The truck exited the box canyon and drove into the valley proper, where men, women and vehicles worked on improving roads and clearing land for crops. Thirty kilometers of still rough road led around the ridge of the plateau into the valley. As they rounded the plateau the walled city came into sight eight kilometers down the road. A minute later they cleared the end of the ridge and were looking into the heart of the river valley.
The valley was alive with activity. The Dwarves were on their feet, looking, speaking, gesturing. There were vehicles moving up and down the road, both military and smaller civilian vehicles. Tractors and bulldozers were knocking over stands of trees and pulling stumps from the ground, clearing new farmlands. Men and women were moving around with hand tools, shovels, picks, axes and such, working under the hot sun. In the distance down the road were parked a number of military vehicles, and tents were pitched beyond the vehicles.
[Your people are industrious, friend Salvatore,] thought the Priest, waving a hand at a bunch of civilians who were reopening irrigation ditches in an old abandoned field.
[Some of the military engineers are my people,] thought the Corporal with a smile. [The civilians are German. A very industrious people, who will work themselves into the ground to get what they need, rather than wait for it to be given to them. They are also great warriors. They challenged most of the rest of the world that we come from, on two occasions, and fought beyond their size and means. Not that my people aren’t great warriors as well. We were in on the defeat of them on both those occasions.]
The Priest looked over at some of his men, two armored and armed as he was, and two in slightly fancier armor that probably denoted them as nobles of some sort. He spoke to them in a guttural tongue that had to be their native language, and they looked back over the activity they passed and talked among themselves.
Finally the truck pulled into the command compound, greeted by eleven Military Police, who waved them into a parking area. There were large tents set up in the open field around the park, just off the old trade road that the humans had excavated and cleared. Nearby were an extensive series of earthworks, covering almost a square kilometer of area. A high earthen wall with a dry moat at its base surrounded the bunkers that were still under construction. Log roofs were already in place over scores of the shelters, with men placing filled sandbags over them. Other lengths of tree were being hauled in, trimmed and ready for placement.
[We’re still clearing out the cities, that by the river and the one on the plateau,] thought Lt. Mercer to the Dwarf Priest as the man looked up at the walls on top of the cliffs thirty kilometers away. [There’s a lot of damage there, and in the river city. And some things that don’t like our company that we still need to root out. But come with me to the General’s tent, Priest Garios. I see the Sergeant Major waving for us. The General doesn’t have much of telepathy, but he’s an intelligent man, and you can speak some of our language. You can bring along an aide, but the rest should stay out here. I’ll ask the Sergeant Major to have refreshments sent for them.]
The Priest nodded, having seen that signal among the humans, and waved over one of the noble warriors of his party. The two Dwarves followed the men into the tent, Garios raising an eyebrow at the sight of a Conyastaya talking with some of the humans.
“The Wood Elves were the first to contact us,” said Maritoni, nodding at the slender Elf. “Along with your wood cousins.”
They were ushered into the tent by the Sergeant Major and brought into the canvas chamber of the General, who stood as they entered, returning the salute of the two soldiers who had accompanied the visitors.
“You two again,” said General Zachary Taylor in surprise. “I think we need to put you two right in the middle of the valley and let you attract people to you.”
“I’m sure it’s coincidence, General,” said Corporal Maritoni, shaking his head.
“The young man has very strong mind,” said the Dwarf with the dusty white robes over his armor, his English heavily accented but understandable. “He might draw to others with mental abilities. I cannot say in our case, because there was one road for us to travel, and stay out of sight.”
“General,” said Lt. Mercer, looking from the Dwarf to the senior officer, “may I introduce Garios na Gonron, Priest of Grimmoire, if I got that correct.” The Dwarf gave back a human nod. “And…”
“This is the noble warrior Lono na Jinna,” said the dwarven Priest, gesturing to the warrior who was clad in shining scale mail, holding his large helmet under his arm. “Lono is a master smith of my people, honored for his work with metals of all kinds.”
“Does the master speak our language?” asked the General.
“No. He lacks ability to cast spell of understanding,” said the Priest. “I translate for him by telepathy, and he replies in same. I be his voice this day, until he learn one of your languages.”
“And what can I do for you gentlemen today?” asked the General, bowing to the short warriors.
“It what we may do for you,” said the Priest, returning the bow. “Our King, Balion Under Mountain, sent us to see if we be of service to those whose coming was fulfilled in prophecy of Gods of Life, though are we worshippers of Pantheon of Law.”
“Well,” said the General, watching as an orderly brought drinks and food into the office, “let us talk and see what we can come to.”
* * *
“Jesus Christ, Stephan,” yelled the scientist, Professor Margaret Deitricht, as the flames blew across the sward, igniting small bushes.
“Control, Stephan, control,” said the Psychiatrist, Dr. Gunter Vogel, in a calming voice as he stood behind a rock, which he had told the others to do as well. But the physicists had of course known better than a mere mental health practitioner, and now a couple of them were beating out flames on their clothing.
All except for James Drake, whose own abilities as a wild Firemage allowed him to absorb the flame as it hit his body. The Conyastaya shaman who was watching the proceedings looked heavenward, as if asking the Gods what he had done to deserve this.
