“Eventually, Tiakwah was drawn to a great power deep within a cave further south in the rainforest than anyone before or since has ever ventured. What she found in this cave—if there ever was a cave at all—is shrouded in myth. Some say it was a great wizard who taught her the secrets of creation and unlocked her great potential. Others say it was a god who did the same, a hidden god, not one of the ones we know. Still others believe she found a hidden path, a portal to the mysteries of the unknown. Whatever she found there, as the stories go, it bent her mind toward conquest. She returned with a desire to rule all, to bend nature to her will. Her people marveled at her great power. She built elaborate temples and developed weapons. She taught them to hunt and use the land to grow things that did not occur naturally. She completely changed the course of the Ohna.
“Shaiwahka watched his sister’s power grow. At first, he thought he could help temper her desires and guide her to a balance with their surroundings. He quickly realized her ambition would not be tempered. The land changed, resources were drained as massive structures stretched up into the sky higher than the tallest trees of the forest, and several species of animals were hunted to near extinction. Finally, he could no longer stand by and watch his sister destroy the land he loved. He opposed her and was nearly killed for his efforts.
“Almost half the Ohna were peace-loving like Shaiwahka and followed him to the cracked land where he fled to escape his sister’s wrath. For his bravery, they elevated him to king and began calling themselves the Shaiwah in honor of his name. Food was scarce. They learned to cultivate the land and grow things. They learned to trap. They lived in peace for a time. Tiakwah would not allow that peace to last.
“As Tiakwah conquered the land, building and displacing nature, she taught her people to fight. She took the tools she had given them for hunting and concocted weapons to kill men. She hunted the Shaiwah to the ends of the cracked land. They have lived in fear ever since those dark days.”
Ding had been distracted by some of the beads in his matted hair but perked up as Maulom finished. “Land fierce,” he said. “No forgive.”
Maelich smiled at Ding, pointed at the blue covering on the man’s skin, and replied, “But you are a wise people. Look how you have learned to live in harmony with the land. You are safe from the sun within the cool confines of this cave, and you have devised a method for protecting yourself from it when away from the safety of darkness.”
A bit of agitation crept into Ding’s tone as he continued, “Berries good, protect from sun. But life hard. No food. Land kills. No fish. If fish, Tahnka kill. Only scaly things for food. We go home. Fight.”
“Ding struggles with the common tongue. Very few venture into this desolate waste, but his words have meaning,” Maulom interjected. “The Shaiwah live in constant fear. This land they occupy cannot sustain them. They are ready to take back their homes.”
Maelich shook his head, “You said all these things happened hundreds of summers past. None of the Shaiwah have ever seen this place you describe. How can they call it home? What do they know of the place? How do you know it even still exists?”
“Shaiwah want home,” Ding sighed as he kicked a stone and stormed off.
Maelich looked over at Maulom, “I did not mean to offend him.”
“Ding will be fine,” Maulom replied quietly, “but you have to understand what you mean to these people. They have been waiting centuries for you to arrive. Obviously, not the people occupying this cave right at this moment, but they have a history they all know. You are the savior they were promised, the savior who would lead them home, the savior who will teach them to defend against their enemies.”
Maelich’s gaze dipped toward the ground before he looked thoughtfully back at Maulom and asked, “Have any of the Shaiwah ever encountered the Tahnka? And please save the history lesson. I mean now, today. Have any of the people living in this cave today ever encountered these people they fear so much? Ymitoth and I journey to the river and back every day on our morning run. The Shaiwah brave enough to join us have as well. We have been all up and down the river and all the land in between here and there. Not once have we found any sign of men other than those living in this cave. Where are these nightmares they fear?”
The impeccable old man shrugged, “No. None of the Shaiwah living today have ever encountered the Tahnka.”
Maelich stood, turned toward the mouth of the cave, and asked, “Then how can you know they even exist anymore? Where is this great threat?”
