“You seem quite well informed,” commented Shimza.
Vil-yay pulled a sleeve back from his forearm, revealing a few more tattoos. The caged warrior raised an eyebrow. “You are a mythos-keeper,” he read the werewolf’s designation within his tribe. “I see by your marks that you are also an accomplished warrior.”
“I once might have been. But even the strongest of us Say-awr’ were regarded as lower than the weakest of other tribes. These signs mean nothing to us anymore. The Say-awr’ have left the Kil-yaw’.”
The old man raised an eyebrow at the statement. “Nonetheless, you could come in handy to our cause,” said Fixxer. “We intend to clean out that nest of undead vermin.” He nodded towards High-Town. “They’re up to something in there. I don’t care so much what they’re doing as long as we get our bounty, and the chance to test out some of my new inventions. We will certainly cut you into our profits for any… assistance.” The old man rattled the wrought iron.
“We care little for profits,” said Werthen, “but we can certainly release you.”
“Well, we care,” the old man piped.
“Really,” Shimza disagreed with him. “You were thinking about profits when we were turning free those workers and organizing a rebellion in the slave quarters?”
Fixxer scowled. “Means to an end,” he tried to downplay his empathy. “Besides, some things are just plain right to do.”
Werthen smiled. “We can help you in more ways than one, I think. Let me tell you about our mission, now. I think that we could certainly benefit from each other and reclaim Granik High-Town together.”
***
Against the dim backdrop of candlelight, grr’Shaalg contacted his brother, the king in name only. The qâsam glowed faintly in his hands as he activated it and waited for a response.
After a short while, just before his patience dissipated, tyr-aPt responded to the call. The subterranean ruler held the communicator at arm’s length as he bowed to his master.
[Report to me,] grr’Shaalg commanded.
[Yes, brother,] intoned the king. [Your chosen envoy is performing well. Griq’nnr is a capable and adept creature. He has already toured seven of the other nine kingdoms and brought them relief from the anthrofusis virus.]
[Excellent,] a grin crept across his twisted face. [Then I expect that a growing number of the faithful are finding their way to the path?]
[Absolutely. Griq’nnr’s nawchash-empowered toqeph is quite impressive. The signs and wonders he performs would have convinced some of them even if they didn’t have ulterior motives. Many pledge faithful allegiance to the new doctrines that he brings. There have been other goblins with arcane skill, but he seems to be especially powerful when it comes to the magic arts.]
grr’Shaalg bobbed his head. [I handpicked him for this assignment. He was one of those initial goblins trained by Zilke, the dead priest’s plaything. It should come as no surprise that Griq’nnr excels, considering his genetics.]
[He is one of yours?] asked tyr-aPt. His voice conveyed surprise. [I thought we had decided not to let our situation repeat itself.]
[That had always been the plan. Other than this one, I have devoured all of my other progeny at birth. This one eluded me for many years and I did not know he existed until he had already made his own name. It wasn’t until after I assigned him to Zilke’s clique of trainees that I learned of his heritage. By the time I discovered it, much training had already been invested into him. I thought it wasteful at that point to do the obvious.]
Looking skeptical, grr’Shaalg assured tyr-aPt, [Should the need arise, I could consume him any time that I want. And you would do well to remember that; the same applies to you, brother.]
Through the seeing stone, tyr-aPt bowed his head in submission. Neither addressed whether or not Griq’nnr knew his lineage. [Your plan truly is genius,] he said, shifting the mood.
[I know it is. I will soon reach the pinnacle: become the most powerful being in existence. Not even the combined power of the demonic overlords and their hordes will able to stop the unified forces of swarming goblins… not when I am through with them. Goblins shall rule in the depths, across the surface, and atop the heights of Paradise.
[Even now Griq’nnr trades the katadoolu serum, respite from the anthrofusis symptoms, for the allegiance of our brethren masses. He sets up places of Luciferian worship and installs goblin shamans to lead the ceremonies. The shamans, meanwhile, proliferate our plague while manufacturing the katadoolu. Every two or three days the anthrofusis will flare up without refreshed administration.
