The Kakos Realm Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

Kevin finally joined his friends and they ambled across the grassy field. The village’s edge drew closer and noise from the town became noticeable, although muddled. Somehow, the sounds felt off. Jorge, the one who was the most attuned to that sort of thing, seemed agitated by the seeming wrongness of it.

  A pillar of black smoke erupted on the far side of the city and the trumpet split the air. The sounds may have been wrong for a city, but they were accurate for a skirmish. The horn's battle cry went up again and was taken up by another, positioned close to the Christians who stood fixed firmly in place, trying to ascertain what was happening.

  The sound of rapid hoof-strikes on hardened earth echoed over the city’s edge. A lone horseman galloped in full route; his course would take him directly past the Christians in a matter of seconds.

  Another sound rumbled: a dull roar resonating and then revealed itself. Pony-drawn wagons angling for an intercept course on the rider. Accompanying the wagons and pulling ahead of the pack were single horsemen. With lighter loads, they would surely catch the escapee.

  As the fleeing horseman rode by in a flash, Kevin and the rider made eye contact. It was Havara! His eyes widened in surprise as they met friendly faces. The prince of Gleend, an acquaintance of Kevin, was in obvious trouble.

  It was clear that Havara's pursuit had no qualms about burning an entire village. Volleys of flaming arrows flew through the sky, launched by archers on the war carts dragged by the ponies. Firebrands landed atop the thatched rooftops of Sprazik.

  Havara’s horse pulled around as he circled back to his Christian friends. The prince’s pursuit began taking identifiable shape in the shrinking span between them. Dwarves drove the pony-drawn wagons. The single horses that drew dangerously close were piloted by elves; each one jockeyed with the others to score the killing blow against the brother of Gleend’s monarch.

  It was clear that Havara could not outrun his pursuit. Finally close enough to see it, his horse looked old and decrepit, not the norm for the prince who had always been so immaculately adorned. The old nag had obviously been the only available beast, indicating his hasty escape. Havara stopped his horse and dropped to the ground amongst his friends.

  “I am very glad to see you, my friends. Hopefully, it is not the last thing that we all do,” the prince said.

  “Not to worry,” said Jorge. He tossed aside his over-sized cloak. “None of us will die here today. We will protect you”

  The elven riders closed the gap as the angel drew an immense blade into existence out of nothingness. The holy sword blazed with a cerulean flame. Jorge spread his wings outward to greet the challengers and then rushed into action.

  Spinning like a bladed whirlwind, he dodged the enemies’ attacks and simultaneously countered with his own. His fluid motions came like a blur and the angel destroyed the front line of the mounted ekthro. The elves’ mounts carried them forward with such incredible momentum that they could not stop until they fell upon the ground split into heaps of flesh and no longer a threat.

  With his friends out of immediate danger, Jorge shot off like a flash. A fiery, azure streak followed him as he charged the inbound dwarves at super-human speed, tracing a tail to indicate the angel’s path against the incoming dwarven battlewagons. Again, his blue flaming blade divided joint and bone faster than the enemy could react.

  Dwarven carriages collapsed in dusty clouds and mounds of debris as Jorge eliminated that threat as well. Yokes of ponies, suddenly separated from their burden, bucked and ran wildly, passing the Christians and fleeing into the distance.

  As the angel returned to the group, Havara explained what had transpired.

  “We expected the Luciferian's would stir up an attack against us,” Havara told Kevin, “but it did not come from them—the humans of the Order never even looked at us crossly. My brother, King Lo-Sonom was meeting with a Luciferian leader in his throne room at a public audience. He boldly proclaimed his faith to the God Yahweh who opposes the Luciferian doctrines; the monk could not even react before the enemy broke the doors down and ekthroic marauders attacked. They killed my brother and the Luciferian, too… and all the others in the hall. I tried to save my family, but Lo-Sonom's wives and children were already dead by the time I got to their home—I barely got out alive, through the laundry systems.

  “The assassins included only dwarves and elves. None of the Gleendish humans were amongst them. They pursued me all night and I tried to find rest and shelter here in Sprazik—to find you, Kevin, but they tracked me here, and now my fellow humans suffer.”

