Chapter 47. Exiles of the Gods
Those who seek redemption shall know my mercy.
Those who choose to live in the shadows will not see my face.
Those who do not follow my book will be destroyed with fire and steel.
From the Book of Isarie.
The Shadow-men traveled at night thus avoiding the harsh light of the suns that reminded them of a world no longer theirs. They moved quietly with padded wagons wheels, their Trofar were muzzled to prevent them from drawing the attention of creatures roaming the Outlands at night.
They numbered in the thousands, yet they left no mark on the land, they had learned how to move over the ground leaving no trace behind. Even the Nomad's best trackers, would be hard pressed to find any sign of their wagons. At the back of each column of riders, a pair of Trofars raked the ground to erasing all trace of footprints, claw marks and wheel tracks.
They came out of their caves in the Mountains of Kresh down into the Grassland's. It was not their home but they would follow their leader wherever he led them. They trusted his judgment to give them the vengeance they so desperately wanted. They headed towards the Heart of Shawcona, a gigantic rock outcropping set in the vast openness of the Sirolian plains.
The landmark had been there for as long anyone could remember and would remain long after there was anyone left to forget. Its steep sides rose sharply, reaching upward until they ended in an immense plateau big enough to hold several tribes of Nomads. There were large caves and hiding places its base. The mountain would make a perfect fortification for anyone who cared to use it. The people of the Outlands avoided it like a wounded Whiptail, deadly Moonbuds filled the surrounding fields and demons hid in the caves.
In Nomad legend, it was said, that the great rock was once the heart of Shawcona, the Goddess of Love and Mating. She had fallen in love with Atos the God of War but he did not return her love, for his heart knew only death. When she realized he could never love her, she tore out her heart and cast it to the ground, vowing never to love again. In time her heart regrew but no Outlander dared venture to the Mountain for fear of losing their courage and losing the will to fight.
None of this mattered to the People of the Shadows, the deadly flowers held little fear for them, pain and death were their everyday companions. Their hearts held little love and as for demons, the dark places of the world were their homes and they looked into the face of horror every day of their retched lives.
The Shadow-men rode on dark Spike-backs, holding poisoned tip arrows at the ready. They surrounded their supply wagon much like the Nomads did, they carried food and water and other staples needed for a long trek. They also carried enough Grana, to sustain them for a long time.
At the head of the moving mass was a large wagon pulled by several Trofar. It bore a strong resemblance to the Holy Mother's moving shrine, it was much smaller and bore none of the ornate carvings. It was strongly made from wood, steel and the bleached bones of long dead giants but the workmanship was inferior. It was of a dark color and used Ax-Breakers shells as armor, its wheels were spiked and made formidable weapons if needed. A host of black riders guarded it as they moved along under the moonlight, inside was a person who held great meaning to them.
Egmar sat quietly, swaying to the movements of the wagon as it moved over the hard ground. It had been a long time since she'd felt such things and for a brief time, she thought she was back with her tribe, heading to the green pastures of Darmock and the Festival of the Gathering.
She sat with her eyes closed, her thoughts tuned to long ago, she saw herself as a young girl, the warm sunlight on her face, walking carefully through a field of ripe Kasha-wheat. In the distance were the tribe's tents and wagons and she could hear the Elders singing as they went about their work.
She watched herself climb up a small rise to look out over the endless expanse of openness, it seemed to go on forever. She heard a voice calling her name, she turned to see her mother standing close by. She looks like she's alive; she thought; so long ago that I lost her.
She watched a figure come to her side and touch her cheek. “What troubles you my child?” she asked lovingly.
Egmar looked at her mother, “My children are gone, I have no purpose now,” she said softly, bowing her head and looking down at the ground.
Her mother reached out and lifted her chin so she could look at her face. “You are a cup-sharer, a sin-eater, you are a mother to all.”
Hearing her mother's words brought tears to her eyes, she reached out and took her into her arms, holding her tightly.
Then she heard her mother whisper. “The Gods will arise.”