[The kings of the land will no longer be deified by their subjects. And if kings are no longer looked at as minor gods, then it will be easier to tear men away, to unify them behind one flag: Luciferianism.
[Of course, Absinthium wants this… and we will bide our time until the perfect opportunity strikes. We will plan for that right moment. Once we have allied ourselves with enough of brother races we will spring our trap: the xenocide of mankind. We will unite the ekthro and overthrow mankind, leaving only the children of Lucifer’s true heritage. Using both religion and addiction we will conquer even our allies.
[Once the numbers of man have diminished, the magic leylines will grow weak and brittle and the power of the demons will fail.]
[Won’t Griq’nnr and our shamans need the leylines?]
grr’Shaalg responded with a cock-eyed grin. His brother didn’t always keep up on the details so he was glad he’d tracked him. [We will have stockpiled all available sources of the rare nawchash and equipped our forces with it. Goblin kind will rise above all; my fist will shatter the gathering and my falchion will slay my enemies. I—and my allies—we will sit in the thrones of Babel. You and I, brother, we will rule.]
[Truly you are the Shadow King, grr’Shaalg. Our kingdom would have long ago faltered under Nvv-Fryyg’s reign had it not been for your devious mind.]
[I am aware,] he bragged. grr’Shaalg boasted openly to his brother because there was no other being he could do so with. The goblin’s pride compelled him to gloat about his plans, and he could not do so to any other. No other creature could be guaranteed to maintain the Shadow King’s confidence.
[Now, I must go.] grr’Shaalg looked away from the stone. [Absinthium’s qâsam is calling. Something is happening. Some kind of major operation is underway, one that temporarily requires a heavy amount of our warriors.]
[The krist-chin threat?] tyr-aPt asked. But grr’Shaalg did not answer him. Instead, he severed the connection and retrieved his other, pulsating jewel.
Slightly distorted, the archmage's grim face appeared within the facets of the gem. “Gather the troops that you promised to prepare,” he commanded. “It is time.”
***
Rashnir sat in a cluster of folks near a smoldering campfire. He led a discussion with the new converts from Schworick. As he directed the flow of the question and answer period, he noticed his werewolf friend also engaged in an intense conversation across the way. Zeh-Ahbe’ tried to enlighten Sim-khaw’, but every time they spoke, it seemed something drove them further apart than ever. They could barely find common ground on the basic definition of terms, as if they no longer spoke the same language.
Focused on his own talk, Rashnir remained unaware of the lycans’ conversation. The converted warrior explained to them what it meant to be Christ-like in the face of a world dedicated to their destruction.
“What it means to me,” he said, “is simply following the master. I am a pretty simple man. Many of you know my history—tales of my former life. To be a great warrior you must train a great deal. When I trained, I copied my teacher’s movements and followed his instructions. That is how it is for us, too.
“As we follow the instructions of our Lord and follow in what He did, try to be like Him, we will eventually train our lives to resemble His. This is the process He called sanctification; it means no longer being like the rest of the realm and l
ike other people but instead being more like Jesus.”
Rashnir continued speaking, answering individual questions to the best of his knowledge and ability. While he did so, he kept a wary eye on his friend. As his session wound to a close, Sim-khaw’ walked away, looking disappointed, upset even.
Zeh-Ahbe’ met up with Rashnir when Yavim took over, offering a new perspective from his personal life.
Jibbin chased another boy, playing in the grass just beyond the collection of adults. As soon as Rashnir was away from the crowd the child immediately pounced on the ranger. Rashnir warrior scooped him up and absent-mindedly swung him around, entertaining the child while he carried a conversation with his friend.
“I don’t know what it is, why I can’t get through to him,” Zeh-Ahbe’ lamented.
“Don’t take the blame for this yourself,” cautioned Rashnir. “Faith and understanding are decisions that only he can make.”