  Nipanka drew his own spiritual sword. “Well, let’s see if there is anything we can do in their defense.”

  The others nodded their assents and they entered the town. More horn blasts blew from the far side of Sprazik. Assassins signaled their companions, inquiring for a position. When the call went unanswered, the Christians assumed they must have suspected an unlikely defeat.

  Jorge led them through the streets on high alert. Damage to the town was absolute; foundation and walls cracked under the heat of burning structural timber. Flames billowed from rooftops making the sky became a canopy of smoke and soot. In the coming days, nothing would remain but ash. Bodies lay strewn about wherever they had fallen, murdered as the ekthro rampaged in a mad search for Havara.

  Kevin sequestered his companions. He pushed through a partially blocked door and entered a deserted storage building which verged on collapse.

  Havara stated the obvious, “We will need to find out who is still alive and organize some sort of resistance. First and foremost, we need intelligence.”

  “First and foremost we will need guidance,” Kevin pointed out warmly and pointed skyward. The minister bowed his head and grabbed the hands of those nearest to him. He prayed audibly for provision and protection, for the lost men of Sprazik as well as his Christian companions on the outskirts. As he began, a gentle rain began falling from the sky; it dampened the soot and quenched the flames that fed on the buildings.

  The Christians remained in prayer as Jorge ducked through the threshold of the door. Havara, anxious and distracted, found it difficult to focus and watched as the angel spread his wings and leapt skyward.

  From his vantage point high above, Jorge could see everything with his eagle-sharp eyes. A relatively small band of trackers and warriors were all that opposed them. They were not prepared for a siege or even a massacre; these assassins were only interested in their quarry, Havara. The biggest weapon oppressing Sprazik had been fear and surprise.

  Jorge watched the remaining troops as they left the far side of town, rejoining the rest of their ranks on the town’s far outskirts. About thirty strong, they were an odd combination of dwarves and elves.

  Last to rejoin the group was an elf who appeared to be their lead tracker. From their body language, he must’ve told them that Havara had escaped. The lead dwarf seemed startled as the report continued. Jorge grimaced; they must’ve discovered the Christian group and probably assumed that they’d offered aid. The stocky dwarf’s head jerked towards the camp’s direction.

  Jorge knew that they would soon mobilize with bad intentions. It was up to him to prevent any further damage to the city or his friends. Protecting Kevin and his flock was his divinely appointed task.

  The angel shouted a high-pitched call in a heavenly language. Almost instantly Kyrius was in the air and at his side with a flaming sword at the ready. They flew in tandem as wingmates who had flown together for centuries. Their speed and grace surpassed songbirds at play. They flew in and out of each other's flight path, spiraling in randomly arcing patterns.

  Ekthroic bowmen indiscriminately let loose with their arrows; none of them could estimate where they might go and arrows flew wide. None hit their marks and in seconds the angels closed the gap between parties. They split their intertwining pattern; each breaking to the outside of the attacker's group, they came in on strafing attack vectors. Swooping down upon their enemies, sapphire
flames trailed behind the winged beings like the tails of comets that crissed and crossed paths through the middle of the fray.

  Sharper-than razors, the edged blades efficiently tore through the first line of assassins. As they swooped around for a second strike the resolve of the dwarves and elves shattered and they fled for their lives.

  Both angels took to the sky and Kyrius peeled off to return to the campsite for help.

  Jorge returned to report to Kevin. The threat had been neutralized and there was an immediate need in the town for medical treatment. Kyrius would bring support and soon. Jorge and the others began searching out and tending to the wounded even as more Christians arrived to join their mercy efforts in the town.

  ***

  Night drew on and covered the realm with a blanket of darkness.

  Rashnir sat at his campfire with Zeh-Ahbe’ and Sim-khaw’. He and Zeh-Ahbe’ had diligently listened to the outsider’s tale of what had happened in the kil-yaw’, the governing council of werewolves, since the excommunication of Zeh-Ahbe’s clan.

  Sim-khaw’ led the lycan tribe Zaw-nawb’, which had become the lowest in the pecking order following the Say-awr’s departure. When Zeh-Ahbe’s tribe chose to follow the way of Christ, they surrendered their powers and werewolf abilities, trading them for an even greater glory.

