Warrior: The War Chronicles I

by Sean Golden

  Lirak grabbed both Gawn and Jerok and said “It looks like we’re going to get two stories tonight.”

  “Well, first can we get something to eat?” Gawn asked. “We didn’t have much opportunity to feast since last night.”

  Patrik and Lirak gladly fetched them food and drink. Finally they finished.

  “Well, it all happened like this…” Gawn began, in his deep, sonorous voice. Gawn then described how their cord had gone out and they could not relight it before the men above noticed them and shot at them. They had barely time to dive out of the way when the two structures collided, and in the confusion and temporary blindness which followed, they wound up on the south side of the river, where they had to hide until the area quieted down before they managed to swim back across. It being late then, they decided to camp, and then spent the rest of the time avoiding the clumsy invaders searching the forest.

  “And now we learn that you went and had a whole new adventure while we slogged through the marshes,” Jerok said, laughing.

  “I’m just glad you’re back,” Lirak said. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”

  “Well, here we are, safe and sound” Jerok said. “And tired. It’s late, let’s all get to sleep.”

  Mayrie headed back to the women’s lean-to, and the men rolled up in their bedding and soon all were snoring.

  Discovery

  The gods can choose whom they touch, but once touched, the chosen must make their own destiny. The defeater of death must first be the defeater of his own doubts.

  – The Prophecies

  Lirak awoke in the dark. Around him he heard the steady snoring of his friends. His body told him that it was still some time until dawn. But sleep avoided him. His mind kept replaying the scenes of violence which had become the major focus of his life. He saw flaming men leaping from floating huts and sinking like stones in the Fedon River. He saw Dwon men cut down by the strange arrow-like weapons of the enemy. He saw his own arrows steal the life of men.

  He did not feel like a killer, but he knew he had become one. More than that, he had turned his own people into killers. Men who once laughed and danced in the light of festive bonfires now threw themselves into battle at Lirak’s command. And Lirak knew that the long conflict with the invaders had just begun. How many more Baxi’s would he have on his conscience before his part in this came to an end? He felt dampness on his face and wiping it off was surprised to discover that tears trickled down his face.

  With a quiet sigh, Lirak roughly rubbed his face and silently gathered up his things. Slipping like a spirit into the cool evening air, he dressed in the dark and looked up at the stars. Move, it is time, the voice in his head whispered. He felt his body moving, but his mind was focused on an urgent need to act. Never had the urges felt so strong, so overwhelming. Soon he was moving quickly north and east, heading back to the burned out remnants of Luh-Yi. A sense of anticipation was growing in his mind as he silently glided through the darkness. Somewhere in his mind he imagined he heard Mayrie’s voice calling his name, but distant, remote, as if blowing in a storm wind.

  At the edge of the forest Lirak stopped for a moment, seeing the still-standing great oak tree silhouetted against the starry sky and rising moon. The ruined hulks of Dwon huts seemed to claw at the moon, like grasping skeletal hands. Lirak felt a chill move down his back and he shuddered briefly.

  “Why here?” he wondered briefly. There was no movement in the deserted wastes. Moving forward he paused again where the old path met the village green. Here he removed his backpack and quiver and knelt down, his knees kicking up a small cloud of fine ash.

  Lirak felt a strange eagerness to reach into the quiver. Gritting his teeth, he firmly grasped the bulbous end of the gray man’s stick and pulled it out of the quiver.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed. What had been a dark and starry sky had now become a swirling sea of many colors. Red and yellow streams swirled together into great clumps. To the east a great collection of knots swarmed and pulsated like living things. Lirak stood and slowly walked toward the center of the ruins, eyes fixated on the spectacle above. The colors seemed more vibrant somehow, as if each time he used the stick, the connection between himself and the ribbons of light intensified.

