away from hawkers selling their wares.

  The last two weeks had been some of the best in his life. The Wolven were terrific, and the children were hopelessly in love with the furry humans. When they parted, he would miss them, but vowed someday to visit their pack to reacquaint. Keepa was riding beside him on the right, and on the left rode Rawkin, with the Wolven bringing up the rear, the children safely ensconced within their ranks. Lined up for miles, travelers were entering the city’s gates, and everyone gawked at the Wolven, occasionally causing Dru to growl in return, though his new friends took it in stride and showed no emotion. The gate leading to the inner city was a different matter.

  "By Ares, close the gates," shouted one guard, who drew his sword when he spotted them.

  "Belay that," shouted Rawkin. "They are under the King's protection for the games and an audience. Look at the flag, man!" he said as he pointed at the white flag in Ariston’s hand. Then, leaning over towards Dru, he muttered, “You might want to get that hammer ready to impress these fools." Dru nodded as his hand hovered over the thick oak shaft of the granite hammer looped through his vest as one of the city guards stepped closer. He could feel power radiating from the hammer and his hand, almost as if they were mated.

  "And who might you be?" snarled one particular muscle-bound guardsman as he strode forward, his sword unsheathed and swinging from side to side, an act Dru could not let pass. Sliding off his horse, he strode forward to meet the armed guard, his hammer now coming naturally to his hand. Thrusting the hammer forward, Dru growled to the guard, "You will not harm my companions; they are under the protection of the King, myself, and the Gods Dionysus and Fenrir. Do so at your own risk!" said Dru, copying Rawkin from the day after they had met when a second guard company accosted them. Before his eyes as the hammer pointed straight at the threatening guard, it changed. Gone was the granite of its original composition, and as it glowed brightly, even in the afternoon light, it transformed into the head of an anvil with blunt ends, all steel and a bright shaft of white metal wrapped in leather, the strap around his wrist thickening. Strands of steel wove through its surface. Within seconds, the hammer was as bright as the sun. Instinctively, he twirled it overhead thrice in a circle of blazing light before slamming it downward to hit the earth, the head causing a shockwave to ripple through the ground, everyone falling back.

  "What he said, and add to that, Champion of Dionysus for the King's audience!" quipped Rawkin with a huge grin on his face, pointing to Dru. Then he turned and said to Dru, straight faced and loudly enough the guard clearly heard him, "Perhaps you should conduct the negotiations and introduction for our party. I would hate to have to kill all these idiots. I mean, what would their commander say?"

  What the heck did you just do?

  [That old granite hammer was ugly. You needed an upgrade. If I am going to have a champion, he should look the part. Get better clothes, also,] spoke his god, humor evident.

  Show me that pouch of gold, and I will. We had this conversation.

  [Do not worry about funds. They will be provided. By the way, I mated part of your soul to the hammer. It will always try to return to you now. I became exhausted watching you throw at a nearby tree, miss, and then have to search through the woods for it.] Dru didn't bother responding. He was paying attention to the gate guards, who were starting to approach. Casually, he slid the handle of the hammer back through his wide leather belt, knowing he could grab it in an instant, if needed.

  By now, Dru stood at the head of their column, legs spread wide, a glare directed at the guards just inside the gate. Traffic into and out of the city ground to a halt. Another guardsman, a senior one by his visage and pronounced scars, carefully walked up to their party with weapons sheathed and arms spread wide. He glanced briefly at the colors adorning Rawkin’s breastplate, and the badge of his rank before fastening his gaze upon the glowing tattoo on Dru's cheek. Then he spoke bluntly.

  "Greetings, Champion, Sub Captain of Fort Brandor, and wolves. You and your party will disarm immediately, and we will escort you to the guardhouse where you will await the pleasure of the magistrate and a palace representative. If you refuse, we will be forced to cut you down where you stand."

  "So you are refusing to honor the King's law and a champion of the gods," called out Rawkin's as he rode up to the standing Dru, staring at the guards who rapidly increased in number.

  "The King's law does not apply to the wolves," stated the guard, grinding his teeth.

  "Did the King himself tell you this exception to his law?" shouted Rawkin's.

  "It is a shame when simple guardsmen do not even obey their leader," remarked Ariston, who had also come up to stand beside Dru. His expression was dour, and his hands were not on his weapons yet, but he stood solidly beside Dru, showing his support of any action Dru deemed necessary.

  Dru looked over his shoulder, hearing shouts from behind, and saw the Wolven forming in circles around Keepa and the children to protect them. They had not drawn weapons yet either, but their bared teeth spoke volumes as an angry mob rapidly formed. Inside, Dru felt fear and a sense of exhilaration over this encounter, and he realized the solution to this confrontation had to come from him. He thought back into his past and pulled every dredge of knowledge he had ever learned from loaned and stolen books and spoke clearly.

  "You will summon an officer now."

  "One has been summoned, but, in the meantime, you will disarm."