  The Say-awr' had been the lowest caste in the kil-yaw' until they were voted to-ay-baw', a kind of excommunication. Only Sim-khaw' had hesitated in voting against the tribe, condemning his peers as anathema.

  Nine of the original eleven tribes remained. Two tribes in the history of the kil-yaw’ had been cast off through to-ay-baw’ in their long history. While the Say-awr’ chose their God over the rule of the kil-yaw’, the Shaw-than’ had chosen to become servants of the vampires who corrupted them and twisted them to their own means.

  “You must return to the kil-yaw’,” again pleaded Sim-khaw’.

  “You ask the impossible,” replied Zeh-Ahbe’. “To-ay-baw’ is final and complete. There is no returning to the kil-yaw’. Even if we wanted, we would be attacked for simply drawing too near it.”

  “But what if I advocate for your return. Perhaps I could convince others on the council to vote for a reinstatement.”

  “Sehkel-saykel himself said—”

  “Sehkel-saykel is dead. Mil-khaw-mah’ killed him and now commands the kil-yaw’.”

  The statement rocked Zeh-Ahbe’ back. For many decades the wise, old leader of the Ahee-sthay-tay’-ree-on had guided the kil-yaw’. He had been a respected figurehead by all tribe leaders… except for the bellicose Mil-khaw-mah’.

  “Mil-khaw-mah' usurped him. He has ordered all tribes to tsawkhak. Something sinister is happening and the rest of us have been beaten into submission by the stronger tribes. We need the strength of numbers.”

  “There has not been tsawkhak in three generations,” Zeh-Ahbe’ pondered the implications. Tsawkhak was a state of constant tribal orgy meant to cause an influx of new offspring. The normal breeding constraints were removed and during tsawkhak each werewolf was ordered to steal additional mates from the local communities; it was only during tsawkhak that outsiders could gain entrance into the primitive, but powerful culture. Historically, it had been used to boost the numbers of troops available for war and domination; the Ahee-sthay-tay’-ree-on had used it only to counter the death toll wreaked on them by a devastating plague so many years ago. “If Mil-khaw-mah’ has instituted tsawkhak, then he must intend for carnage.”

  “Our leaders are divided,” said Sim-khaw’. “Some of us want war, some of us don’t, but most of us secretly agree that Mil-khaw-mah’s leadership will destroy us all. He has violated many of the rules instituted by the temperate Ahee-sthay-tay’-ree-on. Mil-khaw-mah’ took the Say-awr’ scald and has demoted the weakest from many tribes, many of them from the Zaw-nawb’, recreating the lost Say-awr’ tribe by forcing others into it, though he has not done the same for the Shaw-than’. Their scald was lost millennia ago.”

  Zeh-Ahbe’ merely bit his lip. It grieved his heart with a kind of patriotic nationalism—but his allegiance to God remained greater.

  “Mil-khaw-mah’ claims that the Ahee-sthay-tay’-ree-on corrupted the kil-yaw’ and that we must return to our vicious roots,” Sim-khaw’ continued. “We do not know where he is getting the information that he brings to the kil-yaw’; none of us have heard these things that he claims. He also says that the Say-awr’ have regained their ability to shapeshift.”

  “Yes, that part is true—”

  “Then why can you not return to the kil-yaw’?”

  “Because my people and I would never accept its command over our lives; we respect only Yahweh as our ultimate guide. The kil-yaw’ could never accept anything but absolute rule.”

  “But there are many others, also, who do not agree with Mil-khaw-mah’s war-some spirit. Many of our kind wish to see his leadership supplanted.”

  “No, Sim-khaw’, there is more to it than that,” said Zeh-Ahbe’. “We have found contentment and peace in the power of God.”

  The werewolf offered a blank stare in reply. Sim-khaw’ could not fathom the concepts Zeh-Ahbe’ tried to introduce.

  “I will show you what I mean, stay with us a while. Sit and listen to our teachings and beliefs.”