  Look deeper a voice seemed to say in his mind. Reaching the center of the ruins, Lirak stopped and raised his arms toward the sky, the stick in his hand glowing and sending small swirls of color outward in a ghostly nimbus. As he raised his arms, the sky above seemed to pause for a moment, and then a rivulet of red began to spiral down toward him. Again, faintly as if from a dream, he heard Mayrie’s voice calling.

  Reach out the voice sighed. So Lirak raised the wand higher.

  Reach with your mind he heard. Feel the energy. Lirak closed his eyes and focused all of his senses on the stick. There, he realized the stick was vibrating slightly, a slight thrumming that he could barely feel at first. And it was warm, and growing warmer. Even with closed eyes he could see, or feel, the pulsating cascading colors above and around him. And they were around him now, a tornado of colors reaching down from the sky, reaching for him. His hair and skin felt tight and hot.

  Use the wand! came the thought, and he knew the stick was called a “wand.” Gather the energy, direct it and release it! Never had the thoughts in Lirak’s mind been so intense, so specific, and so urgent. He raised the wand, willing it to reach out to the descending maelstrom of blinding colors.

  And it did. Lirak’s mind snapped into the time-contracting state he was so familiar with, but more intense than usual. He watched as the wand’s nimbus merged with the swirling maelstrom and felt an immensity of power surge through his arm and body. He could feel the heat of it, and his hair stood out like porcupine quills.

  Release it, or die! The urgency was heightened, almost panicky he thought. “Release it?” he wondered? “How”? He could feel his body heating, could see the sweat evaporating from his arm. He could feel the energy boiling in, around and through him, like a rabid beast pacing in a cage. He felt himself holding that energy, riding it, being carried by it. He realized suddenly that he could die here and now, burned to a crisp by the energy flowing through him. But he felt no fear, the wonder of the moment was so great.

  The wand! Through the wand! Lirak stretched the wand-wielding hand out, and seeing a shadow ahead, he pointed the wand… and released the energy.

  Kra-BOOM! The explosion nearly deafened Lirak. The village green’s great oak was there one instant, and the next there was nothing but an expanding cloud of splinters and fire, which knocked Lirak to the ground, his head bouncing on the hard ground, and he remembered no more.

  “Lirak!” he heard Mayrie’s panicked voice. “Lirak!”

  Lirak’s head ached. His right arm felt strangely numb. The swirling colors of the sky almost hid the slow brightening of false dawn. He felt a warm wetness on his cheek and neck and pain shot through his right arm as he rose into a sitting position, sliding the wand into the lining of his moccasin. Instantly the colors all but vanished, yet not entirely. Even without the wand in his hand, Lirak could still faintly see the colors.

  “H… here” Lirak’s voice was strained and hoarse, and his hearing was off so it sounded strange.

  “Lirak?” Mayrie’s voice was closer, and then she was there, kneeling in front of him, a look of shock and horror on her face.

  “Your face! Your arm!” she said. “Lirak, are you OK?”

  “No, I don’t think I am,” Lirak said, his face and right arm were now burning with a fierce pain, and he had to fight a ringing sound in his ears to hear Mayrie speak.

  “Can you get up? Can you walk?”

  “I think so.” Lirak leaned forward and tried to push himself up with his hands, but pain shot through his right arm and shoulder and he cried out.

  “Lirak, stop!” Mayrie said. Tears were streaming down her face. “Let me help you.”

  Lirak nodded, and with Mayrie’s help he was able to get to his feet
. Lirak noticed Mayrie had his quiver and backpack over her shoulder.

  “How did you find me?” he asked, as they staggered past the broken, smoking stump that had been the great oak.

  “I followed you. I saw you leave,” she said.

  “Followed me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did,” Mayrie said. “You just kept walking. I had a hard time keeping up.” Lirak noticed then that Mayrie’s hands and forearms were scraped and bleeding.

  “You followed me?” Lirak asked again, as if he didn’t quite comprehend Mayrie’s answer. “What did you see?”

  Mayrie paused for a moment before the two of them continued forward, passing into the forest and leaving the clearing behind.

  “Shh… did you hear that?” Mayrie asked.

