Chapter 46. Return of the Outcasts
The Nomads are in retreat, they have suffered great casualties and are now seeking shelter wherever they can, our losses have been at predicted levels and I cannot foresee any obstacle to obtaining our goal of total victory.
Markers have been installed and our supply lines are established, food is plentiful and the Guides have led us to sufficient water supplies to continue our attack.
Following our plan, General Yung and his army are sweeping to the West and meeting little resistance. My troops will swing up from the East to meet yours at the agreed place, we shall force the remaining enemy into a final battle were we will annihilate them and emerge victorious.
Report from First General Leeander to his Lord High Governor Darken.
There was no more singing in the Outlands tribes, by command of her holiness the High Priestess of Isarie, offering prayers to the Goddess was the only thing allowed.
The Outlanders were now under the control of the Gods, the Outland Kings had given in to Obec's demands and would punish all who disobeyed her laws. The tribes moved over the land in silence, broken only by the sound of crying. Those that did do not obey, were made Outcast and driven into the wastelands by the Thungodra, who followed the will of their Holy Mother without question.
Despite their bending to the will of the Gods, the war with the Talsonar was not gaining any success. At every battle they were driven back, no matter how hard they fought, they simply did not know how to fight such a highly organized enemy. They rode their Whiptails headlong into battle, screaming all the while the war cries of their tribes but they met only defeat. With ghastly losses, they turned from the battlefield leaving their dead to be mutilated by the Talsonar soldiers. When they returned to their camp, the air was filled with the song of the Wailing Women and the smoke from fires burning desperate offerings to the Gods.
There was one person who did not cry, Obec would lead her people in prayer and watch her Handmaidens sing songs of mercy to the families of the fallen warriors. She gave her blessing as their Journey Nails were driven into death hands but there was no pity in her eyes. She stood looking stoic and waited until the ceremonies were over, then she returned to her tent to sit quietly reading from the Holy Book.
Mouthing the words that gave her so much comfort, she heard a sound and turned to see a sight that made her heart jump. Standing before her was a dark robed figure, his face hidden by a hood, she first composed herself, then spoke. “I have been expecting you.”
The Darkman moved to a chair next to her and sat down, he pulled his hood back to show his rotting face and cold lifeless eyes. “Then why did you jump when you saw me?” he asked.
The High Priestess did not answer, she closed the Holy Book and turned to face him. “You have kept your word the people of the Stone City are in the Outlands.”
“Yes, I have kept my word,” he replied, “now you will keep yours.”
Obec smiled at the Shadow-man, she looked at him without emotion but inside she was furious. “There will be no Choosing, the people of the Outlands will not weep for their lost children.” For the present at least!
The Darkman nodded his head in approval. “Then I am content.” He looked at the ornate book Obec had been reading. “Your Gods may be angry without any sacrifices, are you sure they will not bring down fire and death upon you?”
The High Priestess' face did not change when she heard the Shadow-man's words. “Isarie will be content, knowing the unbelievers are now Outcast from her Chosen people, soon the Talsonar will lie dead on her lands.” On that day I shall have my desire.
A short laugh came from the Darkman. “The death of so many does not seem to bother you at all, does death hold so little meaning for you?”
Obec looked deeply into his cold eyes, “No more than it does for you,” she smiled, “Now that we know each other better, tell me of your people and when they will come.”
The Shadow-man picked up a small statue of the Goddess from a nearby table and examined it as he talked. “They will come when needed,” he said softly.
“And the Sky-Riders?” Obec asked.
“They are ready at my command.” he replied.
Obec leaned back in her chair, “Very good, when the Talsonar are defeated and the people of the Outlands are all believers once more, we will have peace.” Then the Gods will also be at peace.
The Darkman toyed with the idol in his claw like hand. “Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do,” she said proudly, “the Gods light our way and we follow in their shadows.”
Another small laugh came from the Darkman, “Their shadows, yes!” He leaned closer to the old women, “You spend too much time looking up to the heavens and not enough at the ground under your feet.”
