Nomads The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 20. Lords of the Greenwood

  Sagar cats are very dangerous creatures, in body structure, they closely resemble, the mountain scavengers on Mycantras Orgaranus. Whereas those creatures have six legs, the forests cats of Caltarine have only four. They do have massive canine teeth that can bite through even Itarian steel and they fear nothing.

  From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

  “Choose ten of our best warriors and prepare for a hunt!” It was the King who gave the order, it would not take long for them to be carried out. Arn, had spent the better part of the night, moving through the wagons, making sure that all was as it should be. He talked to the Elders and listened to them as they stated their needs. He settled quarrels between several of them, about where their wagons had been placed, or the noise that came from another tent. He also sat with the warriors, and shared tankards of Po with them, listening as they spoke of past glories. How any of them, was worth two of the Norgonie. More than once, he had to cool the temper of a Nomad, who having had too much to drink, wanted to test his strength, by fighting with one of the Forest-dwellers. For the most part, the evening went quietly, and by the time he got back to his tent, he found Andra sleeping soundly. Not wanting to disturb her, he lay outside under the stars, passing the night, thinking of his youth and the many mistakes of his past. Now, it was a new day and there was much to do.

  Arn dressed himself in his armor, he did not sharpen his war-ax, he knew that hunting in the Forests of Caltarine, called for a different weapon. A weapon that would strike fast and hold, deep in the flesh of the fierce Sagar cats. He also knew that the warrior armor of his tribe, would not be enough, to guard against the attacks of the Lords of the Greenwood. This, was not all that filled his mind, for he saw the jealousy and hatred in the eyes of Ishea. He knew all too well, how much pain that could cause.

  Andra is in danger; he told his mind; she will try to do her harm, I must keep her by my side. He reached over to a long shaft of hard wood that was leaning against his tent, and took hold of it. It was the length of his body and more, at one end was a spearhead that had hooks set in the blade, so that it would hold fast when driven into flesh. At the other end was a spike, was attached a hook and a small ax head. The shaft itself, was made from Balbar wood, which was as hard as iron. The King turned the weapon over in his hands, feeling its weight; it has been a long time since I held a Kagar, he thought. He spun the spear over his head, and brought it down fast, with its spear point thrusting outward. He smiled and placed the weapon back against the tent pole, as he tightened the straps around his leg braces, his mate emerged from their tent.

  Andra wore a simple robe, she shaded her eyes against the harshness of the bright suns. She gave a little grunt of disapproval, at having to rise up from her sleeping mattress and begin the day. Then she saw Arn dressed in his armor, “are we going to war?” she asked jokingly.

  “Not yet”, replied the King, “ we are going hunting so you had better prepare yourself”.

  The Selcarie woman walked to the nearby Washa, where a large iron pot was warming water. She splashed a handful of its contents onto her face, hoping to clear the cobwebs from her mind. “Hunting?” she asked looking around, “I didn’t know, there were Rimar here”.

  “We are not hunting Rimar”.

  Andra dried her face with a soft cloth, then looked at her mate. “Oh, what will we be hunting?”

  The King looked hard at her. “In the old language, they are called Ero Dargoth Morkan, The Roaring Death.”

  Osh and Endo, had heard about the hunt, but they would have been of little use, in helping Andra and the King. That did not stop the young Sandjar, from taking one of the Chamber rifles out of the wagon, and checking to make sure that it was working well. The Callaxion stood by the Washa and stirred a pot of soup, he was dressed in his usual robe, wearing his woven cap over his large head. He was pleased with the way the soup had turned out, and added a pinch of Ulon spice to make it just right. Then, as he added a few more lumps of Eul to the belly of the Washa, he looked over at his son.

  The old man could see that Endo was not behaving, as he should. All morning long, he had watched as he paced about, paying little attention to his writing lessons, or the activities that were swirling about them. Also, he had not eaten any food since Sunbirth, and that was unheard of for a Sandjar. Now he watched his son, loading and reloading the Talsonar weapon, over, and over again.

  Something is troubling him? he thought. Knowing the erratic attitudes of a young boy, he decided to be subtle in his questionings, “the soup is ready if you’re hungry?” he said in a calm voice. There was no reply from his son. “I think it’s a very good soup, even if I say so myself. I even added a few Troca to give it more spice”, again, there was no answer from the boy, who continued to check the rifle in his hands. It was at this point that Osh decided that subtleties was not appropriate. “Son, I am speaking to you, and I want you to answer!” he called out loudly.

  This time Endo answered back, “oh sorry father”, he stammered, “I, I was just thinking”.