  “No, my hearing is … not right” Lirak answered.

  “There’s someone coming.” Mayrie’s voice was strained and panicky. “Them.”

  Lirak knew she meant the invaders, and now he too could hear the rhythmic clopping sound of the invaders’ beasts. Mayrie pressed a finger to her lips and the two continued as quickly and quietly as they could into the forest darkness, leaving the sound and clearing behind.

  After a long while Mayrie spoke.

  “I saw what you did,” she said. “You used that stick thing.”

  Lirak nodded. “Yes, I have to learn their secrets Mayrie.”

  Mayrie was silent for long moments before speaking.

  “You used it just like the gray man did,” she finally said.

  Lirak smiled grimly, which sent a spasm of pain across his face. “Not quite the same,” he said. “I only managed to nearly kill myself.”

  “You can’t do that again Lirak!” she sounded as if she were in pain herself. “You’re meddling with things you don’t understand! You’re dealing with the power of evil!”

  “I don’t think so,” Lirak replied as they walked. “I don’t think the wand is evil, it’s just a tool. The gray men put it to evil use.”

  “I don’t like it,” Mayrie insisted.

  “Well, right now I don’t think I like it much either,” Lirak laughed.

  “Don’t do it again,” Mayrie said.

  Lirak stopped and took Mayrie’s hand in his left hand. “Mayrie, I’ve told you, my path is filled with pain. Filled with death. I can’t promise you anything else. I only know that I have to do what I can to stop them.”

  Mayrie stood for a moment, then nodded. “I can’t stop you,” she said. “Let’s get you to Hetyl.”

  Lirak’s arm, shoulder and face hurt more with each passing moment. His legs seemed to be fine though, and in spite of the pain he was soon leading Mayrie back to the Dwon encampment. Finally, as dawn truly began to break, they made it back to camp, where Lirak collapsed into his bedding and passed out.

  Winter Warriors

  Everything is easier in summer.

  – Dwon oral tradition

  The first snow of winter fell on Lirak and Jerok as they lay on their bellies, looking to the south where smoke rose from a large camp. Thorn sat beside them, looking bored. Thorn was almost full-grown now and was heavier than Jerok, his body sleek and rippling with muscles. Lirak himself was broader across the shoulders and more muscular as he filled out into adulthood. Lirak was so attuned to Thorn’s presence by now that he hardly noticed the great cat unless Thorn was missing. At times it seemed that Thorn could read his mind. The Dwon raiders whispered that Thorn was Lirak’s spirit guardian and did their best to avoid him.

  The autumn leaves had fallen from most of the hardwood trees in the forest and the land was looking more bleak and barren every day. They were far to the east of the southern trail in unfamiliar territory. The invaders had long since stopped using the trail because they had lost so many men to Lirak’s raids.

  “They haven’t set guards around the carts here,” Jerok said, using the new word with an easy familiarity. “They must not have heard about us.”

  “Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lirak responded. “Only one way to find out.”

  “If they have carts, they must have a road,” Jerok said.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Lirak said. “And where there is a road, there are supplies.”

  Lirak’s wounds had healed, but his right arm was scarred from burns that even Hetyl’s poultices had been unable to prevent. His right cheek and ear still had splotchy discoloration that was only slowly fading away. But Lirak believed he had finally mastered the wand, although he kept its use a secret from all but Mayrie. His inner voice warned him not to use it against the invaders. Not yet it sighed.

  All through late summer and autumn Lirak’s group had raided the invaders. After the night of the river attack, they had moved back south again, and had developed a technique of attrition, wearing down the caravans by picking off the guards one by one, until they were few enough for Lirak’s band to attack with an assurance of victory. More of the Dwon people had joined Lirak; his band was now over fifty men, plus Mayrie and a few other Dwon women who refused to leave. They had raided caravans for several days until the invaders had doubled the guards and put one of the gray men in every caravan.