Zeh-Ahbe’ grimaced. “I think that Sim-khaw’ has great motivation, but a wrong perspective. I can only admire that he acts in the interest of his whole tribe, even the entire Kil-yaw’, in his effort to discover the root of our power. That interest in power, though, is still holding him back. He pursues the truth too broadly; he cannot see that it is found in a person, Christ, and not merely some totem or thing to be acquired and used.”
“He is pursuing the power and not the person of Christ?”
“Exactly,” sighed Zeh-Ahbe’. “I am afraid that we continually run into the same walls. If he cannot come to grips with the Truth soon, I fear that he will give up and harden his heart to it.”
Their conversation halted as Rashnir did a double-take towards the town of Schworick.
Zeh-Ahbe’ turned to search out whatever held his friend’s attention so raptly.
Rashnir set Jibbin on the ground. “Go find Haisauce,” he told him. Jibbin stubbornly stood his ground for a moment. “Now,” said Rashnir, “I will be alright, but I need you to go. Stay with him until I come get you.”
The little boy ran off through the clusters of adults, pausing to look back apprehensively. The child hated abandoning his guardian. Though he knew Rashnir was more than capable, Jibbin’s fear that he would lose another family ran deep.
Three women, all dressed as professional warriors, walked towards the Christians’ campground. Their faces were hard and fearless as they approached; their attention seemed fixed upon Rashnir and their hands flexed around drawn weapons as they met his gaze. There was no hiding, and running did not seem to a wise option.
Slowly and reluctantly, Rashnir walked out to meet them. Zeh-Ahbe’ caught up and flanked him, inviting himself along. “Woman trouble?” he jokingly asked.
“Big time.”
The women, whose names he had learned were Ly’Orra, Ri’Aqua, and Shi’Nala, each held swords in practiced grips. They were well prepared for a fight if one presented itself.
Zeh-Ahbe’ sniffed and wrinkled his nose as the two parties closed upon each other. He asked, “‘Ãbêdâh?”
Rashnir nodded. “Yup, and that's gonna make things tough. If she wants a fight, right here and now, I am afraid I may have to kill her.” He frowned at the comment. He really did hate being forced to take lives—that was the past he’d left behind when Kevin showed him the meaning of Truth. Rashnir prayed silently as the distance between the parties shrank to nothing.
The five people came together, but blades did not clash. Shi’Nala placed a hand on Ly’Orra and stayed her comments. Shi’Nala stepped into the foreground as Ly’Orra scowled at her.
“Rashnir of Grinden,” she queried, “may we have a word with you?”
He was almost dumbfounded. Rashnir expected more unprovoked and random attacks, not pleas for a rational conversation. “By all means,” he guessed by Ly’Orra’s grimace that this woman was not her friend. “My ears are open, Shi’Nala.”
Shi’Nala’s eyebrows rose with unguarded surprise. She had no idea where he might have heard her name. He had only recently discovered that information by eavesdropping in the temple.
“My companions and I do not see eye to eye on all things. One thing, in particular, are the interests of Ly'Orra's sister, Queen Ly’Neesa. I am Shi’Nala,” she formally introduced herself, “Executor to the Queen. I represent a limited extension of her power and will.”
“Queen of where?” inquired Zeh-Ahbe’. “I am not familiar with your people.”
“Nor I,” added Rashnir.
“We Ziphans,” she said plainly, “have been ruled by a queen ever since our inception. The first queen, Ly’Mara, founded our country with other warrior women who based its structure on honor and the rule of female superiority.”
“Zipha? I’ve never heard of there being a free people living in Zipha.”
“We are a remote group,” Shi’Nala told him, “the people of the treetops. We claim ancestral ownership of the country; it was ours to begin with and we still own it. It does not belong to the trolls and ogres who abuse the land and harvest mankind for slave labor. They are a curse from fates long past.”
“Fate?”
“Yes, Fate. It is the predestined outcome of every event, a very god in its own right.”
“I think that you have a skewed sense of theology.”
“I am not here to debate semantics with you, Rashnir,” interjected Shi’Nala. “I come with a request on behalf of my queen.”
Ly’Orra exhaled loudly, interjecting her displeasure at the conversation. Shi’Nala glared at her.