Stephen Neigal looked to have the makings of a very powerful Firemage, thought Deitricht, looking at the young man. James looked to be even more powerful, and commanded powers outside of the realm of fire too.
Katherine Heidle looked up at the sky as well, pulling energy into her body and directed it into the air. Moisture from the ground evaporated up. Gentle winds blew more moisture from the air around the practice area. Within seconds a small but swirling mass of black cloud released a cascade of water that put out the fires. She smiled at her work, then jumped as a bolt of lightning arched from cloud to a nearby tree, blasting the trunk and starting a new fire.
“I not sure what to do,” said the Conyastaya shaman, Gillisan Losara’asa, in heavily accented German, shaking his head in imitation of the humans. “My people do not perform fire magic. And not much storm magic, though there are some that do. I not one.”
Deitricht nodded her head, her hand checking her hair for hot spots. She frowned as she found one knot of melted hair where the flames must have connected with her head. This was also rather much more than she was able to handle. The theoretical part of figuring out this magic was fun, almost like starting over with theoretical physics. The practical field work was something else though. It could kill you, working with people who had much power and little knowledge.
“How do we get an experienced Firemage to help us?” she asked the shaman. “Before we torch this beautiful valley and everyone in it?”
“Ellala have fire mages,” said the shaman, ticking a finger with the index finger of the other hand. “Dimikran Dwarves do too,” he said, ticking off another finger. “So do Slanayana underground dwellers and Grogatha Shamans, though those savages have very limited control.”
“And we have none of them here with us,” said Drake, walking up to the pair. “So how do we learn how to use these powers to their maximum?”
“You have better control
than the others,” said the shaman. “Even better than the one I train.” The shaman gestured over at Marcus Strom, whose powers seemed to lean toward green and growing things. An area where the Conyastaya excelled.
“I think it has something to do with the way James had disciplined his mind on our world,” said the professor, nodding at her student. “He had the disorder that seems to translate into being natural magic user on this planet, but on ours was simply madness. But to study our field, in which he also had brilliance, he learned to discipline his mind to the point where he actually had some control over his illness.”
“Well, you need an Ellala to teach you fire magic,” said the Shaman. “To truly excel at the power and to be a fierce opponent to your enemies.”
“Too bad the Ellala are all such evil bastards,” said James, grimacing. “All they want to do is enslave those they can capture and destroy those they can’t.”
“Not true,” said the shaman, again shaking his head as he had seen the humans do. “There are good and bad in all peoples. Good and bad in all kingdoms. Even among my people there are those who walk on the side of darkness, and worship the dark gods. Few. But they are there. This Ellala kingdom is evil, but even some of those who serve this Emperor are good men. Honor bound to oaths they made centuries before the Emperor showed his true face. And there are Ellala kingdoms in whom the most of their peoples are good. The one to the East of here. And they might send mages to teach that which I cannot.”
“And how do we get them to come here to teach us?” asked James Drake, scratching his head. “Or do we go to them?”
“They will come when they arrive,” said the shaman, not bothering to answer any more questions in that direction.
Chapter Twelve
Kurt was sleeping in the tent that had been given to the immortals. His long form didn’t fit any of the standard sized cots that had been procured for them, so he lay on top of his sleeping bag on the floor, near to the cot of the young woman who had joined their ranks. He had wondered if his super powers would extend to not having to sleep. He had found it to be the opposite, and he needed more sleep than usual after an evening of exertion.
Even so, at first he had been too restless to sleep, and had stared at the canvas tent walls, when he wasn’t staring at the lovely young woman who snored away on her cot. So much had happened in the last week, most of it unexpected to him and everyone else. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was supposed to become the King of his people. He had hated all forms of totalitarian or authoritarian governments since the day he had renounced his oath to the monster Hitler. He had turned his back on his noble heritage, and had wanted nothing more than to be just another German among many. Now he was to become the supreme ruler of his people, stranded with them on this strange and violent world. Something he did not want.
Let him become a general in the army of whoever wanted the job. Even a regimental or battalion commander. But King? He didn’t think it was in him to hold that kind of position. And Taylor and the other officers, American and German, would probably insist on a democratic form of government, such as both of their countries had enjoyed at the time of the transport to this world. It would probably be a new form of government for this savage world. A breath of fresh air. Anything but another monarchy.
His muscles and brain were exhausted, and eventually they caught up with his eyes, dragging him down. Finally the big man’s breathing grew more regular and he fell into a deep sleep. And in this sleep the images came to him.
He saw an army, marching in perfect formation beneath the sun of this new world. The blocks of human soldiers carried themselves proudly, standards whipping in the wind. To the flanks of the army rode big armored men on big horses, many with jet black faces and hooked noses. And to the front rode another party of men, and Kurt recognized himself at the front center of that party, the German Eagle standards surrounding him.
There was a battle, with arrows filling the sky and swordsmen clashing. The disciplined lines of the humans held, swords thrust forward between shields to slaughter the enemy. And Kurt saw himself in shining armor, holding a position between two blocks of troops, his great blade rising and falling, and Orcs and Elves losing heads and arms to the scything blade.