  After that, Lirak had headed back to the north where they burned down the buildings with the supplies next to the river. When the invaders sent patrols into the forest to find them, the patrols rarely came back alive. In the forest itself, Lirak was untouchable. Eventually the invaders focused on keeping the trail itself open by patrolling it with hundreds of men who tirelessly worked their way back and forth. Many of them were picked off by Lirak’s men, but the trail was kept open until near the end of autumn.

  The battle of the wall was an epic struggle that had raged for more than a full moon cycle. The invaders would blast great holes in the wall, and the two armies would clash, but each time the southerners drove the invaders back. They filled the breaches with dirt and stone using massive gangs of men. Once the dirt and stone was in place some great magic was applied which caused the dirt to be as hard as the stone overnight. In some places the wall was doubled so that the breach led only to another wall beyond the first wall, and the Hanorians trapped the invaders in the breach and decimated them. But the invaders soon learned the location of the double walls and avoided them, and the losses were absorbed as the never-ending stream of invaders filed south from the ever-present giant canoes on the Fedon River.

  During the autumn the Hanorian forces twice charged out from their own walls and tried to dislodge the invaders from their positions. Once they succeeded for a short while, but in just days the invaders were back. Lirak’s band was sometimes close enough to the wall for Lirak and Jerok to watch the battles and both learned a great deal from the observation. They watched as the invaders built huge engines that hurled stones hundreds of feet, but the stones rarely affected the walls. On the walls themselves similar machines hurled rocks onto the oncoming army with far more deadly results, but it seemed as if the deaths were simply swallowed up in the great seething mass of the invading army.

  Lirak knew that his raiding was slowing down the invaders. The small voice in his head that whispered wait was there now saying continue and he knew that his little band was keeping the battle at a stalemate, and that otherwise Hanoria may have been overrun during the long autumn and early winter. He knew that the impact they were having was multiplied by the men the invaders had to devote to searching for them and protecting the caravans, which was far greater than the number they killed. The lost supplies certainly sapped the energy of the invaders when they had too little food to eat. But by far the biggest impact of Lirak’s raids was the loss of gray men. Lirak and his band had killed more of the gray men, although they had not been able to recover any more wands or robes. Overall Lirak believed they had killed seven of the gray men, perhaps eight. Gray men now rarely ventured into the forest and were escorted by large bands of troops if they traveled anywhere. On those occasions where they watched the great conflict at the wall, they could see the power
of the gray men as they directed their devastating blasts of fire and destruction at the wall. The most they had ever seen attacking the wall was five gray men along with one man dressed in a red robe who seemed to be their leader.

  In the past days the invaders had abandoned the trail entirely. The great floating huts no longer appeared near the ruins of Luh-Yi, but stopped far to the east. Lirak had sent scouts down the river to find out where they were unloading supplies, but those had not yet returned. Lirak and his men ranged further and further east looking for the new supply line, but had not yet found it.

  Winter was settling in. The invading army had not shrunk, for every man that was killed; another arrived from their lands across the Dragon Sea. The invaders were relentless and remorseless. Somehow the carts kept rolling into the great army camps, feeding the mammoth stomach of that force. Lirak knew that if he could shut off that flow, the army could not stay and fight at the wall.

  “They won’t want to camp here for the winter,” Jerok said.

  “No, I fear they plan a final assault which will come soon,” Lirak said.

  “If they aren’t using the trail, but are using carts, the new road must be still farther to the east,” he told Jerok. Our scouts should find it soon.”

  “We need something new” Jerok said. “We need to hurt them. We need to give the southern army a chance to defeat them.”

  “We are helping them Jerok,” Lirak said with certainty. “If not for us they would have broken through the wall, I know that as surely as I know my own name. Maybe that is our role in this, to be nipping at the flanks just enough to keep them from defeating the southerners and taking over the entire world.”

  “It isn’t enough,” Jerok said. “We lose men too. We have lost many good men, and some are saying to no purpose. They are away from wives and loved ones, while your lover rides with you.”