  Sim-khaw’ reluctantly nodded his head, agreeing to a short stay. He came seeking aide to an immediate problem, one that tied into Zeh-Ahbe’s roots, but the Say-awr’ had found a solution to even greater problems.

  ***

  Several days of chaos had passed in the city of Xorst since the murder of King Lo-Sonom. His gentle way and blatant wisdom had intrigued and inspired many during his lifetime, but his death sparked a new wave of hostility. Citizens reverted back to old grumblings and arguments; racial disputes exploded in every city block. Gleend had always remained a carefully balanced conglomerate of races. Removing the monarchy revealed just how fragile that cohabitation was. The social system crumbled in the absence of any heir apparent.

  A Gleendish advisory parliament convened to try coping with the boiling tension. With racial war spilling out in the capital’s streets and anarchy running unchecked, most of the local guards walked off—the king was dead and nothing bound the men, elves, and dwarves to service without him. Hard decisions needed to be made. Only the advisory council could quell the unrest.

  In truth, they had no true political power. The advisory parliament only advised the king, but with the entire royal line executed, and the country plunged into disarray, they remained the last bastion of a thousand years of peace between elves, dwarves, and men.

  Mar’zal, the elven head had disappeared several days ago and so an elf named Elo’misce was called to step into his role. Her people had put her on the council to try and hold her back from acquiring real power. She had been too ambitious, like many of her kind, and parliament was often where dreams went to die.

  Before her appointment to the advisory parliament, Elo’misce was governor of an elven town on the east side of the country, Thanda. Her ilk had thought her too aggressive in her rulings against outsiders; certain elves wanted to keep the peace and balance in the racially mixed country.

  Elo’misce grinned as she walked into the chamber. Her time had finally come and her enemies had given her the tools to prosper her people, and her own as well

  Racial hatred underpinned everything in Gleend. It had wormed its way through elven and dwarven culture for generations with toxic levels of unspoken resentment. It even riddled the council halls.

  All signs pointed to one race emerging dominant above the others. Elo’misce wanted nothing more than to expel the other races from the land, or better yet, to slaughter them wholesale and make Gleend an elven nation.

  The wry elf took her seat and watched a human and a wrinkly, old dwarf nearly fall to blows. Even now, when the council needed peace and levity to survive, they were at each other’s throats, insulting each other and d
redging up old disputes.

  Elo’misce grinned. Especially now, they had the power and potential to change things, fix the country, create unity—but that was the furthest from what she wanted. She craved blood in the streets. Elo’misce smiled as Bwar, the dwarven head, and Lemant, his human counterpart cursed each other by every thinkable power.

  Elo'misce joined the heated debate. “I think that Bwar is right, at least in part,” she maneuvered. “For a long time, humans have provided headship over the three races. Perhaps it is time for a change.”

  Lemant countered her claim, “Mankind wields the throne because it was our ancestors who formed this country, let me remind you. We invited your kinds here to coexist with us in unity; it was ours to begin with and your lands are really only on loan.”

  The elven politician stared down her nose at him disdainfully. “I believe in our unity,” she lied. “For a long while we have cohabited in peace. The wisdom of your ruler, the monarchy that held the balance in check for so many generations, has dissipated. You no longer have any solid excuse to occupy the throne without that bloodline; if it is wisdom that dictates our ruler, why not enthrone a being with a longer lifespan, one that will bring more experience and knowledge to their leadership.”

  “I know what you would seek to do, Elo'misce,” spat Bwar. “You want to put your own rear on that throne and lord above us all. Her claim is only partly relevant. A leader that is too long-lived could easily become a despot, tyrannically lording over us all. The middle ground is best: install a dwarf. We are long-lived and yet still mortal in nature.”

  Things were breaking down. Humanity had become overlooked entirely. The dwarves and elves already decided one of their kind would rule. The only question was which of the two races? If the brewing cold war was decided by politics, the key would be bending the will of men, the third race… and still, nobody knew the details of the assassination. All witnesses had been murdered!

  Elo'misce discounted Bwar's claims and pressed her point further. “The humans have excluded us for as long as they have ruled, treating us as second-class citizens. Even your Luciferian religion has kept us in a lower rank, excluding us because of our heritage and creation.”