The Ageless Giant

by B K Suitter

  “It is their weapons that make them great,” said the Asarian on the other side. “Deathbringer and The Asar were forged here in this temple’s mystical forge. They were crafted with starmetal that fell from the sky thousands of years ago. It was a sign from Carami on where he wanted his grand temple built. Deep in the heart of this massive temple complex is the remains of the meteor that the temple was created around.”

  “And how would you know that?” challenged Coronas Redsword. “The monks aren’t for telling their secrets to just anyone, and you are definitely no monk.”

  “It was nearly one thousand years ago when the monk Faloniris had the vision to craft the weapons. It was then that Baktul from the North and Gerridine from the South were brought to the temple to forge the weapons from the starmetal. They were both weapons masters and they created the two blades you just witnessed today. Baktual crafted Deathbringer and Gerridine forged The Asar. Both weapons were then given to the kings at that time to stop the ongoing war between the North and the South. The weapons were said to have been blessed with magic and the two kings soon became the greatest leaders Asaria had ever known. It will not be long before the Northern King’s son, Beurgas Ironheart, will be the Beoraki leader, and he will be a great man as well.”

  “I’m thinking Beurgas is already great,” replied Simeon’s father and everyone agreed.

  “The ceremony that you just witnessed was exactly like the one performed one thousand years ago,” continued the Asarian. “The special weapons were given to the kings long ago after they signed a treaty as well. They say that the weapons themselves imbue a spiritual power over those that possess them. I spent the last few days sharpening and polishing the blades and I was amazed at how the swords interacted with each other.”

  “You worked on the blades?” questioned Simeon as he took another full look at the man beside him. He did not look to be a blacksmith.

  “Of course I did. I’m the only one left who can,” boasted the Asarian. “Bantera died, and he had no sons. His daughter is still too young to work metal, and since I am the last of the blood- line of Gerridine, I am the only one who can forge here at the temple.”

  “So you are Isakar,” spoke Coronas with respect. The large man reached out and shook the Asarian’s hand. “Sorry I doubted you. I did not know who you were.”

  “Quite all right,” said Isakar. “I don’t look like your average weapons master. I trained under my father, and he under his. Ever since Gerridine and Baktual forged those weapons, their descendants have been the only metal workers to use the temple forge. There are reasons why, of course, but those are the monk secrets you were talking about.”

  “Do you live here?” asked Simeon. The crowd along the railing started to thin out as the onlookers left the balcony. Soon, only Simeon, his father, and Kneeamara were left and they stayed to listen to Isakar.

  “Sadly, no,” he answered. “I live in Asarian City with my wife and she is with child. I came here to use the forge and craft a special weapon that I will one day give to my son.”

  “But the kings came, and you were interrupted with the care of Deathbringer and The Asar,” Simeon finished for him.

  “Yes,” Isakar chuckled, “I was interrupted, but to have the chance to work on the two famous swords was an honor. The power that the blades radiated was incredible.”

  “There you are,” spoke Brother Tamos as he came out onto the balcony. “Did you enjoy the ceremony? I can tell Isakar was quite pleased with the Kissing of the Swords.”

  “I was enthralled, Good Brother,” said the weapons master as he bowed to Tamos. “Thank you for the opportunity to witness such a blessed event. If you will all excuse me now, I must get back to my work. The sooner I am finished, the sooner I can return to my family. It was very nice meeting you all,” and Isakar, a man of only twenty summers, newly married and soon to be a father, walked from the balcony and into the large hall beyond.

  “It is settled,” said Tamos. “Those wishing to sail with King Ironheart will be leaving at nightfall. Those departing to Dragonport with the Southern King will leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Are you sure you will not sail to Warmwater with us?” asked Simeon.

  “I wish to visit Asarian City to break the sad news to the families of my fallen band,” replied Kneeamara. “I will leave with the Asarians in the morning. Maybe we can meet up at Redrose or Starcrest in a few months.”

  “Promise me,” said Simeon, taking her hand gently. “I wish to see you again, soon.”

  “I promise,” Kneeamara ensured the man.

  “That was the last time I saw Kneeamara. I sometimes wonder about her, boy,” Simeon replied to Tye as he finished the tale. It was late and the nighttime shrouded everything in darkness. Both men had remained on the tower and continued to stare down at the vast Asarian army below. The Asar River that flowed between them reflected the glowing moon above.

  “That was quite a story,” said Tye, “but you didn’t tell me about meeting King Ironheart.”

  “Are you dense, boy?” blurted Simeon. “I sailed back with Beurgas Ironheart and I trained with him on the deck of his ship and bested him two out of three exchanges.”

  “You bested King Ironheart?” asked Tye slyly, a long grin cresting his face.

  “Before he was king, I did!” cried Simeon. “You better believe everything I tell ya, boy,” and the large man stood a little taller. “No one has adventured more than I.”

  Loud hoof-beats grabbed both their attention and they peered down below and found a lone rider and horse approaching from the east. They watched the man ride up to the watchtower and deliver information to another man that had come out of the tall structure to meet him. Then the rider rode off and the other man entered back into the tower and shouts began to filter their way throughout the tall structure.