  This answer pleased the adoptive father, for above all, he wished his son to be a civilized being, and rational thinking, was the first step on the road to higher learning. So he poured a bowl of soup for both of them, and walked over to where his son was sitting. He handed him the warm broth, “now tell me, what have you been thinking?” he said with a smile.

  The boy put down the weapon, and took the bowl from his father. “You have taught me many things, how to speak, how to write and how to learn. There is still so much to know, when will I understand everything like you?”

  For a moment, the old man said nothing; my son is growing faster than I thought. “I don’t know all that is to be known”, he said shaking his large head, “no one, can know everything”.

  “Why not?” the Sandjar boy asked, as he put a spoonful of warm soup into his mouth.

  “Well, because it would take many centuries and more, and we cannot live that long”, the old man replied.

  The boy chewed his food, then swallowed it. “I understand, father, but what if you could, would it make you content?”

  Knowing all that there is to know? Osh thought; now that would be a great accomplishment; again he smiled. “Yes, I think it would make me very content”, he said.

  Words that he would someday remember.

  The word had gotten out about the forthcoming hunt, and throughout the fortress, people were talking about, who would survive, and who would not return. For they all knew that Sagar Cats were once the protectors of the Golden Hall of Isarie.

  The story was an old one, handed down from generation to generation. Although the Outlanders could not agree, if Isarie or Arm-Ra ruled the holy place of the Gods, they did agree that there were no fiercer creatures than, the Lords of the Forests. Legends say that long ago, the Gods created a beast to guard their home against demons and the Giants of the Darkness. So they created Sagar cats, filling them with unstoppable strength and without fear. They placed them, at the doorways to the Golden Hall, chained there with strong links. They were so powerful, they broke free of their shackles, and attacked those who made them. It was only after a long and bloody struggle that they were captured and held at bay. Rather than destroy them, the Gods placed them in the Forests of Caltarine, there they would stay, to test the courage of the Chosen.

  There were many, who went into the woodlands to pit their strength and bravery against the guardians of the gates. Some returned with the skins of the great beasts, hung them on their walls, and wore them as garments, so that all might know them as heroes. Still others did not return, and mothers and fathers wept for the loss of their sons or daughters. That did not stop hunters from seeking out the great Cats, to look death in the face. Now Horcon the Dragon Headed God of Destiny, would choose those who would live another day, and those who would fill the belly of Ero Dargoth Morkan.

  Near to one of the great doors of the fortress, ten
warriors of the Norgonie, stood next to ten warriors of the Madrigal. They did not speak as they stared at each other. You could see that they were growing impatient, waiting for the King and Queen to give the order to start the hunt. The Outlanders wore their strong armor, they held a long two-headed weapon, rather than their war-axes. Rising up from their shoulders, were plates of steel, set with spikes to protect their necks.

  There were also long spikes on their arm braces and fists. Instead of their tall horned helmets, they wore helms with more steel points and an articulated steel flap that covered the backs of their necks. All this, was to protect them from the sharp claws and crushing jaws of the Sagars.

  The Norgonie wore no such armor, for they considered it a cowardly way to hunt the great beasts. They relied on their swift reflexes, and knowledge of the forest to protect them. Although they knew that some of them would die, they would prefer to face death, with skill and courage, rather than end their lives like Outlanders.

  There were several Drogs with them. The snarling beasts, pulled at their neck chains, snapping their great jaws together in anticipation of what was to come. They had gone on other hunts, and they bore great scars on their shaggy bodies, where the claws of a forest cat had raked their hide. They still licked their fangs and drool fell from their mouths, as they pawed the ground. Every so often, one of them would emit a howl that sounded like the painful cries of a demon from the Pit.

  They would not be the only animals in the hunt, for the warriors would be riding on the backs of Rowgor. The great forest creatures, were well suited to the Greenwood and shared it with the Sagar cats. The felines rarely attacked the large Thundra, for they traveled in herds, and only the weak or very young fell victim to fang and claw. The Whiptails of the Nomads, would not be used, they could not be controlled, if set upon by the great cats.

  The Outlanders and Norgonie stood quietly, as Ishea walked towards them with Ral at her side. They were both dressed, much the same as their warriors. Ral was naked from the waist up, but was wearing the traditional green and brown striping. He carried a long spear in one hand and a short hooked ax in the other. There was a slight smile on his face.

  Ishea, wore a short tunic of finely made chain mail, it fit closely to her strong body, but allowed her to move freely. She also wore spiked gauntlets and leg guards also set with spikes. Her head was covered in a steel helmet, set with a row of Sagar teeth above the brim. In her hand, she carried her spear. As she moved towards her warriors, she held her head high, looking every bit the Queen of the Norgonie.

