The God Warriors

by Sean Liebling

  "Fine words that mean nothing. You will surrender now," the officer said backing his horse a half dozen paces to be closer to his men. At that moment, Ariston heard deep growling coming from all around him. Shadowy forms moved out into the morning sunlight, surrounding the armed men on their horses, which neighed and jerked at the reins of their riders.

  Out of the woods came hundreds of forms, large and small. Wolves of all breeds stood shoulder to shoulder with forest panthers and mountain lions. There were even dozens of huge stags with razor sharp antlers lowered in preparation to charge, each the size of a small horse. At that moment, Ariston doubted he would even have time to blood his spear before any battle that might occur was over. Now it was Ariston, who stepped forward to approach the officer. The man was clearly apprehensive at the change in the situation.

  "My name is Ariston, Pack Leader of the Summit Wolven, and I would suggest you address me with respect. As you witness, human, our god is not happy with your actions. Or, we can simply slaughter your company of men and women, placing their heads on the upright shafts of your spears as an abject lesson in stupidity. Either is fine with us."

  "How did you get them to obey you?" sputtered the man, looking in awe around him. Even as he spoke, more beasts exited the forest in an almost continuous wave of furry bodies of sharp teeth and antlers.

  [I am losing patience with this; I now demand they release one of theirs to your party. Whomever they pick will guarantee safe passage and account to their king this injustice upon my people.]

  "I did not, our god did." Then he went on to inform the officer of the god’s demands. At first, the man tried to bluster out of doing anything for them, but in the end, he acquiesced to the demands as the animals surrounding them moved closer, growling. Soon, Captain Reize approached from of Fort Brandor on foot and addressed Ariston.

  "Pack Leader Ariston of the Summit Wolven, may I present my second in command, Sub-Captain Rawkin Garro. He will accompany you to the capital, along with a letter from myself to our King. I have explained the situation here and your claims of innocence in the matter regarding our recently attacked villages." At this, the man scowled before continuing. "The sub-captain will accompany you, guaranteeing safe passage and an introduction to our King that you may voice your grievances of my actions.”

  [That is acceptable.]

  Thank you, Fenrir. There was no answering reply to his thought, nor did Ariston expect one. The god spoke to you, not you to him.

  "Fenrir says this is acceptable." And, just like that, the thousands of animals drifted quickly into the forest, leaving the space around them clear, but Ariston was not through and motioned as the captain started to turn away, "One moment, Captain, I would have words with you," he said.

  "About?"

  "These attacks on your villages that recently happened. Were there any survivors?"

  "Yes, not many, but some did survive by hiding or running into the woods, along with a few of the older women that were raped then stabbed. They are being cared for now, but the rest were slaughtered or enslaved." Now the man was getting angry again and Ariston motioned for calm as he spoke.

  "A few questions, please. Who did the survivors say attacked, what manner of being?”

  "They said humans. Some with Illian markings. Some with tattoos they had never seen before."

  "I see, so why would you suspect Wolven involvement? Have you ever seen or even heard of Wolven attacking the humans of Jordache? We have not, nor have we ever raped a human woman from any human group. Trust me when I say we find them ugly."

  "Well, no, but that does not mean it could not happen.”

  "That is true, but I give you my word, the word of my god, and that of our people that the Wolven have never in all our history attacked a human from Jordache. There is a village not far from here, just a couple hours north on your line of march. You will find it hail and healthy. We left it in peace, bypassing it without being seen." Ariston pointed behind him.

  "That would be Korvar. We are headed there next," responded the captain.

  "You will find it whole, unless it is under attack as we speak."

  "Then we must be on our way, I must admit," now the captain hesitated before he said, "I have found your people to be more honorable than I first thought, Ariston. I do pray to Ares that I am doing the right thing. May you go in peace and be successful at the games." Then, without further word, he turned his horse around, shouting commands to his men.

