Nestling

by Lupine King

  His position was mostly ceremonial. He would stand in Steelborn plate at strategic locations with his weapon out and look vaguely menacing. When the need arose, he would accompany the elders to some events and meetings. It was interesting but so too was gate duty. Though silent, most guards had stories many people would beg to hear. They bore witness to a great many events and overheard conversations that sometimes belied belief. You would not believe the kind of people that passed through his station on some days. Thinking of such things was enough to make him curse the ordinariness of today.

  As if to make Henry eat his words, a small horse-drawn carriage made its way over. It bore the clan’s insignia and was decorated to look like an elder’s but he did not recognise it or the horses that drew it. Stopping it for the cursory check, he was nearly shocked out of his sabatons when he saw its occupants.

  Sitting in the carriage was Magistrate Valan, his wife and his wards; Sergeant Richard, Array Master Jonas and his grandson, that boy genius who was all anyone could talk about lately.

  ‘Huh!’ he exclaimed mentally. As an old guard, Henry knew more about the clan’s internal politics and history than many. Other guards might not but he knew full well that… ‘The magistrate never steps foot in the inner compound. Never has. Not since … Wonder what he’s doing here’, he asked himself.

  His mind nearly kaput when the man gave him small smile and gave him the answer. “Hello, Henry. Would you mind letting us in? We are here to see my father.”

  Elder Foreson scurried about the Steel Heart, the administrative hub of the entire Steelborn machine. Being the elder in charge of liaising with the Magistrate and his family over the last five years, he had been the one contacted when the man in question came in and made his outrageous request to see the Patriarch.

  Outrageous because the Patriarch was currently in the middle of closed-door cultivation and was not be disturbed unless in dire circumstances. However, he also knew that if the man came out to discover that his son, that Valan, in particular, had been turned away after coming here voluntarily to see him … well, a series of unfortunate events would occur.

  Alas, he did not have the authority to interrupt the patriarch’s cultivation. He doubted he even could. He needed the help of a Great Elder. Unfortunately, in this pressing circumstance, there were none to found in the inner compound. Sometimes, he could almost hear the snickering of whichever spirit of fate it was that hated him.

  “What is he like, the patriarch?” Valerian asked his uncles softly. He had been told who they were coming here to see and to be honest he felt a little unprepared.

  Stories of his great-grandfather were so incredible that it was hard to separate the facts from fiction. The man had so much renown that there were no less than five monuments in his honour in the duchy alone. The stories were a bit much though.

  Many claimed he was as tall as the city walls and so strong that should the situation ever be so dire that there was no hope, he would carry DaleGuard on his back and run away with it. That he had galeforce breath and wielded a hammer that shattered the sky when swung. The one thing that he knew as fact was that one of the things keeping the enemies of Bathar away from its eastern lands was the fact that they would rather not run into him. Hence his titles; Champion of the Dales, Stalwart Monolith and the Dale Guard. Valerian knew little of the man besides what he had read and heard, but what had come across to him was the sheer awe and reverence people had when speaking of him. He was made to seem larger than life. Obviously, he was highly respected and from what Valerian knew, his great-grandfather had earned that respect. Knowing that he would soon be meeting such a person filled him with nervousness.

  “The Patriarch is …” Richard began. The man of few words found that he had even fewer today. “He’s hard to describe. He is the Patriarch! You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

  That didn’t help at all.

  However, Valerian did notice his grandfather glance over. He had overheard their conversation. Valerian knew that his grandfather’s relationship with the clan was frayed and he had some inkling why but he had no true knowledge of the matter between him and his father. Clearly, there was something there but as was customary in his house: no one talked about it.

  For now, they just sat in one of the lounges, waiting at the edge of their seats. Valerian wished that whichever messenger that would bring news of their requested audience would be quick about it. The atmosphere was unbearably tense. Then, Jonas had an idea.

  “Uncle Valan, since we are here would it not be better to take Valerian to visit one of the memorials and have his induction done right away?”

  Valerian’s head whipped in his direction. ‘What memorial? Induction, what induction?’

  His grandfather’s voice came from the side. “I am not sure we have time for that but we can visit the memorial. It is past time he knew after all.”

  Now, Valerian was well and truly curious. What is it that he should have known?

  He was taken to a particular section of the Steel Heart. The Steel heart was not a single building like its name would suggest but rather a complex. It was not a place he had come to often but the place Valerian was being taken was one he had never been before. They passed three different sets of guards before stopping at a relatively nondescript alcove.

  It was similar to the visitors' lounge they had left. There were comfortable seats, a few potted plants, murals on the walls and an ancient elder dozing in a corner. Why had he been brought here? He posed this question to his grandfather.

  “Come Valerian”, the man said leading him to stand in front of the largest mural.

  “This place is special but not in the way you think. There is a tradition among us Steelborns. We call it The Induction. When a cultivator consolidates the first tier or gains a certain degree of power, we take them aside and reveal to them the true origins of the clan and then induct them as fully recognised members.”