Egmar opened her eyes to see nothing but the sparse raiment of her wagon. There was no green pasture or sunlight on her face, there was only the soft rocking from the ground and the beating of her heart. A dream, only a dream.
She sat without moving for a time, then she reached into her robe and took out a small silver bell. Karn had given her many cycles ago, she held it up by its slender cord and shook it gently. A soft sound, “Ting, Ting, Ting,” filled the air and filled her sad heart with joy.
During the days and nights that followed, the Talsonar Army found they had a new enemy to fight. Reports came in about a group of warriors, led by creatures that weren't human or beast but a horrific blend of both. Unlike previous Nomad encounters, these warriors did not stand and fight, they engaged in hit and run tactics, causing great damage to the Stone City's soldiers.
They attacked mostly at night, striking hard with fire and steel, vanishing into the darkness they emerged at some other place, causing more death and destruction. They set fires in storage wagons, poisoned water supplies and built traps, inflicting damage to the Trofars pulling the wagons. When a large force was sent out to engage them, they found nothing but if a small detachment lagged behind the main force, they were never seen again. The phantom raiders were seen many times, scouting from a distance. Soldiers dared not pursue them for any great time, because they needed to stay close to their army's main body, without the Guides they would become hopelessly lost.
Fear started to filter into the Hal-Jafar, being superstitious they saw these warriors as Outland demons of some kind. Coming out of the darkness, leaving behind mutilated bodies and their fellow trooper's heads impaled on spikes. They started telling stories of dark forces moving against them and they became fearful of horrific older Gods.
Their fear grew stronger with each telling, many believed the night warriors were the first wave of evil beings coming up from the depths, to avenge their entry into the forbidden lands. Soon Talsonar soldiers were seeing demons everywhere and visions of monsters filled their dreams.
These tales did not affect the Yangmar, with their limited intelligence and conditioning, they did not know fear or care about demons. Those who ordered the Yangmar into battle, were beginning to lose their belief in their invincibility, they became reluctant to face an enemy they might not be able to kill.
More of their warriors died at the hands of Outland monsters, those few who somehow escaped the attack from the darkness, began to whisper a name that spread through the Talsonar soldiers. A name that soon became synonymous with pain and death.
Moric-Kan!
The guards standing outside the Governor's tent, listened as he screamed so loudly that the Trofar feeding nearby began to bellow. “Moric-Kan! Moric-Kan! That’s all I hear! I want them destroyed, understand, destroyed!” Governor Darken beat his fist on the metal tabletop and glared at his Generals in a way that sent their blood cold. They watched the skin around the metal plate in their leaders head began to rise, as the veins in his scaly neck pounded with blood.
Darken looked at General by the name of Deth-Deltalus, a short but stoutly built man with a large nose and small pig like eyes. He was a lesser commander but so skilled at torture, it struck fear into his man. The Governor found much pleasure in that. “Why are you not able to kill a few broken Nomads? Tell me?” He beat
his fist on the table again, the General did not answer. “I'll tell you why, it is because you're weak and you know what happens to those who are weak!”
The General looked at the line of severed heads, sitting on a nearby table. Their eyes had been torn out and judging by the ghastly look on their dead faces, it was done before the headsman’s ax removed their heads.
The ghastly sight made Deltalus swallow hard, then clear his throat. “Ah, no your lordship, we are not weak, it's just that we cannot find them. They come and go quickly and those we do find alive, are almost dead already, either from their wounds or by their own hand but we will keep trying.”
There was silence in the tent as Darken slowly rubbed the plate in his head. He seemed to calm himself some, then he began to speak once more. “Very well but I do not want excuses, I want their heads and if I cannot have theirs, I will have yours.” He turned away from them, “Now go, all of you and leave me alone.”
The Generals bowed and left the tent one by one. As the last of them was about to leave, the Governor suddenly motioned to one of his lesser Captains, the man stood waiting for Darken to speak. “Send me a companion for the night,” he told the man, “make sure to find the best you can.”