  "I think not, and if you draw your sword, I, as a man of Jordache, but one with honor, will declare you and your men rebels and deal with you accordingly," he stated in a low but deadly voice. His hand fell upon the hilt of his hammer, causing it to flare into brightness, this time with a light so brilliant the others had to squint their eyes.

  "Stop!" the shout came from within the city. Striding through the gate was a young man, clearly an officer or of royal blood. His armor was chased with Gold, his helm with the insignia of the house of kings, and his bearing clearly aristocratic. "By Shianna, what goes on here, guardsman?" he said in a calm voice, but the young officer was clearly very angry.

  "Prince! These wolves are trying to gain entry using a deserter of Fort Brandor and a man with paint on his face claiming to be a champion of the gods. Some magic is at play to make the hammer glow." The veteran stuttered as he said this, his face already pale at the appearance of the prince. Nodding, the prince turned to Dru's party, looked at Rawkin and his insignia's, then the Wolven, noting how they were ready to protect the humans within their group. His eyes moved to the white flag of truce they carried, then finally to Dru, the prince's amber eyes flickering to the glowing silver tattoo then back to the senior guardsman.

  "Where exactly is your commander?" said the prince to the guardsman.

  "We've sent for him, Prince."

  "That is not what I asked. Try again, and quickly, before I lose patience."

  "Prince, we are not exactly sure where the Captain is. I have sent out several men to look for him.”

  "I see. Then in the absence of your commander, I am assuming command of your squad and when he returns, tell him, it is by my order that he present himself to the guard commander's offices and wait for me there. I will ha
ndle his dereliction myself."

  "Yes, sir," responded the guardsman as the prince waived for his men to gather around. He then began lecturing, a mischievous smile upon his face.

  "As most of you should be aware, guard duty at the gatehouse is a very prestigious assignment. You are the representatives of the crown and are the first to greet people from other nations, including ambassadors. You are given special training, better uniforms, and slightly higher pay to accompany this position. That special training includes any and all pertinent laws that might concern you at the gate. Your commander would have received even more training in this regard. However, I'm quite sure that the laws you were taught covered the games, the two moon grace period, and the flag of truth. Let me ask you this, guardsman," now the prince looked directly at the grizzled veteran who looked apprehensively back. "Was there a “no-Wolven” clause in the laws you read?"

  "Not that I read sir!"

  "Was there a clause that indicated a guardsman, no matter how senior, could interpret the words of his king?"

  "No, Sir!"

  "Then what, by Shianna hells, did you think you were doing here?"

  "But, Sir, they're wolves. They've never visited before," stuttered the man.

  "Actually, they have but before you or I were born, and their proper name is Wolven," snapped the prince as he continued to stare at each guardsman in turn. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You will summon your replacements a half shift early. Then your entire squad will report to the archives where for the next five duty shifts, along with your next five free periods, you will learn the history of our kingdom and the laws concerning gate duty. Is this clear?"

  "Yes, Sir," said the man in a resigned voice and quickly sent off a man to get their replacements. The other guardsmen all looked chagrined and most stared at the ground in embarrassment as the prince turned back to Dru and his companions.

  "Thank you, Sire," said Dru as he watched everyone start to relax and even the townsfolk move away as fresh guards staffed the gates from those who had come running.

  "King Destin, my father, is Sire. I am Inaros, or prince, or “hey you.” I answer to many things," responded the young man with an edgy grin. "Now, tell me what's going on, and you can let go of that hammer, for no harm will befall you this day." The prince held out his hand as he said this, and Dru slowly released the handle, reaching forward to clasp the prince's in a strong grip, but before he could respond, Rawkin spoke up.

  "I would say stupidity and perhaps the reason why those of Fort Brandor do not visit Crystal City often, Prince."

  "There, I would have to agree with you, Sub Captain, but there will be changes made after today. It is high time those changed occurred. Now, who are you guardsman, other than a sub-captain by your insignia? Who is this champion, and why are Wolven here?"

  "Sub Captain Garro of Company Reize out of Fort Brandor, accompanying twenty Wolven to the games and a meeting with the King. With us is Dru, a champion of the God Dionysus and refugees from a trading post raided by Illian mercenaries. They are Keepa and her siblings. The Wolven come in peace, have acted in peace, and I also carry a letter to the King from my commander.”

  "They are not refugees, for they are under my protection," spoke Dru.

  "Easy there, Champion. We'll let my father sort this out. Come, all of you," said the prince with a smile. With that, he led them through the gate.

  Chapter 18

  ~Eric of the Thana~

  Eric stood before the nineteen others selected to attend the games this year in Jordache as all twenty of them listened to King Thorvald address on how to behave well, not to start fights, to check on the readiness of the Alliance to meet the Jugazi threat, and…The list was quite long and taking the king forever to get through. Every time Eric thought the king was finished, one of Thorvald's advisors would whisper in his ear, and the king would start up again. He sighed while wondering if they would ever leave, for now the king was lecturing them on how to eat properly in polite company.

