Hrafnu’s eldest son, Netur, was as peaceful a man as Hrafnu himself. Hrafnu saw the beauty of his wife in the eyes of his eldest son. Netur however, also displayed his mother’s single-mindedness. He was a stubborn, independent man. Netur was one of the first to leave Hrafnu’s valley decades before when the population grew too large to be supported by the limited resources. Hrafnu blessed the move and wished his son well. The men kept in contact and Netur respected his father’s wishes on all things. They fiercely loved and respected one another.
When Hrafnu sent word to the outlying population of his intention to move further into the mountains. The son considered the advice of his father and although he found it to be sound, he could not follow it. He lived in the foothills surrounding his own valley for half a century and could not bear to leave them. His clan was tied to the land and loved it.
Hrafnu moved high into the mountains. One of his scouts discovered a narrow gorge that opened into a wide valley. Jagged peaks surrounded the valley and a stream, born from the snows of the mountain peaks, wound through its lush green grass. Hrafnu surveyed the land and acknowledged its merits. It was large enough to support his herds and growing population. Water was plentiful. But most importantly, it was secluded and remote from the eyes of Zodra.
The powerful hands of his people cut huge slabs of stone from these mountains and fashioned a stronghold to protect themselves. Thus was Keltar born. The Mountain City. A place of refuge and peace.
Hrafnu kept close contact with his son and periodically asked Netur to change his mind. Netur never did.
One summer a runner was dispatched to invite Netur and his people to join in the three hundredth birthday celebration of Hrafnu. The runner returned with grave news. Hrafnu’s beloved son and grandchildren were slaughtered. Their homes were burnt to the ground and their livestock stolen. The Zodrians committed their worst once more.
Hrafnu threw himself into a fit of sorrow. The Zodrians took his first-born child, his closest connection to his beloved Uttren. He was inconsolable. After a night, his sorrow turned to rage. He leapt from his chair in the great meeting hall and called for his cloak. The giant stormed from the hall and stopped before a great woodpile used to fuel the lodge’s huge fires. His people gathered about their raging ruler as he wrenched an ax from a massive stump.
‘Once, long ago, an ax was wielded in anger to protect a loved one. It smote the shoulder of the evil Amird and helped send him from this world. So shall this lowly tool of civilization be used once more,’ cried Hrafnu. ‘Evil has no place in this world. The righteous are charged to banish it!’
He strode from his fortress of seclusion to cheers from some of his people and gasps from others. This was not the kind, gentle purveyor of peace, the wise ruler of compromise. This was a powerful demon consumed in a fit of rage. Several of his sons ran to their homes and pulled weapons from hiding places. They fell in line behind their silent father and marched for two days to the valley of Netur. There they found the scene of carnage. Netur and his people lay rotting in the sun, the buzzards feasting on their bodies.
‘These Zodrians don’t even afford us the decency of burial!’ cried the giant. ‘How many of theirs have I interred in my Creator’s earth? How many have I prayed over as I roamed their borders? But my children are less than animals to them!’
The giant stormed into the midst of the valley hacking at the carrion eaters gorging themselves. His sons built pyres and Hrafnu prepared the dead. The pyres were set afire and burned for hours as they consumed the children of Hrafnu the Peacemaker.
The colonel of the Zodrian cavalry had set up camp a day’s ride from Netur’s mountain valley. His soldiers swilled ale and stuffed themselves on Netur’s slaughtered livestock. They laughed and told stories to one another of their great conquest. As always, the unarmed thirteen year old, cut down from behind as he fled the cavalry, turned into a seasoned Keltaran warrior, armed to the teeth. The ale helped contribute to the tall tales, and shortly even the tellers believed them.
When the colonel spied the smoke from the funeral pyres rising in the distance, he turned to his men.
‘It seems we didn’t finish the jo,.‘ called the colonel slurping wine from one of Netur’s silver goblets. ‘We must rid our great nation of this infestation. These creatures must be hunted down and destroyed!’
The Zodrians filled with bloodlust and rallied to their leader. They mounted their horses and stormed back toward Netur’s valley.