“Male or female, your lordship?” he asked.
Darken thought over his options, making up his mind he said, “Female.”
The man bowed low then left, now the Governor was alone with his thoughts. Fools; he thought; why do I have such fools by my side?
He sat in an ornate chair in front of table covered with papers, there was also a silver goblet, a gold pitcher of wine and a plate of half eaten meat. He picked up the pitcher and poured himself a cup, he'd made sure to bring the best wine in the city, after all a God must have only the finest.
Do all Gods have such fools as their servants; he thought; or do they force lesser Gods to do their bidding?
He drank deeply of the wine, then he put it down and stared at a small table next to his bed. There was a beautifully carved set of Mindgame pieces made of ivory and gold. He went to the table and sat down next to it, looking at the intricate game's small figures, he spoke out loud. There were no slaves or concubines in the room to hear him but hearing to his own words made him feel strong.
“If only they'd move as I move you,” he reached out for one of the figures and placed it on a different position on the board. “If only they could understand,” then he laughed to himself' I must find better toys; he thought.
He sat playing with the board pieces for a time, moving them this way and that, playing out different scenarios to occupy his busy mind. The tent flaps, were opened by the Captain and with him was a woman dressed from head to toe in a dirty robe. He could not see her face but the slim leg visible through the opening at the front of her garment, showed she would suffice for the night.
“Leave her and go,” he said.
The Captain bowed low then left quickly, the Governor stood looking at the woman before him. “Remove your robe,” he said coldly. He watched as the garment fell away and she stood naked before him.
Slim legs, not too many marks, he thought; she will do.
The woman was not the best of companions but the Governor had little choice. A lucky hit from one of the Nomad's guns had destroyed his pleasure wagon along with the flesh toys within. Now he had to make do with the Sin-Cravers who followed the soldiers, for a time he refused to lower his standards and use any bed companion. Events of the last few weeks had begun to take a toll on his usually unshakable nerves and he now felt the need for distraction and what better way than to indulge his flesh.
She is a Sin-Craver that is certain but she will do. “What is your name?” Darken asked bluntly.
The woman stood motionless, she spoke softly, “My name? My name?”
“Yes woman, tell me what they call you,” Darken said angrily, “you do have a name don't you?”
The woman stood thinking. Any merchant in the streets outside the Stone City would have recognized the woman. They would have told him, she once was a gladiator in the arena and had won glory and fame with her mate. That time was past, now she was just a bed warmer to anyone with a few crystals of red Ice to spare.
“My name?” The woman repeated, then she remembered something. “My mother called me Saduk,” she said softly.
It really did not matter to the Governor what name she had but if she pleased him, he could send for her again and if not, then he knew, which name to give to the executioners.
Darken went to her side and took her by the arm, he led her to his bed and they laid upon it together.
A Sillastine's lovemaking was not an act of kindness or mercy, they took what they wanted and felt little concern for their mate. Seeda had long since forgotten what a warm arm around her meant, she was content to lie quietly and empty her mind.
The Nomad Outcasts, now numbered in the hundreds and with each passing day their forces grew. How they found each other was something of a mystery, they somehow knew where to travel in thousands upon thousands of square miles of open range, to be with their kind.
They came from all the Outland tribes, the Zengarie, Ozendra, Calodon, Armrod and more. All the clans had driven out their unbelievers and they came together to make one great force. There were Elders and Frail-legs with them, the young and the old, those who refused to bend under the yoke of religious intolerance, had to leave. Some had been tortured, not for their beliefs but for offenses against those who had the Power of the Gods behind them. Petty crimes and not bowing low enough to the High Priestess brought such punishment. So they packed up their wagons and bid farewell to the tribe of their ancestors and went into the Outlands.
Coming with them were some warriors, they rode on strong Whiptails and Spike-backs, they were not permitted to take Long-Range weapons or more than a pouch full of Grana but it was enough. At first the warriors did not take kindly to sharing their Washa fires with traditional enemies and sometimes there was bloodshed. With no Talk-stone or Sun-Gazer to mediate, it was up to those they called Moric-Kan to settle arguments.