  “Those might be moving orders,” said Simeon with a concerned look.

  “What are moving orders?” asked a nervous Tye.

  “Don’t you worry, boy,” Simeon spoke with authority. “I won’t let them transfer you out. You just got here, and I’ll make sure you never end up at Eight.”

  “What’s so bad about Eight?” asked the young man in a nervously high voice.

  “That’s the tower up north where you don’t want to go. Men go out on ranging and don’t come back. There are Kadomi in the area waiting to pull your guts out,” Simeon replied dramatically, and he reached out to the boy’s mid-section, causing Tye to jump and squeal like a little girl.

  Simeon gave the young man a hard look and Tye turned away embarrassed.

  “Don’t ever let me hear you scream like that again,” said Simeon. “You sounded like a dad-blum maiden on her first flowering.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Tye sheepishly.

  “Now, don’t worry,” said Simeon, “and let me do all the talking. Let’s go down and find out whose being transferred out of my tower.” The two Riverwatchers went down the circle of stairs through many levels until they reached the floor where the other men were gathered. A senior commander was loudly reading off names from a piece of paper when they entered the large room.

  “What is going on here?” Simeon yelled out. “Why call out these names!”

  “These men are being transferred,” the commander replied.

  “They most certainly are not. I need these good men with me!” Simeon looked all around the quiet room hoping to get support in his attempt to keep the men there. All the men gave Simeon confused looks to indicate to him that he did not understand the events that were taking place around him.

  “So, you need these men with you?” asked the senior commander of the Riverwatchers.

  “I most certainly do!” yelled Simeon with a large grin, which quickly faded when he looked around and found no one else smiling.

  “Once again then, you men whose names I just called out will be leaving first thing in the morning–” Commander Kebel tried to continue.

  “Hold on,” Simeon
interjected. “I said I wanted these men here with me!”

  “Oh,” replied the senior commander, “I see the confusion.”

  “Yes,” nodded Simeon and he looked over at Tye and gave the young man a reassuring wink. “I think you are confused.”

  “No, Commander Redsword,” said Kabel, a tall thin man and the sternest of commanders. “It is you who is confused. You are leading these men up north. You are being transferred.”

  “I am,” said Simeon, pointing at himself while grinning.

  “You are,” replied the higher-ranking commander, a small grin etching his stern face as well.

  Simeon stood quiet as if waiting for the punch line to end the joke. He could not believe he was being transferred. He had been on rotation for ten years and another senior officer of the Riverwatchers had promised him he could stay at this watchtower until he retired.

  “Where am I being transferred?” asked Simeon in disbelief.

  “Eight, Simeon Redsword,” Commander Kabel spoke with authority. “You and your men are leaving for Eight tomorrow morning.” Then, without further discussion, Kabel walked straight for Simeon and slapped the paper against his wide chest. Simeon reached up and took the orders in his grasp.

  “Dress warm, Simeon,” replied Commander Kabel. “And don’t get yourself eaten.” With an evil grin, the man strode out of the room.

  Simeon read the paper over and over. He was indeed being transferred to Eight.

  “I’m sorry you’re leaving, sir,” said Tye sadly. “It was nice knowing you.”

  “Well you’re going to get to know me a lot better,” replied Simeon, “because you’re coming with us.”

  “But my name is not on the list,” cried Tye, sounding whiney.

  “You’re coming with us!” yelled Simeon. “And quit your crying or I’ll kill ya myself!”

  *********************

  The tall trees made a shadowy canopy over the logger road as it wound its way north through the Eastern Kingdom.

  “The Timberlands are quiet this morning,” rasped General Dread as he rode up alongside Prince Hadias. Their train of men, horses, and wagons with cages moved along slowly and loudly.

  “It does seem rather peaceful,” Prince Hadias commented dryly while riding comfortably on his large black roan. “Maybe it’s the stench of death you exude.”

  “Possibly,” replied Dread. “Sir, Kneeamara has just sent word that she travels with a large party of frontier folk that escaped our grasp.”

  “Really?” Prince Hadias asked, showing little interest. “Is she going to kill them or capture them for her own amusement?”

  “She is asking for Sergeant Semik and his band to meet her at Breakers Point. She says there are as many as thirty potential prisoners and she would like to capture most of them.”

  “Then why ask for Semik?” asked the prince. “He is only good for killing.”

  “Truly,” replied Dread. His bald and pale head was slick with sweat as they rode through the hot forest.

  “Tell Semik to make for Breakers Point,” Prince Hadias shrugged. “Tell him to hurry in this endeavor. I want General Kneeamara beside me when we take Eight.”

  “Yes, My Prince,” Dread replied, and he turned his black horse around roughly and rode back down the noisy column.

  10

  Year of the Frost Horn 2318 A.A.

  Snow Huskies moved nervously with impatience and excitement to start the race. The snow was crunching beneath their paws and the cold morning darkness allowed their breath to be seen. Men dressed in thick furs moved around them while checking harnesses and dogsleds, tying down packs of supplies and making the final preparations for the race. They inspected the dogs, checking paws and legs while giving them praise and encouragement.