  As the others galloped ahead to the next village, a wagon with a troop of guards stayed behind to load the horse of Garro with double saddlebags of food, enough to make it to the capital, but Ariston waved them away. "Your man will eat what we eat, and it will be nutritious and filling, and I daresay, will taste much better than those rations you guards are so fond of."

  "I wouldn't go as far as to say we are fond of them, but they do keep us alive," commented the sub-captain, giving Ariston a look of skepticism.

  "Ha! How does fresh meat, bartered bread, and leafy greens sound to you? Our packs contain spices, and we have the coin for any bread we purchase. Trust me, sub-captain, you are in good hands. We are not the savages you seem to think we are," laughed Ariston.

  "My name is Rawkin, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Pack Leader." Obviously, the guard had come to a decision, and now he was holding his hand out in the gesture of human friendship. Ariston hesitated only a moment before clasping it tightly in return and responding.

  "The pleasure is ours, and you may call me Aris."

  ~Rawkin Garro~

  Rawkin was surprised at the speed the Wolven could achieve, even running on the side of the road, jumping over brush and fallen trees in their easy long-legged lope, as fast as his horse in its mile-eating canter. He also knew they could run a lot faster than that by going down on all four limbs, making them as fast as most horses could gallop, but a pace they could not hold all day. Rawkin had to continue thinking of them as Wolven and not wolves, for Wolven was their species name, and the last thing he wanted to do was to irritate them. He was not worried what they might do if he called them wolves but because it would be disrespectful and the Wolven deserved respect. He had come to realize this.

  That first day had been spent moving south and then east towards one of the main border roads leading to the capital. The Wolven did not stop for a noon meal but instead ate while continuously moving forward. As Rawkin tried to open his saddlebag to retrieve a ration, he felt his hand slapped away. Aris handed him several large thick strips of dried meat, still somewhat moist, retrieved from a smaller leather pack hanging under one arm of the Wolven. Suspiciously, Rawkin had tried one only to discover it was venison and deliciously flavored with unknown spices. It was also moist and chewy, not like the hard as rock, dried meat the guard packed in their rations. Aris simply grinned at his exclamations and handed him a few more pieces before offering his water skin, but Rawkin declined, already having two water skins of his own.

  Earlier that morning, they met another company on the road, this one from a troop out of Crystal City and headed by another suspicious captain. With Rawkin there, the meeting had gone somewhat smoothly, and even though it was obvious the other captain did not want to honor the letter placing the Wolven under the king's protection, he had no choice. To violate that letter of protection and free passage would have meant his removal from the guard, a minimum of twenty lashes with the barbed whip, and imprisonment in the mines for no less than a decade. The King took his word seriously and entrusted that word with every guard officer of captain rank and above. Not even a troop commander could violate the king's word once given.

  Rawkin did learn some useful information from the captain before the man departed to check the next village on his list. The Illian were still attacking, and the next two villages had been burned to the ground. The first was a simple homesteaders’ village, but the second had been a large trading post of hundreds of people, large enough the priests were getting ready to start a school ther
e, Rawkin was told. Once the captain left, he shared this information with Ariston.

  "I have no idea what these Illian are doing, Rawkin. It is a mystery to all of us. Your senior officer is correct in that it is out of character for them. Destruction only for the sake of destruction and not even taking all the female captives they could. Nor the food stocks. I can tell you from personal experience, those of the Illian are always hungry," Ariston said to Rawkin’s nod. Over the hours yesterday and today, they'd had many conversations. The Wolven were not a learned people in the traditional sense a human would reckon, but learned in an oral history and personal experiences far surpassing Rawkin’s own.

  "I do not either, but have your pack keep a sharp eye out, if you would. I will fight by your side if we are attacked, of course."

  "Ha! My people always keep both eyes open and sharp when not in our pack gathering, but the sentiment is appreciated, and yes I had no doubt you would side your blade with ours, Sub-Captain Garro."

  "I told you, Aris, my name is Rawkin."

  "Yes, you did, but honor due where honor earned."