He looked at the tent's floor, he saw a large Blaze-ant moving over the ornate rug by his foot. He suddenly reached out and crushed the insect under his heel. “The Gods would crush us like so many bugs if they could, they in turn, could be broken by greater forces than themselves.” He closed his fist around the gold statue and when he opened his hand, the idol was in pieces. “That is the way of things, that is the way of the Universe.” He stood up and started to leave, “You and I are alike, we both love power and care little for how we use it.”
Silently he left the tent.
The High Priestess sat for a time, she was not thinking over the Darkman's words, she filled her mind with images of a land without Half-Souls or people who made their homes in the shadows.
The Choosing will come; she thought; a soft smile crossed her lined face; and I shall do the choosing.
For many days and nights the wagon bearing the strange fellowship moved over the Greenland’s of Gorn. They stayed far from the usual Outlander travel lanes and kept to themselves. Hunting was good and they didn't meet any Sandjar or demons of the night. They saw whiffs of smoke rising in the distance but they did not investigate, without Whiptails to fight or a tribe to defend.
The ground shook three times, once they saw a crack open in the earth near to them. Endo was driving the wagon at the time and he guided their Trofar away, saving them, from tumbling into the abyss.
With each shake came a strange feeling, before each rumble, the companions thought something was calling out to them, something without a voice or words. Arn called it a warning from the Gods but the Sandjar felt it too and since they did not pray to the same Gods, it must have been the work of a demon. Osh scoffed at such ideas, he said it was simply a geological event, tectonic plates underground were shifting, this of course meant nothing to the Nomad and he put it all down to monsters in the dark.
Deep inside Osh knew his explanation wasn't true, the voice that called out, was the same one that spoke to him in the darkness of the Hollow Hills. The images in his head formed into clearer pictures and spoke to him in a Mind-say, moving answers closer to being known but that time was not now the answers would have to wait.
Arn and Andra walked in the moonlight near their wagon. Osh had cooked a fine meal for them from tender Burrow-babies and cinnamon root. Their feast had ended with some very ripe Balbar fruit that Endo picked from a cluster of trees. The sky was clear and a soft wind blew from the East but on the wind there was a hint of danger but as the pair walked together, talking of their past, it went unheeded.
“Your mother was a strong woman,” Arn said as he looked up at the large moon overhead. “I am sure she has forgiven you.”
Andra looked up too, “Yes, I think she has,” she looked at the man beside her. “I think that all mothers are the same, it doesn’t matter where you go or what names they have, they all have one thing in common.”
“What is that?”
“They all love their children.”
The Nomad smiled at the wise woman he was walking with.
They came to a twisted pile of steel half buried in the ground, once it had been a machine of some kind, its large rusty wheels were the height of sev
eral tall men. As they walked closer, they saw many small animals running from its broken hull and a flock of Night-fliers took to the air, when they got to it, they sat down on its large iron frame.
Arn and Andra both wore armor, they knew death could come for them at any time and if it did, they would stand together and fight. The night was still so they put down their weapons and sat back to gaze at the stars and let their fears rest for a time.
Andra moved close to her lover and touched his hand with hers. “It’s quiet here,” she said with a sigh, “but we can’t stay forever,” she turned to Arn. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Anywhere you like, we can go to Orgon the Great Ocean in the West, there we can sail with the Sea People and hunt for Leviathans in the dark depths. We can travel to the green jungles of Yug and look for treasure, guarded by all-powerful monsters no Outlander has ever seen. Or we can see what strange creatures live in the forests of Caltarine and live among the great trees that reach up to the stars, it is all their waiting for us, if you're not afraid?”
Andra laughed, “Afraid? I faced, Ashra Doom in the challenge pit and took his life. I stood with you when the Sandjar attacked us and who found you half dead in the Poison Lands and brought you back to life?”
“Yes,” he replied with a smile, “it was you, you are not a coward you are a Moonbud, soft and strong at the same time.”
Andra looked at him, “You saved me too, not from the Sandjar or the Talsonar but from myself and although you are no longer King, I will honor my oath and stand by your side.”
“I am satisfied,” Arn said softly.