Another scene, in another part of the world, a great plain of grass rippled in the wind. Kurt led his horsemen on across the flat lands, lances lowered. Arrows sleeted in, and men dropped from their horses, and more arrows flew overhead to strike the enemy. With lance lowered Kurt roared a battle cry and led his men into a thunderous clash of steel that broke the enemy ranks.
A walled city, and Kurt stood on the battlements, sword reaping a harvest of death as men clambered up the ladders behind him. Below the wall the city burned from fireballs launched by machines and mages. Dragons fought in the air overhead. A flag went up over the citadel at the center of the city, the black German Eagle.
Another scene, oars dipped and rose and great war galleys crawled across the surface of a huge lake. The enemy came into sight, and machines threw balls at the approaching enemy, who responded in kind. The lead galley ripped into an enemy ship. Planks thudded onto the gunnels of the enemy vessel, digging into the wood with hard spikes. Marines piled over the planks, led by the giant German in his armor. Ships slid beneath the waves and the sailors and marines cheered their giant leader.
Kurt stood before a cheering throng, dressed in silken clothing of regal purple. A man in the robes of a priest, though Kurt could not tell of what faith, picked up a crown of gold and jewels and placed it on the German’s head. The cheering grew louder as flowers flew into the air.
Another throng and another crown, this one more stately than the last, if less ornate. An Ellala it was that placed this one on his brow, while fireworks went off in the sky above.
Kurt sat on a chair, bouncing a child on his knee. The child had golden hair and skin the color of rich honey, while blue eyes darted around the room. Jackie sat in another chair, a teenager sitting in her lap. A girl that looked much as she did. And there were four others standing near, all looking to be in their early thirties, and all resembling Kurt and his Queen.
“These are the possibilities, o man,” said a musical voice in his head. It was a voice of power and majesty. A voice of beauty. “Why do you doubt your destiny, when all in this world believe in it? And either look to you in hope. Or in fear for the sweeping change you bring.”
“And why isn’t this the destiny of Levine?” he said in the dream world, his eyes seeking out the speaker. “He is more powerful. He is of greater wisdom. This should be his role. I can see myself fighting the battles. But I cannot see myself wearing the crown.”
“And the wife?” said the lulling voice. “And the children that go with her? A dynasty that will last for millennia. The one called Levine is not destined to have so many offspring as you, my child. He is not the champion of life that I have chosen. So he will not wear the crown, though he will be a mighty and valued servant of the King, and then the Emperor.”
“I don’t want the crown, whoever you are,” yelled Kurt to the sky that was alive in his dream world with swirling stars. “It is not my desire to rule others. I don’t want that responsibility. Or that temptation.”
“Then see what will be if you refuse your destiny, o man,” said the voice, and Kurt could see the face behind that voice. An elfin face of inhuman beauty, that looked down upon him from the stars. The hair of golden brown blew in those stellar winds, while the eyes of the same golden hue looked lovingly upon him.
“See what might be,” continued the voice. “And choose.”
Again the scene switched. This time the armies of men went down before the sweeping lances of the Elves, while arrows filled the air, and then their bodies. The Orcs swarmed over villages filled with farm folk, burning and destroying all they came across. Men and women knelt before conquerors who pushed their heads down onto blocks, while headsmen cut through necks and souls were sacrificed to demon
Gods. Souls screamed in torment as they were fed upon by those demons, who gave power in return to their votaries.
Another power arose on another continent to the south. Men, Elves and monsters in all black armor, trimmed in red, rose up in a host which overwhelmed the peoples who lived there. Their mighty Empire grew, until it encompassed the continent, which was larger than Asia on Earth. The evil pulsed as the kingdoms of the other continents went down in defeat, and blood and souls fed the deluge.
The face of a man appeared, seen through the helmet of his black and red armor. An aristocratic face, thinner than Kurt’s, above a body wiry and strong. Kurt recognized the face. He had seen it once during the Great War, when the SS came and took so many of the Ukrainian villagers with them to be slaughtered out of sight. He could not place a name with the face, but the face he did know.
Kurt gasped in his sleep as the man turned, and the red and black emblem on his sir coat became visible. The black arms of the crooked cross on red field. The swastika of the evil Empire that had attempted to conquer one world, and now had appeared on another to sweep light and life from the landscape. The view moved back, and the swastika banners of the black army became clear, as the horde cried out its battle cry.
“Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil.”
And Kurt awoke from this nightmare with cold sweat pouring off of his face and his limbs quivering. Jackie was kneeling beside him on the floor, her hand on his forehead, the other on his arm. Her eyes looked her concern down on him.
“You were having a nightmare?” she asked, and he sat up and pulled the blanket of his makeshift bed around him.
“Or a prophecy,” he replied, nodding his head. “I’m not sure which. I need to talk to Levine about this. And then with the General.”
Kurt stood up and let the blanket fall to the floor, letting the sweat dry on his nude body. He stretched and flexed his large muscles, his brain processing the last of the dream he had just undergone. He reached for his clothing and began to dress, as Jackie pulled on her own shirt and began to lace her boots. Within minutes he was out of the tent with her at his heels.
Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2 Page 15