“You did not let me finish,” Maulom replied, “None of the Shaiwah living today have ever seen a member of the Tahnka, but I have. I have journeyed as far south as the land goes, and I have seen their terrible structures, black stone scratching the sky. I have seen their weapons, unimaginable things. I have seen cylinders that blow holes in the ground, liquids that melt flesh from bones, and other horrible things of which I would rather not speak. The Tahnka are real. The threat is real. The Shaiwah need you to protect them and lead them home.”
Maelich thought for a moment. He barely knew this man. What he did know, he was not sure he could trust. Ding was passionate. He obviously believed in these nightmares. Even if they were merely stories, the Shaiwah did occupy harsh lands. Knowing how to defend themselves certainly would not hurt them.
After a few moments of silence, Maelich finally replied, “Fine. I will continue to train the Shaiwah to fight, and I will lead them south once they are ready. Hopefully, this paradise you have promised them will be there to greet them when they arrive.”
Maulom nodded, “I ask nothing more. Lead your people, Maelich. You will bring them something they have lacked their entire lives, hope.”
Chapter 4
The Queen Returns
Leisha’s haggard form slumped in one of two chairs opposite the entrance to Druindahl’s throne room. The seat had been hers for most of her life, crafted at her command. The great throne the men of Druindahl had offered her was far superior to it, gaudy and massive, crafted of skillfully carved wood and decorated with shimmering prang. The mistress of the Lake deserved no less. That chair gave voice to the first lesson she ever gave her people. No man stands above any other. All are equal. She ordered the thing destroyed along with its slightly less gaudy counterpart. The seat she occupied matched every other chair in the room exactly. She had not expected her rump to ever rest upon it again. Unfortunately, the peace promised by the prophecies about her children killing a violent god never really came to pass. Sure, Dragons returned to Lake—and the lost souls of hundreds of summers were finally able to make their way home—but Ouloos remained as violent and horrible as it had ever been. When would it end?
The world had become so complicated. Gods battled alongside men and monsters, everyone seemed to want to kill everyone else. Two kingdoms looked to her for leadership, and both had fallen far from their former greatness. Each day brought news of more violence and death. The eyes of her people—full of fear and hopelessness—looked to her for answers, for peace, for something more than the misery their lives had become. What could she offer them? How could she give them hope when she could scarcely secure any for herself?
The heavy door at the other end of the throne room groaned as it slowly opened. Leisha did not bother looking up. She had grown tired of looking upon all the beautiful contradictions adorning her city. They were all lies. Life was not beautiful. It was hard and painful, full of fear and violence and death. Besides, whoever owned the purposeful steps echoing back at her off the smooth, prang walls surrounding her probably brought more horrible news. She did not want any more news. If only she could have one day without news, one day of peace, that would be a good day.
“My queen,” Boringas’ voice was deep, full of purpose and honor.
The queen did not look up at him, “Please, Boringas, no more news. I wilt under the weight of it all.”
Despite the queen’s request, Boringas continued, “Forgive me, my queen, but Cialia has left the ci
ty.”
“One day, Boringas, all I want is one day of peace,” she sighed. “I imagine it will be a long time before I receive a gift so beautiful as that. In any event, I feared she might. Did she give you an idea of her purpose?”
“Only that she is bound for Havenstahl,” the damnably dutiful soldier continued, “and no more souls would journey to the Lake for the entertainment of gods.”
Leisha finally raised her head. Before she could respond to her general, she caught sight of her reflection in the polished prang of the throne room’s wall. The thing looking back at her nearly startled her out of her chair. She rushed over to that shiny wall, placed both hands against it, and took in the sight. Her hair was ragged and disheveled, a twisted, ratty nest of dingy gray. Lines cut deep into her face, down her cheeks and across her brow. Her eyes sunk deep beneath that troubled brow and above dark bags. She could not remember the last time she saw her own reflection.
“Is this your queen or some witch from the dark wood of a sad forest?” she asked, still staring at a face she barely recognized.