They were about to kiss, then both of them stopped suddenly and reached for their weapons. They both looked into the distance and saw a faint outline against the glowing stars, a line of dust that could only be made by the clawed feet of Whiptails.
“Are they coming our way?” Andra asked, gripping her weapon.
The Nomad watched the dust moving closer. “Yes, there are many and they are coming closer.” There were no more words as the pair ran back to their wagon and prepared to fight.
Osh and Endo did not know about the danger soon to be upon them, they sat before the Washa fire, nibbling the last of the Balbar fruit. Osh was too involved telling his reunited son about his travels and the many worlds he'd visited.
“So if you count the lesser planets, recently discovered near the Meridian expanse, there are approximately one million three hundred and sixty-nine inhabited worlds in the Outer Rim. That doesn't included creatures whose intelligence level is below the standard rating of seven.”
The young Sandjar listened intently then nodded. “Many worlds, many people.”
Arn and Andra came rushing back into camp, Endo instantly reached for the steel headed club next to him. At the same time Osh stood up and grabbed the spear umbrella he'd become into the habit of carrying, together they looked around for danger.
“Warriors are coming.” Arn said, as he and Andra took defensive positions around the fire. “Not enough time to escape, take Endo and find shelter in the rocks.”
Osh and Endo didn't move. “No,” said the young Sandjar, “I stay!”
One look at him, told Arn, he would be staying. He looked at Osh and saw him holding his weapon ready, he knew they would stand together and make a fight of it.
I have a brave tribe; Arn thought; together we are strong.
He looked at the cloud of dust still visible in the moonlight, he knew the force coming towards them was formidable. In his heart he knew that two warriors, an old man and a half-grown Sandjar could not defeat them. If we are to die, then we will die together.
He looked at Andra standing by his side, there was no need for words, she knew from the look in his eyes and the feeling in her mind, they were facing certain death. Holding her battle-ax, she did not fear, she felt satisfied.
The battle to come made her feel good, her heart raced and her muscles longed for release. It felt as if this was what she was born to do, it gave her purpose, it was her love and her life. Andra suddenly realized she saw what Arn saw, when he fought against his enemies. It was joy. She braced her feet, longing for something to attack, the cloud of dust arrived then slowly cleared.
Arn looked at the riders before him, then lowered his weapon, they were not demons of the night or Waste-wanderers, they were warriors of The Chosen. There were a dozen or more, men and women dressed in full battle armor, each riding a strong Whiptail. They said nothing as the gazed at the four figures who stood defiantly before them. When the others saw that Arn had lowered his weapon, they lowered theirs too.
One rider moved in close to them then he lifted his visor. A soft smile crossed Kuno's face as he looked at the Nomad. “My King, at last I have found you,” he said.
Endo turned to his father and tilted his head to one side, “Friends?” he asked.
Osh nodded back, “Yes, friends.”
The twin suns of Gorn were just breaking over the Mountains of Kresh as Kuno finished his account of events since Arn had been made an Outcast.
He told of the war between the Nomads and the Talsonar and how they'd been defeated in every battle. How the Elders wept seeing so many of their best warriors lying dead and the air filled with the cries of the Wailing Women. He told them of the High Priestess' commands, all who do not obey will of the Goddess shall be made Outcast. He and his warriors had been driven out when they raised their voices against Obec and the Thungodra.
He told of his brother's death and how the Will of Isarie had been blamed, rather than, as he had suspected, a treacherous old woman. He told them how the Almadra no longer sang or danced under the stars and only heard the death dirges from the war drums. He told of their long search for their lost King, hoping he would lead them back to his people to free them from tyranny.
Arn with Andra at his side, had listened throughout the night. He listened to his friend tell him what had become of his tribe and his family. He listened as the warrior told a tale of misery, death, and pain. He sat quietly as the Washa fire died out and the Sirolian plains were bathed in the soft glow of morning.
He stood up and spoke in a loud voice. “I was once your King but that time is past, I have renounced the Gods and no longer believe in the Holy Book, I cannot help you.”
Kuno shook his head, “Then the Talsonar will take our lands and all the Outland tribes will be scattered to the winds,” he said sadly.