  "Now remember, do not reveal our new militia strength. Do not sign any treaties. Do not answer any pointed questions on our defenses…" Thorvald said. Behind the king stood twenty Lorr eagle riders, dressed in their leathers and waiting for the king’s meeting to finish. As he looked at them, Eric had no idea if they were as bored as the rest of those here. The Lorr rarely showed emotion other than amongst themselves.

  "By the gods Thorvald, that's the fourth time you've mentioned this!" growled Eric.

  "Aye, and if I want to mention it four more times, you will stand there and listen!”growled the king right back before continuing."I wish I could command you not to drink while you're there, but even I don't believe that would be obeyed."

  "Not bloody likely," sighed Eric as he resigned himself to more lecturing. He just wished he could sit down. His armor and weapons were too heavy to just stand still in. Finally, he decided to do just that and sat cross-legged upon the stone floor with his axe in one hand, sharpening stone in the other. Then Eric began to run the rough flat surface of the stone along the already razor sharp edge of his war axe, producing "screech" sounds with each stroke.

  Eric knew he was irritating the king, but he did not care. Life was short, and he was already a hundred and fifty years old, even though that was young for one of the Thana. Taller than the king, at five feet six inches, he weighed at least fifty pounds of solid muscle heavier. In fact, when people used the term “as wide as they are tall,” they were often thinking of Eric. His long reddish hair braided in the back, it was matched in the front by a thick bushy beard that hung from his cheeks and chin, its tip also braided, and strung with tiny silver beads. Laugh lines that adorned his upper cheeks and surrounded piercing deep-set blue eyes completed the picture of a young Thana of abnormal musculature.

  "By Mortis, Eric, what by the fifty hells of Shianna do you think you're doing?" shouted the king as another "screech" resounded throughout the chamber.

  "First of all, there are only twenty hells of Shianna, not fifty, and secondly, I'm bored, as is everyone else here,” the younger man replied as he continued to run the stone along the axe edge. A chorus of agreement followed Eric's words, and the king threw up his hands in defeat.

  "Fine, get out of here, you mangy lot of Thana. Just do all of us proud." Then the king stepped up to each, and as those now sitting rose to their feet, he gave each a hug and a clap on the back. "And stay out of trouble," he shouted one last time as they quickly filed out.

  Eric was to ride behind Talan, flight leader of this particular squadron, and the two had hit it off right away, Talan often lamenting he would be unable to accompany the Thana to Jordache, as squadrons’ duty lay only in ferrying them to the Lorr border crossing with that country. Eric grunted as Talan gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder blade that was free of weapons. The heavy, large, and solid oak handle of his axe was strapped to the other side.

  "I thought we would never get out of there, Eric. That was ingenious, sharpening your axe near the end," said the Lorr, grinning at his friend.

  "Our King Thorvald does enjoy hearing the sound of himself talk, doesn't he, Talan?"

  "That's why he's the King, my friend. You ready? Put this on." He handed Eric a thick fur lined full coat split in the back from the buttocks down. The extra clothing was needed. Eagles flew very high in the sky, where temperatures were often below freezing, and at the speed they would be flying, Eric knew without the layer of warmth he would be frozen solid shortly into their flight. In his case, a custom coat needed to be constructed because Eric was the largest Thana ever to wear one.

  "Thanks." Eric had already put the thick leather covering over the sharp head of his axe to protect not only the eagle he would be riding but also the coat he would be wearing. Talan previously tried to get him to strap it to the bird’s harness with the rest of his supplies, but Eric refused. Even riding high in the atmosphere, not having his weapon at hand would give him a feeling of helplessness.

  The
Lorr was not as fussy as the Thana because Talan had his own short bow, quiver, and sword all strapped to the eagle, just in front of where the rider sat. Talan had explained several times to Eric that they were perfectly safe during the flight. Even though the Jugazi had flyers of their own, they were more reptilian in nature, with narrow leather wings that provided a much lower overall speed. During the few skirmishes that occurred over the centuries between the riders of those two races, the eagles had always triumphed , often accounting victories where odds were against those same Lorr, at better than four to one.

  The eagles were another special breed of animal in Lorrwood and, like the Lorr wolves, bonded with their riders at birth. Brought from their original planet during the mass exodus to Corvalis, Eric had to admit they had adapted well to their new world, which was a part of Thana history he regretted. The Lorr mages had known ahead of time their world was losing its fight and would be shortly torn asunder. They had time to get their people and the proper supplies together in order to exist in a new environment. Whereas, the Thana's escape had been a last minute mad scramble to survive, with only supplies close at hand brought forward by those lucky enough to be saved by the gods. Still it had all worked out, except for those great wars every five hundred years, give or take.

  As they approached the giant bird, all of twenty feet or more in length, with a forty-foot wingspan, Eric stood to the rear of the animal's body, ready to climb on when told to do so. Talan had taken Eric for several rides to get him used to the fowl's movements, so he was familiar with the mounting procedures. When the Lorr stroked the feathers near its head and its very sharp dangerous beak, Eric did not copy him. He had no wish to lose a hand to the beast. They were notorious for wanting only their bonded owners touching them.