  “That is why we brought you here to the Steelborn only section of the complex and to this memorial. There is simply no way you can call yourself a true Steelborn if you do not know the hidden history. Once you do, you can register your name in the clan’s ledger as a main member and be accorded the full title and responsibilities”, he said.

  Valerian opened his ears making sure not let any word escape him. This was news to him. Not the fact that the clan had a secret history. All clans did and in fact, he would be disappointed if his did not. Valerian wanted to hear it. There was one problem though …

  “What does this place have to do with the induction”, that was what Valerian really wanted to know.

  “Ah! It is just a visual aid and one of many memorials that the clan maintains to act as a reminder of our history”, his grandfather explained. “Look at them, Valerian”.

  Valerian did so, taking note of the giant mural of a Steel Monolith, what looked like a battle, a forest. The whole place was covered with them.

  “This a place created so that we never forget. Be it the good times or the bad, all have shaped our clan into what it is today. It is very difficult to tell the hidden history without them. Each mural is a depiction of a scene from our history. A visual reminder to buttress the oral record”, his grandfather added.

  “And this one?” Valerian asked.

  He was, of course, referring to the one they were standing in front of. it was the largest and most detailed of all the murals. It depicted a mountain, a massive range with a giant, central peak and two smaller peaks at its side. There was a river that flowed down the mountain into the lush forest that surrounded its foot. The setting was paradisiac and the art marvellous.

  It was clear that the artist had poured a lot of time and feeling into the piece. The mountain invoked a sense of majesty as did the forest. As the focus of the room, it made Valerian wonder what significance it held in the tale his grandfather was sure to tell.

  “That mountain can be said to be our earliest ancestor”, his grandfather proclaimed wi
th a smile.

  Valerian just stared at his grandfather dumbly, waiting for the man to explain. A mountain as the ancestor of the Steelborns. How? True to his nature, the man began to speak, slowly weaving a tale that brought to light the hidden history of the Steelborn clan.

  Steel is not a pure metal. It is nothing more than iron and other materials alloyed to produce a stronger, more resistant metal. For ages, men and beasts alike had experimented with it, creating many forms based on the materials and methods used to create the alloy. However, there are also natural forms of steel created. Some by happenstance and others a result of basic evolution. The creatures called Steel Monoliths are an example of both.

  The mountain range in the mural was known as Mount Menhir. It dominated a great beastland in CrystalSpur Empire. Being a beastland meant that there were few humans in its environs and that it was ruled by powerful daemons, the dominant race of the region. It had everything a Horde Lorde or even a human cultivator would need and it had them in excess. The entire range gathered world essence, naturally creating an atmosphere that was at its thinnest three times as thick as the essence elsewhere. This was what facilitated the rise of so many daemons but it also did more.

  The immense levels of world essence led to the formation of all kinds of essence imbued treasures such as imbued minerals and materials, mystic herbs and vast quantities of essence stones of every variety. Mount Menhir was a treasure. One that kept producing more treasures as time went by. The same essence that produced its treasures, replenished them meaning that used wisely they would never run out.

  The empire’s human cultivators tried to seize its lands many times but, of course, the Horde Lordes who occupied the land would never let that happen. They adamantly refused to relinquish their paradise. The two sides remained in a deadlock until an event happened that changed everything.

  Essence is life. High concentrations of essence elevated ordinary beasts to daemons, imbued materials with special properties and turned ordinary plants into mystical ones. Notwithstanding, sometimes if Heaven and Earth are willing, it could do something more. Something miraculous.

  It would birth new, special, blessed life.

  It was an incredibly rare occurrence that had happened often enough over the ages that everyone accepted it as fact. Daemons born this way --through the machinations and power of Heaven and Earth-- are considered touched by the divine and in many cultures, they are even referred to as divine beasts.

  Steel Monoliths are one such species of daemon. One day, one was born a few kilometres beneath the central and tallest peak of Mount Menhir. He was created like all other Steel Monoliths. A base of iron, a lot of it, some ash borne from earth’s fire, other minerals and of course, the benevolence of the Earth.

  But he was very different as well. A Steel Monolith’s uniqueness comes from its environment and the materials that go into his being. Since this one was born from Mount Menhir, a place known for its essence imbued minerals and its great stock of essence stones, a significant portion of them went into his creation. This meant that when he took his first breath and tunnelled his way out of the mountain, he was a forty metre tall daemon whose limbs were worth more than some kingdoms. Monoliths are called titan childe by some people and for good reason. They were basically metal giants with more strength, power and durability than the mountains they spawned from and this one was a prime specimen.

  He took on the name Menhirion after the Mountain that spawned him and set about turning it into his territory. It only took a century before he subjugated all the other daemons in the central peak and three before he ruled the entire range and the lands around it.

  He was the first ‘living’ ancestor of the modern Steelborns and the true start of their line. His son, an only child, was begotten by a powerful human cultivator and from him, a family and then a clan began to shape up.