“So there are free people in Zipha,” interrupted Zeh-Ahbe’. He could hardly believe it. Having traveled abroad, he had never imagined anything other than trolls and ogres inside its boundaries.
“We live constantly on guard from the threat of our neighbors. It is our belief that we are being tested by fate. Once, our borders could barely contain our people, but that was millennia ago. Over the years, we kept losing a battle of attrition against the trolls that attacked our defenses. As time went on and our people wore down, we began to realize that fate had predestinated for us the state we are in now. We also believe that we are on the cusp of a new takeover, that our warrior women will overtake the threats and that Zipha will again be a strong nation.”
“You had a request,” Rashnir commented, not paying particular attention to the sales pitch for a Ziphan vacation.
“Yes, I do. I have watched you through our last few encounters. In addition to your martial prowess, you have demonstrated honor and nobility. For my part, I have been instructed to seek out honorable mates for Queen Ly’Neesa, in addition to supervising her sister.”
This time, it was Rashnir’s eyebrows that rose in surprise. “I am being asked to marry the queen?”
“Marry? What a silly idea. No, you may be chosen as a candidate for breeding stock. You, along with other qualified candidates, will be selected by the Queen or her noblewomen for breeding and romantic purposes. You will be given a salary, citizenship almost equal to a noblewoman’s, and enjoy all of the pleasures that such a duty entails.”
Rashnir rocked back on his heels at the reality of the suggestion. Zeh-Ahbe’ put a firm hand on his shoulder. “My friend, do not even entertain the thought. The end of your path does not lie in Zipha.”
He looked his companion in the eye. Zeh-Ahbe’ was right, of course. That road could not coexist with his calling and the Lord’s leading.
“I apologize, but I must decline,” Rashnir agreed. “What you ask of me would tear me away from my path and purpose. Please, let me tell you what I have come to believe—the thing that now guides my life.”
“No,” said Ly'Orra as she stepped forward. “Let me tell you something. My destiny lays standing over your corpse. I will complete my Pawar; I will keep my honor and I will have your death.”
“Pawar?”
“It is our sacred tradition that keeps our lines of succession free from entanglements,” Ri’Aqua explained. “After the firstb
orn of the queen reaches a healthy, safe age of breeding, the others within the immediate royal line pursue the Pawar: the pursuit of glory and death in battle, seeking a name amongst the stars and accumulating glory until their fate takes them. They seek out and conquer as many notable warriors as possible in personal combat until…”
“Until?” Zeh-Ahbe’ pressed.
“Until fate happens… the inevitable.”
“I think,” Shi’Nala slid in coyly, “that Ly’Orra might desire you for herself and that is why she seethes so. She wants to destroy you because she could never have you for herself, except in battle.”
Ly’Orra’s jaw dropped agape as she turned to the other woman. She levied a harsh slap across Shi’Nala’s face. The Queen’s executor took the full brunt of the blow as if she had expected it—even deserved it.
Shi’Nala did not retaliate; there was no need. In the end, Shi’Nala would live, return to Zipha, and bear children. Ly’Orra would not. Shi’Nala smiled even as her cheek glowed red from the strike.
“You are my next mark, Rashnir,” said the doomed warrior. “My chosen bard has already begun composing the next verse of my Pawar.”
Ri’Aqua nodded at the comment.
By now, a crowd had begun to form behind Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’. The curious onlookers had formed a semi-circle as they tried to make sense of angry woman and the murderous situation.
“She will kill you,” Shi’Nala said matter-of-factly, “unless you choose my option. Come to us. You can be a boon to the people of Zipha and father many prosperous and successful daughters.”
Ly’Orra shoved Shi’Nala. “Do not force my hand. His mind is made up, as is mine. He is next in my Pawar.”
“If that is how it must be, Ly’Orra,” said Rashnir. “Shall we go to blows right here?”
She addressed the situation, took in the crowd. It was full of children and beginning to press in on all sides. This was not an optimal field of combat.
“No. I will not fight you again today. But beware; I will strike when the opportunity suits me.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 72