Hrafnu and his sons scoured the valley searching for survivors through the rest of the day and on through the night. When none were found, he returned to the remnants of the village. The funeral pyres still smoldered and filled the valley with a ghostly gray haze as the sun crept over the horizon. Hrafnu called his sons about him and turned toward the morning sun. He and his sons knelt in the center of the smoking village with heads bowed and asked Avra for guidance. Instantly, the Zodrians rushed into the valley howling. They pushed their mounts hard toward the handful of Keltaran kneeling in the grasses. Hrafnu turned his head to face his sons.
‘Stand true and do not run. Revenge has been handed to us this day and we will take it. Rally to me and we will give no ground and no quarter to this enemy!’
The Zodrian horses charged down the long valley. The armor on both horse and rider glistened in the dancing light of the new sun.
‘Death to these beasts!’ cried the Zodrian colonel.
The cavalrymen cheered and howled in approval as they rapidly closed the gap on the handful of Keltaran. Hrafnu rose. The cheering stopped as the cavalry beheld a man unlike any they had ever seen. Hrafnu stood a foot taller than even the largest of his children. A wild mane of red and gray hair cascaded from his head and beard and spilled down over his shoulders and chest. Huge corded muscles, worked hard everyday for three centuries rippled under the ram skin he wore. The smoke from his children's funeral pyres rolled over him as he slowly lifted a giant ax with one hand and laid it calmly in the other.
‘Stay in your ranks,’ nervously called the colonel. ‘One dog wishes to nip at your heels and you balk!’
Slowly Hrafnu’s six sons rose to their feet. Axes and huge hammers were raised to their shoulders. The charge came on, but thinned as some riders held back.
Hrafnu calmly spoke to his sons and they fanned out beside him. The cavalry charged headlong into the Keltaran line
‘For Zodra!’ cried the colonel as he slashed a cutlass toward Hrafnu’s head.
Hrafnu’s ax shot into the air, held aloft by one powerful arm. The steel of the cutlass rang as it met the ax head. The blade spun from the colonel’s hand and stuck in the ground in front of Hrafnu. The giant laid the shoulder of his free arm hard into the armored breastplate of the colonel’s charging horse. The mount was driven hard off course and Hrafnu shifted his weight into the beast. The horse went down in a heap as Hrafnu raised his ax. The colonel spilled from the saddle and rolled across the valley floor. He quickly sprang to his feet. The wine’s effects were completely washed away by the surge of battle.
‘Zodrians to me! Zodrians to me!’ cried the colonel as he squared off against Hrafnu. ‘Cut down their leader and the rest will flee like their kin before them!’
Hrafnu’s sons were trading blows with multiple foes as they too heard the colonel’s cry. Horses rushed in from all around to hem Hrafnu in. The son of Awoi saw none of it. His rage was fixed on the man in front of him. Spearmen charged in on the giant as he slowly approached the colonel. One swing of his ax split spear and man alike. More riders rushed in, only to find their mounts thrown to the ground by massive hands. Hrafnu’s steel shod boots tread the life out of several. Still he advanced on the colonel who cautiously backed away.
Hrafnu’s sons were heavily engaged, but saw the battle shift to their father, who was methodically drawn away from them. Gnard, the third of his children, called to his brothers.
‘Men of Keltar, to your father!’
The sons of Hrafnu drew a line
and hacked their way foward. Hrafnu took no notice. Two riders blocked his way to the colonel. Hrafnu spun his ax and held out the handle lengthwise. The handle was as long as the height of a normal man. The giant lunged forward knocking pikes from his path and levered the handle under the necks of both animals. With all his strength, Hrafnu lifted and pushed the stallions backward. The riders were thrown from their mounts, and the horses sprawled to the ground.
With the giant thus engaged, the colonel saw his chance. He darted forward and plunged his short sword toward Hrafnu’s belly. Hrafnu saw the maneuver but was unable to avoid it. He spun his torso, but the edge of the blade found its mark, slicing hard against his ribs. Blood sprayed from the wound as Hrafnu swept the steel ax head down hard on the colonel’s helm. Helm and head split in two. The colonel dropped to the ground lifeless. The sons of Hrafnu broke through the Zodrian line and rallied to their father.