“It is the face of my queen, I hope,” Boringas’s tone raised slightly, “if she still exists. I remember the strong, confident woman who led this place. She was full of hope and life. I admired her, both her beauty and her strength. She was a titan who did not need the assistance of a sword to see her will done. She was leader.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Leisha replied with a joyless chuckle. “If only she were real.”
A bit of sternness crept into Boringas’s tone, “Forgive the disrespect, my queen, but your people need you. I have sent out a call for new recruits, and Druindahl has answered. They want to serve. They want to see your will done. They want…”
Leisha spun toward him, gnarled up her hands into fists, and shouted, “What is my will?” before falling to her knees and sinking into sobs.
Boringas bowed his head and allowed her a few moments of tears before continuing, “You are the mother of gods, queen of Druindahl, and defender of Dragons. I hope your will is to stand up and lead your people, lift them out of darkness, and show them your vision of a peaceful world which you will help them create.”
Leisha’s sobbing ceased as she looked up at Boringas, “Is that what you see weeping here before you?”
“I do,” Boringas proclaimed boldly. “No one can steal the faith you instilled in me, not even you. You made me believe this world could be more than blood and pain and sorrow. I have not stopped believing in that, and I have not stopped believing in you. Please, my queen, pick yourself up and be the person I know you to be. My sword and my life are yours to command.”
Leisha looked deeply into Boringas’s eyes, looking for hints of whether he genuinely believed all the words he gave her. His gaze never faltered. Her eyes once glistened with that same hope. He was correct, of course. The people she led had loved her, believed in her. She knew that. Where was that woman? She certainly was not in the tired, old face which had stared back from her reflection. Could she ever find her again? Could she live with herself if she did not try?
The floor was cool. It would be easy to lay down upon it and give in, forget everything and sleep until all the days that would ever be had come and gone. Easy had never been her way. When Kaldumahn, the great silver lion, had led her to the Lake and bid her bathe in its waters, she knew her path would be hard. For seventeen summers she had lived a simple life in a small village, and, according to this god, she would become the protector of Dragons. At that time in her life, she knew nothing of the world. She had no experience. The greatest decision she had made up to that point was whether to sweep the dust from the floor before or after she prepared the mid-day. Yet, she answered the call. After she had given birth to twins, champions of Ouloos, and vicious dead things came to steal them in the night, she did not give in. Even after those dead things stole one of them, her baby boy, something kept her from flinging herself from the highest cliff she could find. She became that woman Boringas had described. She persevered. She led.
Leisha slowly raised herself off the floor and gazed at her reflection. That was not her face staring back at her. She was not that broken woman. She wrangled her matted hair up with both her hands and tied it off at the back of her head. Then she ran her hands up both her cheeks and raised her head high. By the time she turned back toward Boringas, the tired old face in the reflection had been replaced by the countenance of a queen.
“You are wise beyond your years, Boringas,” she said quietly, allowing the slightest of smiles to lift her cheeks. “Come, we have work to do.”
Boringas flashed a wide smile, “The soldiers from Havenstahl who accompanied your caravan remain in the city. I would bid you allow them to remain with us and aid in our efforts. As I said, we have many recruits, but far too few experienced swords to train them. Cialia has gone to Havenstahl, so those swords will not be needed there.”
“Yes,” Leisha looked up toward the ceiling, “that is wise. They will remain. We will have to trust the safety of those remaining in Havenstahl to my daughter and husband.” She paused, dropped her gaze back to Boringas, and asked, “How was Cialia when you saw her?”
Boringas shrugged, “She seemed well, sure of herself. Her spirits seemed higher than I have seen them since her return. However, she has changed.”
“How so?” Leisha asked.
“Well,” he scratched his head, “she left her swords behind and wore a simple, white robe. She looked more like she belonged in a cathedral than on a battlefield. I am sure you would agree, that does not sound like Cialia.”
“No,” she shook her head, “it certainly does not. As much as I would like to speak with her right now, I am glad to know she is in Havenstahl. We are safe here in our city in the trees. The same cannot be said for those who remained in that broken place.”
