Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 49. Red Ruin

  Blood and Pain, Fear and Death.

  These are the lands we tread.

  We march to madness in dark dreams.

  And sing to forgotten dead.

  We ask no mercy from the Gods.

  And give none in return.

  We battle in our Goddess' name.

  And in dark fires burn.

  War song of the Almadra.

  The sky still flashed with power as the morning broke over the Outlands, all through the night the thunder and lightning continued, violent winds blew and the ground shook as if monsters were moving under the earth.

  The Outcast warriors had risen well before dawn and prepared themselves for battle. They feasted and told stories of past battles to raise their courage, they sang the old songs of great heroes and their deeds. They painted their faces red and black, making sure their Journey Nails were about their necks. Some prayed and some simply looked up at the vaults of heaven. The fire of war burned in all of them, a dark fire, soon to consume them in an orgy of death and destruction. When all was done, they dressed in their dark armor and took up their battle-axes and shields. They sharpened their daggers in case they were needed but prayed they would die in battle rather than have to take their own lives in defeat.

  They did not feed the Whiptails, knowing they were going to war, they wanted their mounts hungry and therefore more dangerous. The great beasts seemed to understand, soon they would be feasting on man flesh, they pawed the ground and roared in anticipation.

  The Spike-backs were also uneasy, perhaps it was the thunder and lightning or maybe they could smell death in the air. Whatever the reason they grunted and swiped their powerful tails from side to side making it harder for their riders to prepare them for war. The Iron-workers had fashioned large steel plates that now hung from the beast's sides. It would protect them from the Talsonar’s chamber rifles and offer some protection from Long-Range weapon shrapnel.

  The heavy guns were cleaned and re-cleaned, Andra had insisted upon this and it was done. The armored gun wagons were attached to strong Trofar and pulled into position. Kuno took up his place at their head, he was eager for the fight to come but he busied himself by chewing a piece of seasoned Rimar meat, washed down with several cups of seasoned Po.

  At the back of the long column came the supply wagons, with them, the Elders and the young. They would not be engaging in battle and stayed well behind, they would tend the wounded after the fighting was done. They hoped for victory but were prepared to end their lives and take the children into the Afterlife with them, rather than fall into their enemy's unforgiving hands.

  At the head of the Outcast warriors rode Arn and Andra on their Whiptails, they did not speak, there was no need. Their ancient armor was fitted with long red cloth cloaks that furled in the wind, making them easy to be spotted by their warrior's on the battle field. The battle plan had been settled and the leaders of the tribes in their army, had pledged to follow those orders, even to the death. It had taken most of the night to get agreement but they'd still found a few moments to lie in each others arms and forget about war and death, if only for a short time.

  Arn shifted the weight of his battle ax, then looked at the woman with whom he'd chosen to spend his life. Isarie, if I am to die today; he thought; then let me die beside her.

  It was a simple prayer to a God he no longer believed in but looking at his mate, he hoped he was wrong about his belief and that the Goddess would show mercy to a disbeliever and grant his request.

  Andra knew that the rain had made the ground soft and that the wind would carry their scent. That might be to their disadvantage but the booming thunderclaps masked the sound of their Whiptails, as far as she knew, Talsonar scouts had not spotted them yet. She let these and many other questions roll through her mind, then looked over at Arn.

  I don’t want to die today; she prayed but if I do please let me die bravely, standing beside him.

  She did not know if the Gods of her dead world still existed but she hoped that somewhere they would hear her prayer and show her mercy.

  Behind Arn and Andra came Osh and Endo's wagon. It took time and a lot of talking from Osh to convince Arn and Andra to let them join in the fight. Osh's arguments proved formidable and in the end they reluctantly agreed to include them in the army. Osh sat next to Endo, wearing pieces of armor, clearly too big for his small frame, he tried to calculate the odds of them winning.

  “If reports of their force are true and if we can maintain the element of surprise and if they continue on their present course, we should encounter them very soon.” He scratched his large head,“Now let me see, our warriors are coming from the west at a speed of approximately four point seven marks in a…” He looked at Endo driving the wagon, the Sandjar shook his head from side to side.

  “To many thoughts, let them go,” Endo said.

  The Callaxion smiled, “Yes, let it go,” then he settled back into his seat and emptied his head of everything except the smell of fresh grass on the wind.

  What thoughts went though the Sandjar's mind were unknown. He sat quietly, holding the reins tightly in his clawed hands. He wore a metal breastplate and a pair of strong leggings, on his head was a round helmet with a short spike protruding from the top. It was not the style of the Nomads but the Iron-workers who fashioned the headpiece thought it added menace. Beside him lay a chamber rifle, strange as it seemed Endo had become very good at firing the weapon and now carried one wherever he went. Now as he guided their wagon to a battle that would decide the future of a world, he said nothing.

  To the South of the Heart of Shawcona, Darken Droganus' forces marched forward in a great wall of steel. The Yangmar were at the front then the Hal-Jafar and the heavy guns behind them. It was their regular formation and it had proved unstoppable in the past. Far behind them came the supply wagons and the camp followers.

  Beside the Governor's great battle wagon were the Guide's armored vehicles, inside the Shadow-men who had proved themselves by leading the Talsonar to victory after victory. They found no pleasure in what they had done, for they knew they were only a small piece of a greater plan. A plan to lead the Talsonar into a trap, with no chance of escape, a trap that was soon to close, crushing the Stone City people like a Rock-runner in a Sun-dropper's claws.

  Governor Darken stood proudly, on the observation deck of his huge command wagon. Beside him were his officers and three slaves to hold food and drink, lest he wished to quench his thirst or fill his stomach before the coming battle. The Sillastine was too excited to eat or drink, his mind was filled with visions of glory and a vast battle field strewn with the bodies of the Outlanders.

