by Ben Marshall
“You cannot slay him anyway, because he has the power to heal.”
“I have been told you have not seen him for three summers, and powers like the one you speak of are fleeting. They are not the powers of a god, but the powers of a demon, and so they can only have been given as either a gift from another demon or as a punishment for betraying the blessing presented by his God. How do you know he still holds the power? How do you know that you cannot kill him without having tried to break the Ancient Law?”
“I do not know if he still has the power, only that any attempt to wound him and end his attacks was undone by his healing when last I faced him.” Both Eraniel and Hessani were on their feet, the latter many centimetres shorter than his captive yet far less placid, if the burning fury in his eyes was to be believed.
“We attack at dawn, as the light of the Sky God reveals the foe that was protected by his wife who hides in the night.”
***
September 22nd, 1190
The warriors had been marching silently since dusk, their gait as deliberate and effective as the lope of the wolf, covering the rolling plains of North Barid with untiring swiftness. Eraniel could barely keep up with the hunters, his lifestyle totally inadequate for such exertions, and his chest was heaving heavily and noisily with each step he took behind the black-skinned nomads. Soon Hessani moved towards him from his place at the head of his warriors, a look of anger and superiority upon his face.
“Such noise will alert your foe to us before the Sky God can shine again.”
“I cannot be blamed for not being able to move as your people do.”
“No, but you can be blamed for not trying. Mortal warriors cannot cover such distances as we must by their own powers, yet you can see that we are doing so though none of my hunters are more than the mortal creations of the Gods that use us as vessels. My hunters do so because they ask the earth beneath them for the strength to pass across him, and in his compassion he allows us to while we acknowledge that he has given us such a gift. Listen.” The final word was accompanied by a sweep of his hand, and Eraniel glanced at the almost invisible forms of the tribesmen, and he heard the soft moaning chant that filled the night air as they passed.
“Ask Father Earth to give you such strength, and while you acknowledge his blessing the best you can he shall not spurn your request.” With that the leader of the hunters indicated that his unlikely ally should copy his movements, and bent so that he could place the palm of his left hand against the ground he had been standing upon. A soft moan escaped his lips as he swirled his fingers in small spirals across the surface, the volume undulating yet always holding a deep tone that seemed to reverberate from all around him. Eraniel tried to imitate the fellow leader but his own voice sounded harsh and guttural by comparison, yet Hessani ignored the fact and continued to moan for a couple more minutes before changing to a rhythmic hum that sounding as if a sleeping swarm of bees was close by. The ritual lasted a full fifteen minutes before he finally stood upright once more, sliding his left hand across his heart as a token of respect to the many qualities possessed by the spirit that dwelled within the earth beneath them; qualities no longer recognised by the humans in the Western lands, and indeed two of the Baridian tribes had yet to try and harness such energies that were called upon tonight.
It might have been only his fatigued mind but Eraniel felt surges of renewed vigour course through him as he too held his hand against his heart, and he followed Hessani to catch up with the hunters who had continued on when their leader had stopped to attempt and educate the barbarian who had come to them the previous day. Now all the warriors intended by Moragil to reclaim the lands of his intended soldier moved with tireless pace, the plains soon making way for the loose forests that formed the spine of the wild lands known as Barid. The warriors moved like shadows until they where at a tree line facing the encampment that had once been Eraniel’s home, ironically the same line from which Lodreb’s warriors had launched their attack three years ago. The invaders had rebuilt the outer wall and manned it, but one of the hunters soon showed his leader that the gate had remained a fallen gap, and it seemed to genuinely surprise Hessani that this was the case.
“What manner of warrior leaves such a hole in his defences? It is madness that a god would leave such a threat open.”
“Lodreb doesn’t fear the other tribes, believing himself to be above the others. He sounded as if he thought he truly was the founding god rather than merely a vessel for the power.”
“Then he shall know the price of stupidity, for no mortal can set himself equal to a god.” Cold fury was evident in the nomadic Chieftain’s face, and he smiled as he signalled for his warriors to prepare for battle.
They were ready as the first full rays of sunlight breached the darkness within the shelter of the trees to reveal nearly two hundred hunters standing beside the two Chiefs, every man wearing leggings of soft fur and panther claws, spears and their blackened shields held before them awaiting their leader’s command to advance. The warriors had covered themselves with the fat of a freshly killed panther, believing the ferocity of the animal would be transferred to them when the battle began, and Hessani tightened the pelt of a sabre panther around him, the skull of the mighty beast holding his own within the lifeless jaws. A necklace of panther teeth hung across his chest upon a thin rope of human hair, while he wore similarly created wrist bands of panther claws to complete the uniform of war. The sabre panther was the symbol of the god whose name he bore, and so he felt within his soul that he would hold victory from such reverence as he displayed; felt he would receive the powers of his founding god in reward for his actions.