  The Ice Pack dogsled race began as soon as the sun broke the horizon and the first rays of morning spilled out onto the crowded streets of Iron City – a large mining town that was deep in the North and built up against the long range of mountains known as The Vault of the Gods. A sense of urgency rattled across the crowded street as men and dogs prepared in the last few moments of darkness.

  “Where is he?” the man asked angrily.

  “I can’t find him,” replied another. They were both Dishoni and dressed warm in thick bison furs and held torches that were nearly burned out.

  “The race will start soon. You go find him,” and the man turned his attention back to the team of dogs and walked to the lead position where a muscled glacier wolf sat calm and quiet. Whitestar was one of the two most famous wolves in all the North, the other being Whisper, her mate. She was small for her breed, unlike Whisper, who was exceptionally large. Whitestar had a thick coat of pure white fur that would gleam like silk when the rays of the sun fell upon her. She was the lead dog for the Dishoni musher, Spirit Wind, who had started competing in the race when he was fifteen summers. He lost badly in his first two races, but then won the next four Ice Packs after acquiring Whitestar and a few other snow huskies.

  “Where is he, Whitestar?” the man asked the glacier wolf as he bent down and put a gloved hand on the top of her head and scratched at the ears.

  A flare of sunlight burst over the street of Iron City and the dog teams broke into motion. The harnesses drew taught as the lead animals began to pull and the trailing dogs behind them took their share in moving the sleds. The man watched as the other teams pulled away.

  “Where is Spirit Wind?” he whispered again.

  ***********************

  The large room was bathed in light and smoke from a fire that blazed in the hearth and pushed heat across the surrounding area. The floor was heavy with large furs and blankets and they moved as if coming to life.

  An urgent pounding at the locked door and a muffled yell behind it only brought more laughs and giggles from underneath the blankets.

  Suddenly, the door flew open as two large men put their shoulders to the barrier and busted through. Three young Dishoni women peeked out from under the mass of blankets and they gave startled cries.

  “Where is he?” asked the men as they moved into the room. They were large Asarians and they grew thick black beards about their hard faces.

  The furs and blankets danced wildly as the rough men reached down and started pulling off the deep pile of coverings, causing the women to squeal and move away from them.

  As the men waded over the moving pile of furs and blankets, a form wiggled past underneath them back towards the open door. A thin but muscled young man shot out from under the heavy layers in only his breeches. He raced for the exit and grabbed at the pile of thick furs and boots as he dashed out the door.

  The two large men yelled out as they turned and sprinted heavily after the young Dishoni man who was running out into the snow packed street, throwing on boots and dressing himself in furs as he lumbered along.

  Spirit Wind turned off the empty street and into a cold dark alley, throwing on his warm fur hat and gloves. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the men that gave him pursuit and he pushed even harder at his attempt to create more distance from them. The alley opened onto a large street that was crowded with people and a flare of sunlight spilled upon it. Spirit Wind picked up his pace, turning the corner and weaving his way through the throng of running people.

  As the first rays of morning crested the horizon, the cold crowded street of Iron City went up in a roar of yelling and dog teams barking. Men and women ran alongside Spirit Wind as they all moved towards the starting line to see the beginning of the race.

  Whitestar had a special bonding with Spirit Wind. She could sense the young man was near, but she waited patiently, calming the other dogs in her line. They were good huskies – strong and not too young to have experience, but not too old to be slowed down by it.

  The four snow huskies and one glacier wolf stood calm in a sea of chaos as all the other dogs pulled their sleds and riders away from them, moving down the street to the outskirts of the large mining town and out
onto the frozen plains of the North.

  Then Spirit Wind was there, running desperately towards them, and Whitestar looked back with excitement and barked once, a command, and the other snow huskies responded with their own shouts, and the glacier wolf was off. The snow huskies pulled in kind and the dogsled started to pull away as Spirit Wind came running up from behind. When he passed his Dishoni brother that had been waiting for him all morning, all he could do was shrug at the man’s scolding words and comments.

  Spirit Wind quickly caught up to his dogsled and jumped onto the back runners while shouting encouraging words to his exceptional dog team. They rode out into the barren North, the other dog teams already far into the distance.

  The long race trail known as The Ice Pack stretched far across the hard lands of the North all the way to the western Port City of Snowflake. It was a dangerous trail that skirted frozen lakes and wound through treacherous mountain passes. There were two other towns spread out along the trail where the men and their dog teams would check in, most of them spending the night and starting again at first light.

  The Ice Pack was a yearly race where the best mushers and dog teams from all parts of Asaria came to compete. There were Beoraki from the North and Asarians from the South. Sturdy Arani men from the East also joined the race, as well as the hardy men from the West: the Dishoni.

  The long race usually lasted near to a fortnight. The trail wound across the frozen North and then through the dangerous passes of the Ice Pack Mountains. It ended at the town center of Snowflake, the busiest port in all the North during the race. The town became the hot spot for all Asaria and drinking and gambling and all the games of the Beoraki were endless for several weeks.