“Yes, she is needed there,” Boringas agreed, “and we are safe, for now. However, that safety is a fragile thing. We must prepare for the coming storm.”
Leisha thought for a moment and then said, “I wish to address our soldiers, both seasoned and fresh-faced. Please prepare them. Give me a few hours to make myself presentable. This is not how I want them to see their queen.”
“Your will, my queen,” Boringas’ smile seemed to eat up his face as he bowed deeply, turned, and hurried toward the door. Just before he left the room, he turned back to the queen and added, “Welcome back. You have been sorely missed.”
Chapter 5
The Next Attack
Maomnosett Ott wore a deep scowl within the charred walls of a floating throne room. The great warship it sat upon had belonged to his son, Bok, failed conqueror of men and dwarves. The seat his rump warmed had been that same son’s throne. Killed by a mere man, that dead giant had not deserved a throne. Kings occupy thrones. Bok had proven far meeker than his ambitions. Ouloos was blessed to be rid of the weak excuse for a giant.
As Ott sat damning his son’s name, it became increasingly difficult to decide which was greater, his disappointment in Bok or the wounds he earned marching on the greatest city of men. The greatest city of men, that was a contradiction. Men had never done anything great. They were too small and inconsequential. Bok should have crushed them but proved unable. Ott would succeed where his son could not. He would take both Havenstahl and Alhouim, and giants would rule over men for the rest of eternity, as it should be.
The giant’s gaze washed over the room. Impatient eyes stared back at him, waiting for a command from their king. Ohm, his last living son, sat next to him. Hopefully, he would prove mightier than his two brothers, both killed by men. Across from Ott, along the northern wall, sat Chi-Ta, king of the trogmortem, staring back at him with fierce, emerald eyes. To Chi-Ta’s right, along the eastern wall, sat Slurg. Slurg was the choontah of the grongs. Loosely translated into the common tongue, choontah meant chief.
Chi-Ta pulled at his bulbous nose before breaking the silence with his deep, gravelly voice, “I yearn for the dryness of my
home. The damp air of this place does not agree with me. How long do you intend to remain in this bay?”
Slurg nodded before offering an unintelligible grunt.
Ott’s eyes narrowed to slits as he growled, “You pledged yourself and the trogmortem who follow you to my son in his campaign against Havenstahl and Alhouim. Brerto himself set that task before him. When he died before satisfying the desire of our god, that task was given to me. Go back on your pledge, Chi-Ta, and you need not worry of facing the wrath of the great tiger. You will face my wrath. I will make you hurt in ways you could not possibly imagine. You will beg me to let you die, but your pleas will be ignored. I will torment you until there is no life left in my body. I will make that my life’s work.”
Chi-Ta’s gaze fell away from Ott’s horrible stare. Though the giant was wounded and weakened from the battle of Fort Maomnosett, the trogmortem king dared not challenge his might. None sharing the room with the furious king of giants would. Of course, Ott was not really the king of all giants. Giant politics differed from those of men. Houses did not rule over one another. The head of each house was the king of their own kind. However, the other houses fell in line behind Ott after Brerto spoke to him. None were so bold as to challenge the one Brerto had chosen as his herald and tasked with such great purpose. For all intents and purposes, Ott was the king of giants.
The sound of the door to the room creaking open granted Chi-Ta a temporary reprieve from Ott’s fury. The giant adjusted his gaze to his grandson, Bom, Bok’s eldest son, another disappointment. Bom was slight by giant standards, and far too short. Standing at just over ten feet tall, he could not even boast being twice the height of a man. Violence seemed to trouble him too. Giants did not shudder at blood, they reveled in it. On top of that, he gave far too much care to his appearance, keeping his hair clean and brushed and his beard neatly trimmed. He looked more like a very tall man than a member of the proudest family of giants. Ott scowled at the young giant with whom he had nothing in common but a name.
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