The time since Eraniel had been brought before the nomadic Chief had been spent in the tracking and felling of a powerful bear, the symbol of the other tribal god represented within the group, and the fourth of the line of the Bear had found himself presented with his own attire so that both gods appeared to walk together as they surveyed the quiet village before them. Both slid the claws of their respective gods over their hands, Eraniel feeling the thick fur shift as he flexed his hands and grasped the hilt of his monstrous sword. His ally had commented that none but a true bear could wield such a weapon effectively, for no creature held its ground and contained the strength within its limbs for a lengthy course of swipes, but followed the compliment with the point that a panther remained the deadlier through his lighter stance and swifter dance that were accompanied by strength that was concealed from all but the wisest of enemies. Both beasts could compliment each other, and Eraniel knew that such seemed to have been the intention of Moragil the Faceless.
Gripping a spear within each hand, after securing two more upon his back, Hessani crept into the open grass that lay between the forest and the ancestral home of his ally, every step watched by his waiting warriors. Melting into the shadows that were cast by the beams that formed the new wall he disappeared from the view of all save the warriors who served him, and watched the unwary guards patrol both the ramparts and the external base of the nearest wall. It looked as if Lodreb was thinking defensively in leaving the gateway as an open gap, for it meant he could reinforce his sentries and allow them to withdraw with swift ease. Such measures were still irrelevant to the mind of the nomad, and he raised the polished tip of his left spear so it just extended above the top of the grass, a metre above the hard ground he lay upon as he crawled silently towards the sentinels.
To the guards of Lodreb’s tribe it must have sounded as if the earth around them exploded, for as one man the hunters brought their spears crashing against their shields. The impact was accompanied by an undulating cry of war, the moan rising to a deep wail before collapsing into silence. The cry came again, and again fell into silence. Hessani watched the sentries freeze in their tracks, each one trying to find the source of the sudden outbursts and seeing nothing as the warriors hit the ground and crawled upon their bellies towards the walls. The nomad Chief had crawled to within just two metres of
the nearest ground-based sentinels, and he raised himself into a crouch with the top of the panther skull barely beneath the tips of the grass. As the guards turned away from him to scan the tree line he raised his spear tips again, dropping the points to level at the hearts of his nearest foes as the hunters cried again, the crashing of their shields unseen within the shifting grass. The sentries froze once more, and every man brought his weapon across his chest and crouched ready to repel the unseen beings who were shouting their challenge. Seeing his selected targets prepare themselves as he continued to move closer through the long grass, Hessani paused just inches from where the patrolling guards had trampled a flat space of greenery before the wall and closed his dark eyes for a few minutes. He visualised himself becoming a panther, felt the strength pass into him as his god bestowed the energies upon him, and he had barely opened his eyes to check the positions of his chosen victims before he charged. The spears struck the soft flesh beneath his foes’ cloaks of wolf fur before he withdrew them and passed behind them to strike again before disappearing into the deep shadows of early morning that lay across the wall and its base. He watched uncaring as the guards held their hands helplessly against the puncture wounds, blood pouring past their shaking fingers as they collapsed to the ground with dull thuds upon the oozing red that stained the matted grass. Screams that had been uttered at the onset of his first strikes had drawn other sentries, but none saw the Panther within the shadows before two more were slain as he threw his spears at their throats and moved silently to come at a fifth unaware sentry from behind. He didn’t reach for his reserve spears, didn’t have to bring them to bear, for it was time for the Panther to show his claws. Two swift slashes cut across the triceps of the guard, and even as he turned to try and defend himself against the invisible warrior he felt the claws rake across his throat, blood erupting from the cuts before a final strike tore into his eyes and cheeks. The guard collapsed to his knees with nothing but the deep red of his own blood in his vision as he screamed that a ghost had come to take vengeance upon them all.
The screams from the fallen warriors of Lodreb had brought the others, some four hundred with axes and hammers, running through the empty space that had served as a gateway, but the Panther had faded into the long grass once more, his spears reclaimed from the dead before he moved to circle around the wall and continue his work alone. The hunters had now also moved through the wide expanse of grass, the soft rustling of their passing mistaken by any listeners as the faint passing of the wind as he blew to who knew where. They saw the great numbers of warriors pour out to prepare and fight them, and heard a faint sound upon the air that made all of their foes’ blood run cold. A laughing cry rose from behind the camp as their leader slew a tribesman as he rounded the corner, but the laugh was completely different to the one that had been heard while he was within the nomadic camp the previous day; the sound that of a panther rather than a human as the Chief felt only the power of his god within him. The signal for his hunters to begin their own slaughter had been given, and they all raised their voices in their undulating cry of war once more as they charged from the concealing grass to smash into the flanks of the warriors who had passed through the gap in the wall. Their strong yet light shields of wood and stiffened animal hide blocked the clumsy swipes from the surprised defenders, while their spears easily found the fatal strikes against the unprotected flesh of their victims. Only half of Lodreb’s warriors had moved out of the village and, even though those that had were greater in number than the black-skinned hunters who faced them, the skirmishing tactic of attack and withdrawal meant that the height and thickness of the waving long grass allowed the hunters to attack and move to a different angle unseen before they charged again, and no warrior could withstand such ferocious and unpredictable assaults. The four hundred were crushed with a speed that would not have seemed possible considering the many differences that, to an untrained and inexperienced eye at least, would have given the advantage greatly in their favour, and the shouts from the sentries upon the wall that they had fallen called Lodreb to lead the remainder of his men against the invaders that seemed more ghost than human.