Hrafnu’s sons encircled him and inflicted heavy damage on the enemy. The Zodrians broke and fled. Hrafnu roared in agony. Blood streamed from his wound. Many of his sons received damaging blows as well, but none perished. The Zodrians formed rank at the far side of the valley. A young captain calmed his men and turned to assess the situation. There, lying across the valley, scattered about Hrafnu’s group, lay over half of their rank. A roar echoed to him from the enormous beast wounded by his colonel.
‘These valleys are the lands of my people!’ bellowed Hrafnu. ‘Those who trespass are in forfeit of their lives. Zodrians, you drove my mother out. You helped kill my father. My son’s ashes are scattered to the four winds because of the evil hand of Zodra. NO MORE! My children will suffer at your hands no longer. Return to your city and spread my word. Leave my people in peace and you shall possess peace. If you choose to challenge us, you choose death!’
The young captain looked to his bloodied troop and made a wise decision. He turned to his sergeant.
‘These Keltaran as they call themselves, rise from their slumber. I fear for our people. We must leave this place to protect our homeland from their wrath.’
The captain returned with his troop to Zodra. He was summoned before the king and relayed the story of the battle. Many believe he reported accurately all that took place. The captain warned his king of the ferocity of the Keltaran. He advised the king to allow these people to live in peace. The king weighed the captain’s advice and found it full of wisdom.
However, there were those in the king’s rank that did not want peace. They twisted the words of Hrafnu. They focused more on his threats and his challenge to the sovereignty of the king. After all, these lands were claimed for the Zodrian crown by his majesty’s emissaries. These nomadic mountain tribes held no claim over the land. The mountains must contain riches untold. Why else would a people choose to live in these frigid wastes? The king was swayed. He outfitted a great army and determined to sweep the mountains clean of the Keltaran.
Hrafnu was not idle. One battle is all the giant needed as a lesson. Just as he quickly improved on all his mother taught him, he was a quick study in battle. He recognized both his peoples strengths and weaknesses against the Zodrians. Their size and strength were a clear advantage. Their limited numbers were not. If the Zodrians attacked in great numbers, the Keltaran would be overrun.
Hrafnu returned to his valley and fortified his city. His people went to work immediately. The walls around Keltar grew higher and thicker. Windows were filled in with mountain granite. The furnaces of the great mountain city were busy as well. Hundreds of axes were produced and distributed to the men of Keltar. Hrafnu was pleased with the success his simple tool produced in battle. The ax was a symbol for his people. Used everyday to help them subsist in their harsh environment, but equally effective as a weapon.
After several weeks, Hrafnu surveyed the progress of his people. Young men trained in the streets with their weapons. Hrafnu’s sons stood as captains over these men. No jealousy or power struggle stood in their way. They were a people committed to the defense of their land. Hrafnu was pleased. He stayed in his city and waited patiently.
The Zodrian king took several weeks to marshall his forces. Horses were commandeered from surrounding ranches and a great army was assembled. They ventured forth two weeks to the day of the death of Netur and his people. The king saw them off with orders to rid Zodra of the threat from the mountains.
Hrafnu was true to his word. If the Zodrians entered a valley that was home to his people, they were set upon. Often they found nothing of value in the valley and decided to set up camp. In the night the Keltaran came. Down the steep cliff sides of the valley. Over ridgelines the Zodrians believed impassable. Raiding parties swept down and ran off the Zodrian’s tethered horses. Keltaran silently eliminated Zodrian outposts.
Sometimes the battle was met. Once the Zodrians left horseback, they were at a huge disadvantage. Hundreds of Zodrians lost their lives in the surprise raids conducted by the Keltaran. The Zodrians developed tactics to combat the Keltaran raids, but their numbers were already significantly depleted. Then their fiercest enemy arrived.