“The Almadra are strong they will survive,” Arn replied.
“They will not,” Kuno answered, “the Talsonar fight like cowards but still we cannot stand before them.”
“I don’t understand,” Andra said, “if they run from you how can they defeat you?”
Kuno looked at Andra, “They do not run but they do not fight like warriors.”
Andra shook her head, “You’re not making sense, tell me exactly how they make war.”
As the Andra listened, Kuno told her what he'd seen. He told her how they fired their Long-Range guns at the Nomads, then sent in a wave of Yangmar to meet them in battle. They let the armored giants die but did not join the fight. He told her they waited like cowards until the battle was well joined, then, when most of the fighting was over, they come out to do battle. He told her how they sent Runners out, to blow up themselves and brave Outland warriors. He explained how they used Long-Range weapons rather than facing them man to man, as was the way of the warrior. As he spoke, the warriors, around him grumbled and beat their war-axes on the ground in frustration, when he'd finished, they ground their teeth and spat on the ground.
“Yes,” said Arn, “they are cowards.” They do not stand and fight, they are not warriors.
Andra had listened intently to every word Kumo spoke, felt otherwise, she let her thoughts be known. “They’re not cowards, they fight like well-trained soldiers, that’s all.”
Puzzled looks crossed the faces of many the warriors, Arn looked at her strangely. “This is how warriors on other worlds fight?�
� he asked.
Andra paced back and forth before the confused Outlanders. “Yes, of course, now I understand, your people fight as individuals, each a force in its own right but the Talsonar fight as one.”
“Fight as one?” Arn asked, with a puzzled look.
Andra turned to him. “Don’t you see, the war tactics they're using, lets their best men wait until your forces are exhausted, then they move in for a killing strike. It’s an old military trick but very effective.”
The warriors stood without moving, they did not understand her.
Andra glanced around at the Nomads. “Your people are strong and brave but that doesn’t matter if they don’t use their strength in the most efficient way. You have to fight your enemy with the same tactics, they are using against you, if you don’t you will be defeated.”
Arn thought her words over, as he looked at the warriors before him. “Then we must learn to fight as they do,” he said strongly, “it is the only way to defeat them.”
Kuno looked at Arn, “Then you will lead us?” he asked.
Arn thought about what had happened, his mind filled with the images of his past and of his tribe. The long cycles of training under his father, learning the ways of Kingship. The days and nights since, he first saw Andra and losing his heart to her. Images of Agart and the times they spent in laughter and song. Then his mother's face entered his mind and with it, his sister's. They are gone now; he thought; I will never see them again, I have nothing. He saw the Outcast's faces and he remembered his mother's word. “You are a strong King.”
I may still be King but I am not wise. All these thoughts entered into his mind in seconds, then he looked at his mate. “No, she will lead us,” he said proudly.
Andra looked at Arn, she knew what he was asking of her and what it meant to the Nomad's future. Andra replied, “I won’t,” she said, “but I will stand by your side and we will fight together.”
Arn smiled, “Then we will stand as one.” We are stronger together than apart. He turned to the warriors. “We will not be called the Almadra, that name is not ours, from this time forward, we will be what we are, Outcasts, without a home or a God.”
Kuno then came closer to the pair. “Then we are Outcast, we have no King or Gods to lead us,” he paused as he looked at Andra and Arn, “What shall we call you?”
Arn did not need to think, “We are Moric-Kan, the twin dragons.”
The warriors stood silently, they'd always followed a King into battle but they trusted Arn and knew he would fight beside them. So they beat their axes on the ground and chanted the name, soon to echo over the Outlands like a fearsome battle cry.
“Moric-Kan! Moric-Kan! Moric-Kan!”
The chant rose higher and higher, like the suns in the distant morning sky. The Whiptails took up the sound and roared like blood maddened demons from beyond the Black Gulf.
Arn listened to the beast's screams and it filled his heart with fire, he turned to look at Andra, “Together we will stand,” he said.
In a voice only he could hear, Andra replied, “Yes, always together.”
Nomads of the Gods Page 47