Chapter 21.
Thu’Ra did not need to be woken, he watched endlessly throughout the early hours for the first signs of light to split the horizon. He never slept the night before an invasion, apprehension made sure of that. Before the calm was disturbed he exited Imr’As’ domain. He was geared for combat, donning a lightweight golden sheet that covered his vitals, all be it lightly. Thick skins covered his legs. He kept his arms free. Kotu’s pendant hung down over his protection, resting dormant against his chest.
The giant carried a colossal hammer, its handle made of solid wood that weighted it greatly. Its head was made from pure orichalcum. He could swing the weapon with utmost precision, tirelessly. The enormous mallet had been handed down to him from Atl’As upon the eve of his first venture in search of orichalcum, it caused shock amidst the kings of his people though each came quickly to respect Thu’Ra after proving himself over and over again to his nation.
The giant made haste across the beaches of the northern shores. Campfires were strewn out endlessly throughout the encampment which had trebled in size upon arrival of the first chosen’s troops. Twenty thousand Atlanteans stood at his command, the largest force of men he had ever known.
Chosen, he nodded at those who called his title, looking relentlessly through the crowds in search of Emak’Rus.
“Where does Emak’Rus rest?” At last he resolved to ask a band of males.
“This way, chosen, at the heart of our first encampment.” Thu’Ra nodded and followed the slender warrior but a short distance. Sat around a raging fire rested Emak’Rus, and a number of other men. Upon sight of the first chosen he dropped to one knee and his peers followed.
“There is no need, brothers, in arms we are equals.” Whilst they nodded with respect, Thu’Ra noticed the firelight dancing off a number of reflections. Around the men rest weapons he was unfamiliar with, though he made a quick assumption as to their origins.
“These are the weapons of our enemy?” Emak’Rus stood up grasping one of the short slim shards of metal, he stepped forward presenting it.
“An incredible design, chosen, we believe the material to be a bronze, hardened unlike anything my men know of,” he looked around briefly at the scattered weaponry, “here,” the stocky male reached down and grasped at a second weapon, “this one retains its sharp edge.”
Thu’Ra seized it, looking upon the blade with great intrigue. With the lightest touch he pressed his thumb against its edge and immediately recoiled as it pierced his skin. “Incredible, isn’t it?” Emak’Rus looked up at Thu’Ra.
“Chosen?”
“How primitive you describe these people’s home to be, yet their weaponry makes ours look like our nation is merely in its infancy.”
“These are primitive, warlike people, chosen, they are nothing alike to us.” The giant nodded repeatedly.
“Perhaps so, still, they should not be underestimated. It’s clear they excel on the battlefield.” This time Emak’Rus nodded, continuing to gaze up at his leader. For some moments the chosen stared at his dim reflection in the bronze edge. Emak’Rus watched the giant’s eyebrows briefly rise and fall, as though a thought had just been concluded or suggested to himself, then he spoke up. “Prepare your men to march, Emak’Rus, do not sound any horns until you have first heard my own being blown. I do not wish to alert anyone to our actions.” Emak’Rus nodded again.
“As you command, chosen.” At that moment a freezing wind cut through the encampment reminding Thu’Ra just how cold it was upon these shores. Passing over, from above, it seemed the clouds had dropped at once all their contents, as a gusting flurry of snowflakes swept across the northern shoreline.
The Echoes of Solon Page 33