  Eventually, Menhirion made an incredible choice. He gave up his cultivation and progress to become the clan’s first guardian spirit. With his new status as a minor divinity and the prowess of his descendants, who fortunately inherited many of his gifts, the children of Menhir began to dominate all the lands they could stretch their hands over. This attracted a lot of attention from the CrystalSpur Empire.

  The clan, then known as the Menhirionn, grew powerful and as the rulers of that beastland, they had legions under their command. Despite this, they knew they could not fight against the entire might of the empire and even before tensions could arise they submitted, becoming an Earldom of the Empire.

  For generations, they were one of the exceptional clans in the empire and their power, wealth and influence had little bounds. But then calamity, in the form of a betrayal, struck and everything was taken from them.

  There was a decennial celebration that the clan held as part of their traditions. It is one that Steelborns celebrate even today. Around that time, the ancestral peak would be filled with joy and cheer and every single Menhirionn capable of making the journey would come home to celebrate life, history and family.

  However, it was also an open festival. It is a mistake they no longer make, but back then, anyone and everyone was invited and that was their undoing. All the Menhirionn, all the members of the most powerful clan within ten thousand leagues gathered in one place. They should have known how tempting a target they were. Sadly, they did not or perhaps they were too caught up in their pride and arrogance to care.

  Four of the five subordinate clans turned against them. It was an unfair fight. Even together, the children of the mountain were more than a match for them but that was on a good day. On that particular day, they had been in the midst of celebration; unprepared, drunk and worst of all, poisoned.

  It was a specially crafted poison. One that targeted their very bloodline. It was spread slowly around their ancestral home, placed in their tribute and gifts and added to the food and wine. The children of the mountain never saw it coming.

  That said, it was not long before they noticed the strange rust coloured discolouration on their bodies and it was not long before the more cautious among them found the doses in the food but the damage had already been done. Their betrayal discovered the subordinate clans began their massacre.

  At the time, the clan was a little more than a thousand strong. Today, generations after the massacre, the total number of Steelborns is ninety-six. That was because nearly every man, woman and child carrying their bloodline was slaughtered. The Menhirionn did everything to resist but the subordinate clans had joined hands with cultivators of significant power.

  Even their great guardian spirit, their ancestor, was unable to do anything. He fought and raged and destroyed but eventually, the children of the mountain fell. They were not allowed to surrender. They tried but they were killed anyway. So they died but they tried to die gloriously by taking as many of their enemies down with them as possible. It was the most they could do to buy the others time.

  The Menhirionn had been caught unawares and taken severe losses but they were not stupid. There was no clan worth its salt that did not have countermeasures for dire circumstances. Theirs was simple. Small groups protecting some of the brightest and most important people in the family would be sent out under heavy protection. Each group would take a different route until they arrived at one of the several safe havens they had set up. There they would regroup and then, flee the empire.

  The ancestors of the Steelborns were in one such group. They were guards protecting Aeron, the son of an elder. Fortunately or unfortunately, they were slow to arrive at their designated location. They saw much fighting in their attempts to escape and their numbers had already been thinned. Afraid of being left behind, they rushed to the safe haven. It was a safe haven that had not been safe for the people that came before them. Every other group lay slaughtered and many bodies showed signs of soul scours. Confused and in flight, they did the only thing they could. They could not go to any of the clan’s holdings as their pursuers had no doubt gleaned their locations
and defences from souls of their relatives and from the way things looked, no one would survive.

  So they made a risky gamble. They fled into The Wildlands knowing that no force would be foolish enough to pursue them there and that they were crazy for even considering the venture.

  It paid off.

  Their time in the Wildlands was fraught with peril and escapades but as the years went by, they began to thrive. They lived as a nomadic group, flitting here and there. Eventually, they were able to press a young Stormhawk into service as their new guardian spirit and then, become a respectable clan of mercenaries and blacksmiths. In time, their journeys brought them to DaleGuard were Valerian’s great-grandfather was spotted in a recruitment drive for the Bathan army. The rest, as they say, is history.

  THREE

  The Steel Truth

  It was a riveting story, a piece of Steelborn oral tradition that had been passed down for generations and the magistrate was an exceptional storyteller. He was able to weave a tale so entrancing whilst pointing at the murals, that he seemed to bring them to life. Using them, he actually conveyed the story as if he had experienced it himself. Like it had happened just yesterday and not centuries ago.

  It was not necessarily the traditional recital of what Valerian would later come to know as “The Epic of the Menhirionn”, but one even more detailed. He presented the hopeful and curious, newly born Menhirion as he learnt about his world. The sense of triumph the young steel monolith had after his first kill. Of the even greater triumphs that came later. The first territory, horde and then family.

  He painted the image of a burgeoning great and glorious people gaining accolade after accolade and accomplishment after accomplishment. Of illustrious ancestors and their feats. Of how the entire Menhir range seemed to tremble when its children yelled their exultation to the heavens at having become its uncontested overlords.