  "Anyways, you still have not answered my question, Aris. Will you and your people join the games?"

  "I cannot answer that, in truth. Our god mentioned no exact reason for our attending. He did, I think, make a joke about killing this new champion, but as I said, I think it was in jest."

  "It is a hard thing to think a god jesting with a mere mortal, Aris."

  "I agree. Fenrir is a god of very few words, but he is ours, and loved."

  "I really hope he doesn't tell you to kill the new champion."

  "As I said, I feel he was jesting. No one would violate a flag of truce. Our honor is everything. We would, if forced, declare the truce void and that would be the warning your guard needed to remove us. Have no fear, Rawkin. When the god spoke to us a week ago, it was his desire to see this champion up close and perhaps talk to him."

  "Good to know."

  Another hour’s travel had them passing the first of the burned-out villages, the homesteaders’; four hours after that they passed the hulk of the once-thriving trading post. Two hours after that, as dark neared, they saw a wagon filled with what looked like children and a man on horseback leading a pack of ponies, preparing to set up a camp for the night. Rawkin quickly asked Ariston to call a halt while he rode up ahead to see what was going on.

  As he drew closer, he saw a young man place himself between the woman and three children. His family, Rawkin thought. He was amazed to see the man swing what looked like a wood and rock stake hammer by a leather strap, so fast it blurred and glowed. It was then that he noticed the second glow emanating from the man. On his cheek was a god's mark, blazing a bright silver, the sign of Dionysus, if Rawkin was not mistaken.

  "What would you!" declared the obvious peasant as his hammer twirled faster, so fast a rising hum could be heard, its pitch growing ever higher. Speechless, Rawkin could only stare in shock for a few moments, before pulling his wits about him and quickly responding.

  "Easy now, friend, I'm Sub-Captain Garro of the Jordache Guard. I am escorting a group of Wolven under the King's protection. We mean you no harm. I simply proceeded on ahead to determine who you were. You, Sir, are a champion of the gods. That is obvious by the mark, but who are these? Your family?" Rawkin held up both hands in the universal sign of peace while he spoke, and, watching closely, saw the other man before him visibly relax. Then, faster than the eye could see, the peasant slammed his hammer into the ground, all but burying it. Rawkin swore he saw the earth crack in all directions while a tremor issued forth from the force of the impact. Definitely a champion, he thought. With a jerk, the obvious champion pulled the huge hammer from its earthly coffin and walked up to him.

  "Greetings, Sub-Captain Garro. I am known as Dru, and these are my companions: Keepa, Rewa, Amiel, and Fromon," he said as he pointed out each in turn. The others turned quiet, scared faces towards Garro, and it did not escape his notice that once the hammer stopped swinging, they huddled against Dru's back.

  "And I am Ariston, Pack Leader of the Summit Wolven, and we mean you and yours no harm, human. In fact, if you require it, we would assist you," declared a voice beside him, and it was only then that Rawkin noticed Aris must have run to his aid when the hammer slammed into the ground like an avalanche. The Wolven was still as a rock himself and his expression was calm.

  "Well, nice to meet both of you. We were getting ready to camp for the night. It's too late to continue on to the next village. Not with the little ones," he said as he pointed with his free hand. "We would be glad to let you share our fire but these…" and Dru paused as he looked askance at the Wolven.

  "One moment while I introduce my pack," smiled Ariston as he turned to his brethren, made a complicated hand gesture and soon all were coming forward slowly, single file. As each approached, he named the individual and their pack. That person in turn bowed respectfully, and it was only a short time later when a few of them approached the children, asking. "Who wants to help gather firewood? You can ride on our backs." The Wolven were an instant hit with the young children, and Rawkin smiled in relief as everyone settled down to share stories. Aris sent out hunting parties, and soon there were several roaring fires where three deer turned on homemade spits, along with quite a few rabbits. One of the Wolven returned with a hand woven cedar basket of greens. Flat bread baked on nearby stones. Everyone contributed to the meal.