  Arn and Andra, stood side by side, watching the leader of the forest people approaching. They had both readied themselves for the hunt, dressing much the same as the warriors, the exception being the weapon that the Off-World woman carried. She held her war-ax, not a spear like the others. Arn had explained that there was no time to train her in the use of the long shaft, and that she was better off wielding her Tooth. She on the other hand, wanted to use one of the captured Talsonar Chamber rifles. The King told her, she would be branded a coward, and face the ridicule of BOTH tribes. So not wanting to be made Outcast again, she settled on her ax, putting her trust, in her training as a soldier of the Selcarie to carry her through.

  She would come to regret that decision.

  Ishea, stood before the King and his mate, “have you prayed to your God?” she asked.

  Arn smiled back at her, “I will do that when I return,” he said.

  The Queen turned and looked at the woman by his side, “tell me do half souls pray?” there was a mocking tone to her words that did not go unnoticed by Andra.

  “I don’t know”, she replied with a smile, “when I find one, I’ll ask”.

  The Selcarie woman could see that her response, cut deep into the arrogance of her rival. That was fine with her; she thinks she is a Queen,; she thought; I have seen barmaids with more dignity.

  Ishea showed no sign of her feelings, she just smiled back, “let us hope you live long enough to do that”, she said. Arm-Ra will make sure she does not live out the day, and if he does not, I will! Without further word, the Queen and Ral, walked to where the Rowgors were tethered and mounted their beasts.

  The massive creatures, were covered in a heavy chain mail, with larger steel plates attached to their sides and backs. Covering their great heads, was more plating and fixed to the two long tusks, were steel coverings, ending in sharpened spear like points. The riders, sat in saddles that had protection at the front and rear and stirrups for their feet. Attached to their saddles, were large quivers holding several extra Kagar. To guide the huge beasts, one only needed to squeeze with the legs, the Rowgors were well trained for the hunt and would not run in the face of danger.

  Arn, told Andra the basics of riding a Rowgor, as they moved towards her mount. She wished she had not consumed so much Po at the feast. Then she remembered the words of her old training Sargent. She could see him now standing ramrod straight, shouting at her until the veins stood out on his thick neck.

  “Drink is an excuse for the weak!” He would say, she let the words echo in her mind.

  She stood with her hand on the climbing rope that dangled from the saddle horn. She looked over at the Queen, who was sitting up straight in her seat, seeming perfectly at ease. What she can do, I can do! Thinking this she pulled herself up and sat proudly with her ax in her hand.

  Arn settled himself in his saddle and gripped the handle of his Kagar. Feeling the great beast under him and hearing the cries from the Drogs made his blood race. Although it had been many cycles, it seemed to him that he had only been gone a short time. All the memories came flooding back, and it filled him with excitement and longing. Longing for careless nights under the stars, with Ishea in his arms. He looked over at Andra and all other images vanished from his mind.

  I will not betray her again; he thought; I will not!

  Suddenly the words, “OPEN THE GATE”, were called out by the Queen. With a banging of drums and cheers from the people of the forest, and the Outlands. The Warriors of the Chosen began to ride out of the fortress and into the forests of Caltarine.

  As they rode, Ral watched Arn's face; I live to see that face staring back at me, impaled on my spear.

  High atop the pyramid shrine of Arm-ra, Oramadis stood looking down, at the warriors going out to face death. Although he should have been praying for the safe return of his Queen, his mind was filled with other thoughts.

  How long have I waited? How many cycles has it been? He began to calculate, the exact number of Burning Times, and Comings of the Hagar, he had seen. He stopped himself and turned to one of the Holy men beside him, “do you understand, what I have commanded you to do?” he asked.

  The tall shaven headed man nodded, “yes your holiness, it will be done as you command”.

  With a gesture of his thin hand, the High Priest watched the man go, then turned back to looking down from his vantage-point. So many cycles, now I have a companion to help me in my quest.

  The old man stood there for a long time, thinking of the helpless past, and dreaming of a ruling future.

  Egmar, could see the column of Rowgors, as they moved through the gate. She stood with several of her Handmaidens, high atop the Holy Wagon. She could see clearly her son and his half-soul mate, as they passed out of the safety of the Fortress, into the dangers of Caltarine. The Holy Mother was dressed in a dazzling white robe, with large silver and gold necklaces hanging from her neck, and a tall headdress of colored Doff-bird feathers. It was attire fit for a sacred ritual, not for ordinary use, it was of little concern to the High Priestess, as was the safety of her offspring.

  Hunting Sagar is very dangerous; she thought; if he dies, it is Isarie's will and not mine. She turned and looked up at the tall pyramid of Arm-Ra. She saw the gleaming gold dome; the Norgonie are fools, they worship a false God. She knew this, because it was true, she also knew that the Nomads were fools for believing in Isarie. Now she understood that ALL Gods were false, all
except one.