Under a stormy sky with dark clouds, threatening to break at any moment, allowing Dietas the Water Goddess to pour her gift upon the land, the warriors gathered around a makeshift altar and listen to Arn.
“No! We cannot face them in battle,” he said, looking at an angry Caladon warrior. “We must wait until the time is right and our warriors are prepared.”
Valen was tall and strong, with bright eyes and a warm smile he was handsome. Now he shook his head angrily, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “It is not our way, we are not cowards who strike, then run off into the night. I say we face them on the battle field and kill them like men.”
Around him stood a dozen or more members of his former tribe, all driven out for various offenses against the High Priestesses, or just for not fitting in. Whatever the reason now they wanted blood and to lose themselves in the killing madness.
Arn stood up and shook his fist at the man. “If we strike too soon, it will be our blood only on the battle field, we must wait.”
Kuno, standing to the left of Arn, moved forward, “Listen to him and Andra, they know how to defeat these city dwellers.”
Valen glanced at the woman at Arn’s side; she is dressed like a warrior and she defeated Ashra Doom in the challenge pit; he thought; but can she lead us? “It is this, this Half-Soul who has weakened your arm,” he said boldly.
Instinctively, Arn reached for his ax but Andra put her hand on him and stopped him from raising his weapon. She turned to the warrior who had insulted her. “If you think my arm is weak, then test it for yourself.”
At those words, a cheer went up from the warriors, around them. Without a word, Valen stalked around the rock separating them and raised his weapon. “They may call you Moric-Kan but I see no dragon here, come and I will…”
Before he could say anything else, Andra spun around and struck him in the face with the heel of her boot. With a loud grunt Valen we
nt down and lay there with a cut on his lip. The warriors yelled wildly.
“She has cheated,” said one.
“A trick by the Half-Soul,” someone shouted from the back.
“She struck before he was ready!” said another.
“An insult to the challenge!” someone else screamed.
Andra stood listening to them for a time, then she spoke in a loud clear voice. “Yes, I cheated, I tricked him, I struck before he was ready,” she said proudly. “Yet he is down, the Talsonar don’t care about the ways of your people, they don’t’ care about your laws or challenges or honor, they only want to exterminate you!” She let her words sink in, then spoke again. “I have watched them, I've seen how they make war, if you will trust us we will show you how to defeat them.” She reached down and helped Valen to his feet, she gave him a hard look, “There is no shame in being beaten, there is only shame if you give up.”
Kuno smiled; she has learned our ways, she is a true warrior.
Then Arn shouted out to the warriors, “We no longer follow the Holy Book but we are still strong.” He lifted his battle ax high above his head. “We are no longer The Chosen of the Gods but if we stand together, the Gods will fear us, so now I say we are no longer of different tribes. We will fight as one, the ground will tremble to the sound of our coming, we will fight as one and our Gods will be, Earth, Wind and Fire!”
A strong breeze blew from the North, as one, the warriors repeated the words. “Earth! Wind! Fire!”
They too lifted their weapons to the night sky, as they did, the thick clouds cracked and heavy rain fell onto the Outcast warriors.
Arn felt the rain on his face and he listened for the thunder as lightning broke across the sky. The sound of thunder rolled over the Sirolian plains and made the ground shake under his feet. Some warriors looked upward with fear in their eyes.
Arn shouted out above the din. “As one!”
Andra stood by his side and lifted her ax to the sky she repeated the words. “As one.”
Then all the warriors began shouting out, some beating their weapons on the ground. Flashes of light filled the dark sky illuminating the warrior's faces and making them look like maddened demons of the night.
Andra joined in the chanting but her heart was not filled with rage. Death; she thought; is this why I lived, to bring death to others? There was no answer just the maddened screams of the Outlanders and a War-God's booming hammer, thundering in the night sky.
Nomads of the Gods Page 48