  Soon everyone was eating on plates made from wide strips of birch bark and Rawkin turned to Aris, whispering. "Why are the Wolven up north? You get along great down here. Hell, the kids love your men." Aris shrugged, looked pensive for a moment, and finally responded.

  "Truthfully I don't know. The north is where Fenrir always commanded us to be. Besides, we need greater room to roam. The Wolven don't do cities well." The last comment was said with a smile as the Wolven went back to eating.

  "The freedom to roam is always a good thing," nodded Rawkin before saying, "Well, you've met the champion. Has your god spoken to him yet? And if so, what does he think of the man?"

  "The champion Fenrir wishes to meet and perhaps speak with is from Korath, and, from what we were told, a military genius from another world. This man here is not him. This is another champion."

  "What? Two champions? Not sure that's ever happened before."

  "Our history does not indicate such in the past. But, when I spoke with our god moments before, he was sure this was not the champion he wished to meet." Rawkin simply nodded at the words and turned away.

  Rawkin went back to talking to Dru and Keepa while everyone ate, and the Wolven played with the kids. Evidently, they were like big hairy stuffed animals to the children, and it was a joy to hear them laugh. He found out the gift of champion had come as a surprise to both Dru and the god responsible for it but not much else. When Dru mentioned finding a job at the next village down the road, Rawkin quickly put a stop to that line of thinking. Dru was a champion and should act like one. The King of Jordache would want to meet him and those he saved, while hearing the exploits of his endeavors. It was time to move on from his mundane existence.

  Chapter 16

  ~John~

  The last week had been extremely busy, with the planning and training of an elite squad of men from his company. For formality’s sake, he had divided their numbers in half with his new Sotar bodyguard who insisted on being by his side constantly and participating in everything he did. Frankly, he did not care, as long as the Sotar obeyed him and not get into trouble. He also knew he would have to work the kinks out of his plans later.

  The day he had acquired the Sotar went fairly well. First, a stop at the metalworkers’ to order prototypes of John's new offensive armament, then to the leather worker to order combat harnesses of his own design that would accept the new armament he was equipping his men with. He only wanted twenty-one sets for now, but if an observer from his own world had viewed them, John knew they would have immediately suspected
the combat harness worn by elite troops of the United States.

  Finally, they stopped at a weapon maker’s, where John ordered twenty-one identical knives of a specific design, along with matching sheaths. A nine-inch high carbon steel blade sat atop a six-inch leather-wrapped hilt with a slightly oversized steel pommel. The blade, razor sharp along one edge and three-quarters of the other, ended near the hilt with a wide, flat section on the side not fully sharpened. John pointed out to Alvaldi that the thick flat part of the shank near the hilt was to block a slash or thrust, to which the man nodded. Even Ulf looked thoughtful as John explained its use.

  Purchases complete, and his purse a bit lighter for it, John found and the others at the company barracks. The walk around town had been illuminating, as Ulf told the others of the story involving Shianna, the Goddess of Death. How he and his squad of new warriors had just finished with a band of the Kuthari, then reaching the village in time to meet the Nastar of the Sotar peoples. Then, how the goddess spoke to them by the fire and the grueling march across the sandy dunes of the great desert, before finally trekking halfway across Korath until they finally reached the capital, and their champion. During all this, John quietly examined the man and decided he liked what he found. Just the calm and watchful demeanor of the Sotar put John at peace with his surroundings.

  At the Barracks, John found Alf quickly and instructed him to divide the company into four groups he called platoons, each having fifty men, and to pick a platoon leader of senior guardsmen for each of those groups. John wanted the platoons named Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Heavy Weapons. Then Alf was to divide each platoon into four squads and to find some way to mark them so they could be told apart. Finally, Alf was to pull twenty of the quickest and strongest men from the heavy weapons platoon and keep them separate from the others for now. They would still train, but train together. It would be a lot of work getting them sorted out, but it was needed. John was about to bring modern company tactics to this medieval world.