  He is coming; she told her mind; and he will destroy all in his path.

  She looked down at the black spider in her hand, she stroked it gently and smiled, “you are the only one who speaks the truth,” she said softly.

  “Yes”, the dark spider replied, “for I know what is to come”.

  Again the Holy Mother smiled, for she knew that soon all would bow down to her, and the God that would rule, not only the forests of Caltarine but all the lands of Gorn.

  The hunters rode their Rowgors out of the great fortress, into the emerald forest. As they moved, the riders held their heads high, each one knew that some of them would not be coming back. Death was a constant companion for Outlander and Norgonie alike. They did not turn from their path, or shake in fear, rather they sang a song of past hunts and laughed in the face of destiny.

  Death waits in the forest of green.

  It comes on padded feet unseen.

  It calls us all to fight and die.

  We answer with our warrior’s cry.

  Crushing jaws and claws blood red.

  We sing our song for the coming dead.

  They rode deep into the dark woods, following a broken stone road that was covered in leaves and woodland vines. Soon that ancient byway vanished, and the great trees of Caltarine, closed in about them, like the dark hand of a giant. All about them were twisted trunks and land creepers that shut out most of the sunlight, until it appeared that it was dusk, rather than midday. Here and there, golden shafts of light thrust downward through the overhead canopy, they were the few reminders that it was daytime, but without the usual life promising warmth.

  However the deep forests of Caltarine, were bursting with life. It was a strange and twisted form that did not make the heart rejoice. The air was filled with darting birds and flying reptiles of all kinds. There was also a great number of Arrow-tails and Night-criers. Fur covered primates swung from branch to branch, emitting wild screams that sounded like a child wailing. There were colorful winged Air-floaters and Humming Bark-borers, there were no Sun-droppers, they could not see through the dense foliage, to attack their prey from high above.

  As Andra rode, she became more comfortable with her mount, soon she could control the great beast, with as much ease, as a seasoned Norgonie. She learned that they were not much different, to the big Cammolars that used to come with the traveling pleasure fairs, on her Home-world. She remembered with a smile, when her mother took her, and her brother to one. They both got to ride the huge animals, Simon cried from fear but she enjoyed herself, wishing that she could have ridden the friendly creature, all day long. Now she sat tall in her saddle, looking around at the darkening forest.

  This is a magical place; she thought; a place where all things are possible. She remembered the many stories, of haunted woods filled with witches and monsters. Her mother used to read them to her at bedtime. Little girls and boys, would often become lost in them. She also remembered that at the end of the story, a brave soldier or Prince, would rescue them, and they would spend the rest of their lives living in a great castle. They were only stories, and her Home-world, was destroyed long ago, Remembering this, she tightened her grip on her ax and scanned the dim green world about her.

  I’m not a child anymore; she thought; I am a warrior of the Madrigal.

  Arn however was eager for a fight. Maybe, it was his Outlander instincts, for battle and warfare or maybe, it was to ease the tension that had been building, ever since he looked into the green eyes of his former mate. Try as he might, he could not drive all thoughts of her, out of his mind, even now, as he looked over at her, sitting proud and unafraid, he felt stirrings in his heart.

  She is beautiful; he thought; in all the lands of Gorn, there is no one who can stand beside her. Then he remembered his promise to Andra, and knowing that he had spoken such things to his mind, made him angry. Why does my heart betray me? This was a question that he could not answer. I am King, I am the leader of the Madrigal, and I will not let my heart rule me! Telling himself so, he turned away from the woman who plagued him, thinking only of the hunt, and the blood that was to come.

  Ishea was also eager for death to come, for although she was a Queen, the fires of battle burned deep within her soul. Her heart pounded and she gripped the handle of her Kagar tightly. She listened to every sound, emanating from the forest, around her. She knew the woods well, and could distinguish one cry from another, she also knew which creature had made it, and why. Her father had taken her on her first hunt, when she was just a child, she had seen many brave warriors, fall victim to the snapping jaws of the great cats. Seeing them, torn to pieces in front of her, did not soften her longing for the chase.

  This is the best place of all; she thought; as she smelled the heavy air of the deep woods; here all things are true and there are no lies.

  Ral did not smell the air or listen to the cries of the forest beasts, he just stared at the Outlander King, squeezing the handle of his weapon in an iron like grip.

  How brave he looks; he told his vengeful mind; he has faced many foes and defeated them, he has not, faced me! As he had done so many times before, he imagined the battle with his father. He saw himself leaping, spinning, striking over and over again, until victory was his. He saw himself holding the head of his dead father in his hands and looking into his eyes; do you see me now father, do you see me now!

  Then the dream was cut short, by the loud roaring of a hungry Sagar cat.