Snatching up his mighty war hammer he waited for the powers from the hungry weapon to flow into him as they had on the night he had claimed the village from Eraniel, but none came. The weapon remained as silent as any other of its class, and the fifth of his line knew that the Lord Moragil had betrayed him to this fate. Anger surged within him, at the sudden feeling of helplessness at no longer possessing such power as had once been his, and he tightened his cloak of wolf fur, the symbol of his own god, about him before striding out to lead the ranks of his warriors to face the spectres that assaulted his stolen lands.
The watching hunters saw him leave the village as Hessani rounded the corner after completing the swift executions of the men who had been posted as sentries to watch a wilderness that revealed nothing that wished to remain hidden. Walking back a few paces, the Chief of the nomads ran and leapt into the long grass so that only the rear edge of his panther skin raiment was seen before he became invisible once more. If Lodreb had believed the being to have been a mere panther he knew the statement to be false barely a minute later, when the spears of the hunters and their Chief flew from the concealing terrain to strike the gathered warriors of the Wolf. Those who remained standing after the impact all turned to face the direction of the attacks, just in time to perceive the oily hunters charge towards them as they yelled their war cries. Hammers and axes crashed against shields, but even when their shields were shattered the nomads impaled their foes upon their second spears before turning to face another defender and using their weapon’s range to good effect. The Panther sent his second spear flying into the chest of one warrior who tried to bring his weapon against the unprotected back of a hunter, before reaching back for his two reserve weapons and closing on the Wolf with a snarling laugh. Two warriors attempted to block his path, attempted to slay him before he could reach their leader, but the black-skinned hunter was too swift upon his feet to be delayed for long, and two more fell to his bloody spears before he had separated Lodreb from his men upon the right. Three warriors remained to the Wolf’s left, but before they could turn to engage the Panther a great sword had severed the head of one from his shoulders. The Bear had now joined his ally upon the killing ground, his grey eyes burning with contempt as he saw members of the mob who had slain the women and children of his people, and his attacks were devastating for the two who tried to block him with their axes. The heavy weapons were larger than those ordinarily wielded by human warriors, but they still lacked the reach of the blade and the sheer strength and ferocity of the Bear overwhelmed them.
Leaving his victims in a heap beneath him he strode to face the leader of the invaders who had destroyed his village and laid much of his tribe to waste, and it is unlikely that Lodreb would ever recall a time when such unfettered hatred of him was witnessed in the eyes of a foe, while Hessani seemed to be calmly enjoying the event.
“Remember the Ancient Law,” he reminded his large companion as he brought his spear to pierce the right thigh of the Wolf, drawing a bellow of pain. Simultaneously, Eraniel brought his sword crashing down so that the ridged flat side of the blade struck across his enemy’s shoulders. This time no green light came forth from the wounds, all power bestowed by Moragil refused in this hour. The plan had worked perfectly, though it had lost the Faceless his full use of the tribe who followed the Wolf.
“Leave these lands, Wolf, or your line shall end as punishment for attempting to overthrow the Chief of the lands claimed by the Bear,” the Chief of the nomads told his cornered opponent, thrusting his spear into the shoulder of the Wolf to add weight to his command. Fury showed in Lodreb’s eyes, but he knew when he was beaten.
“Vengeance shall be mine, upon both your tribes,” he snarled as he fled the scene, his right leg barely responding to his mind’s commands as he moved through the grass towards the forest to the east, maki
ng his defeated way back to the lands of his own people. He would certainly maintain the leadership of his clan, for no other being of his line remained to other an alternate vessel for the power of the founding god, but he would return with shame at such failure. All the way he muttered curses to the name of Moragil, who watched all through his magic as he sat upon his throne, awaiting nightfall when he might complete his steps to gain Eraniel as a servant.
“You have lost Lodreb and his tribe as a part of your army My Lord,” commented the black guard who stood beside him, awaiting a command.
Yes…and no. He will not openly fight for me, but his foolish pride shall never allow him to suffer anyone entering his lands. Should any of Santelion’s troops attempt to pass that way they shall have to face him, and his powers shall be full against all save a warrior from Barid.
“Why would his powers be lessened against a Baridian, My Lord?”
Because none of the tribes shall have reason to pass into his territory, so he shall only fight a tribesman if he attempts to undo my efforts. I will not give him the possibility to cost me more.
Night had barely descended upon the world when Eraniel heard a stirring from the room he had been resting in. He turned angrily towards the source, and saw two burning red eyes in the darkness, hearing Moragil’s voice within his mind.