Winter came to the lands of Hrafnu and his people. Bitter cold swept down the mountain passes. The Keltaran struggled with the temperatures, but the Zodrians were no match for them. Hundreds of horses and riders perished in the frigid climate. Those who survived were too weak to protect themselves from the sporadic Keltaran raids that followed winter’s onset. The general staff withdrew the army to the safety of the capital. This was the beginning of a hundred years of bloodshed between our peoples.
Zodra stewed in her losses, frustrated by the harrying attacks of the Keltaran fighters. Often, Hrafnu and his people disappeared from the mountain valleys when the Zodrian army marched forth. The army scoured the mountains for months and never found a single Keltaran. Winter arrived and the army dragged itself back to the capital after weeks in the saddle.
Summer after summer the Zodrians rode forth. Summer after summer their frustration grew as their soldiers fell in battle or spent months from home with no victories to report. This was Hrafnu’s genius. He demoralized the enemy at the same time he defeated them. Keltar was stocked with a year’s provisions. If they chose, the Keltaran could outlast any foe. Winter was their greatest ally.
No Zodrian ever looked upon the mountain city. It lay deep in the saddle between the Scythtar and Zorim Mountains. When Keltar was founded, peace was the objective. However, as fate decreed, Hrafnu’s choice was also perfectly suited for defensive warfare.
The entrance to the valley was incredibly narrow with steep sides of broken shale. The footing was treacherous. A thousand foot cataract spilled from the glacial peaks behind the fortress into a deep pool at the back of the city. The pool overflowed into a rushing stream that washed through the center of Keltar then charged through a wrought iron break in the walls of the fortress. Once free of Keltar, the stream wound through the remainder of Hrafnu’s valley. It provided fresh water during any siege if need be. The walls of the valley met the walls of the city. The shear faces of the Zorim Mountains ensured that no enemy could attack the city from behind.
For a hundred years the Zodrians and the Keltaran were engaged in a neverending dance of war.
“You act as if the Keltaran never lost battles.” scoffed Kael. “But I know songs of great Zodrian victories.”
And victories there were for your homeland. Kael, I don’t pretend that my ancestors were untouchable. They suffered great losses throughout this century of warfare. Zodrian generals contrived schemes to defeat the Keltaran. They developed armor and tactics to defend against the heavy axes of their mountain cousins. Slowly, Hrafnu’s sons were taken from him. His bitterness grew.
Can you imagine a life of near immortality? Hrafnu wasn’t only long lived, but his strength and cunning made him virtually unbeatable in combat. Wife gone. Sons disappearing. His great grandchildren turning into old men and women around him. Hrafnu’s life work changed into protecting his people instead of spreading the word of his fa
ther and his Creator. He despised the Zodrians for making this life for him.
However, the Zodrians changed as well. The influence of Amird was a thing of the past. Men arose from the common folk of Zodra and took their place among the leaders. Manreel was such a man. The son of a small landowner, he rose from amongst the ranks of the cavalry. His prowess on the field of battle grew. First, he rose to the command of a small unit. This unit distinguished itself. They lost few men in battle, and turned back many of the Keltaran attacks. Soon, more and more men were assigned to the unit and it grew.
Manreel was an intelligent man. He studied his victories and noticed a pattern. When the enemy engaged him, one truth always shown through. If he retreated into Zodrian territory, the Keltaran never followed. His men regrouped and found respite from any fight. He kept his units close to the borderlands. If his superiors ordered him to engage an enemy force, he waited until the enemy moved close to the border. Other generals struck deeply into the heart of Keltaran territory, only to find their exit hampered and harassed the entire way out. Often they were cut to ribbons, unable to retreat.
Others in the general staff hinted at a lack of courage amongst Manreel and his men, but those who fought beside him knew otherwise. When the battle was met, he rode prominently in the front rank. If ordered to attack when outnumbered, Manreel attacked. Caution was not cowardice.
All knew of Hrafnu’s challenge from years before. All considered it a boast by the giant. Manreel studied his words and saw them for what they were, a statement of fact and a veiled proclamation of peace. The Keltaran only attacked when the Zodrians entered disputed land. This land lay uninhabitable for either side in the conflict. Leagues of fine grazing land lay empty.
The Merchant and the Menace Page 26