  I've done it; he thought; I've waited all my life for this day and when it's finished there will be no one to challenge me as the God I am.

  Above him lightning flashed and with it thunder, to some of his officers, it foretold of dark things to come but to the Governor it sounded like the Gods welcoming him into their circle.

  The sound of thunder woke Seeda from her dreams of pleasure. Now she sat shaking with cold in a dark corner of the command wagon and trying to remember where she was and how she got there. She could not remember days past or even her name, that was all gone now, frozen in long, forgotten dreams of worlds beyond worlds and times long past.

  Standing on a ledge jutting out from the Heart of Shawcona, Egmar and the Darkman looked out over the land, below lay the entrances to the caves, the hiding place of the Shadow-men. Above them rose the high cliffs of the great rock and above that rolling clouds in the sky. They stood against the wind and the sound of thunder that filled the air and waited. They waited for a meeting of worlds, a meeting that would decide who the Gods favored, the Half-Souls of far Off-Worlds or the people who called this land their home.

  Egmar and the Darkman had wrapped themselves in long robes against the wind and shielded their eyes with hoods, the sunlight wasn't strong but the flashes of lightning made them t
urn their heads. Beside them stood several black clad figures holding long Rimar horns, at their leader's command, they would signal the People of the Darkness to come out into the light.

  The Queen's forsaken son pointed to the horizon, to a long cloud of rising dust, “Here they come.” His voice was full of anticipation, “I told you they would come.” He turned towards another swirling dust cloud to the North, “Coming to greet them, The Chosen of the Gods.” He spat the last word out like bitter root, “How easy it was to get them to come, I simply offered what they wanted most and they accepted my invitation gladly.”

  “What did you promise them?” Egmar asked.

  The Darkman laughed softly, “What all creatures of their ilk want, I told them, they could destroy their enemies and my people would help.” He laughed again, “They would die rather than give up what they have but offer what they want and they come with hands held out, like beggars in the streets.”

  Egmar listened to him laugh again, then she said, “You would stand by and watch your own people die without helping them?”

  “My people?” his voice rose in anger. “My people left me to die in the Wastelands, my people would have killed me on sight. My people made me what I am and now I will watch as they are wiped from the face of the land and with them the city vermin will die too!”

  Egmar stood looking at her lost son, then she spoke softly, so that only he would hear, “And then?”

  The Darkman looked hard at her, “What do you mean?”

  “With all of your enemies gone, what will you do with your hate, will it die with them?”

  The Darkman stood in silence, then he leaned close to his mother, “I will always have my hate,” he said softly. He turned away and looked out over the land.

  Obec had waited all her long life for this day, she had planned and schemed and killed to make sure this day would come. She sat in a chair at the front of the Holy wagon, her cold heart began to beat faster and a smile lifted the corners of her thin lips,

  At last; she thought; at last the day is here, the power of the Goddess is in my hands. I will wield it and cleanse the land of all who doubt her strength, I will watch as The Chosen purify this world with fire and steel.

  She sat back and listened to the Handmaiden's chanting and listened to the Voice of Isarie as it broke the skies with her thundering words of truth.

  Anais did not hear words of truth, he only heard thunder and it made him afraid. He did not want to lead the Almadra warriors into battle but the High Priestess insisted he show his bravery. She told him he had nothing to fear, because he would be surrounded by a whole company of her strongest Thungodra.

  He sat uneasily on his Whiptail, holding his battle ax in a hand that shook with fear. When the day is done and I am victorious, I will rid myself of this old woman and rule as I see fit. I will make Soffca my Queen, then together we will see the bent knee of all who displease me.

  Hearing those words in his mind made him feel less afraid but his hands still sweated and his heart pounded like the war drums that sounded in his ears.

  With the Almadra warriors came the other Outlands tribes. The Armrod, the Caladon, the Bal-Borie, they were all present and with them came their King’s, Kadar and Balgar were eager for the battle to begin. Their warriors were rested and their weapons sharpened, it would be a glorious day to remember and songs of their victory would be sung in the Longhouses for ages to come.

  As the storm clouds increased and the winds blew in waves over the land, the two great armies came together at last.

  It cannot be said who made the first move, the sound of beating of drums and the sound of signal horns filled the air at the same time. The Nomads screaming their war cries, charged into battle like demons of death. As their roaring Whiptails raced forward, the Talsonar heavy guns opened fire. The shells came whistling overhead and fell upon the first line of Nomads. In a blinding flash of fire, a dozen or more of their best warriors were blown to pieces and their bloody remains fell upon the riders behind them, coating their armor with gore. This did not turn their charge, they dug their spurs in and continued to race ahead. Again and again the guns fired and more warriors were killed but still they came in a great wave of hate and death.

  High above the carnage, the Darkman watched and laughed. “You see, the fools race to meet death like a lover to his love, how quickly they die and for what? For a Goddess who does not exist.”

  Egmar watched her people being slaughtered, “They do not die for nothing, they die to protect their families, the ones who love them.”

  “Love them?” the Darkman shouted, “they poison their own children in the name of their Gods, there is no love in them,” he turned to watch those who had cast him out to die.

  The Governor smiled as he watched the Nomads dying by the score; foolish toys; he thought; so small and weak, soon they will be no more. He turned to an officer by his side, “Give the signal for the Yangmar to advance.”

  The officer quickly lifted a banner over his head, the sign for the huge soldiers to march. In a matter of seconds, the Pigmen's masters blew their horns and the armored beasts marched forward.

  They fired their chamber rifles as they advanced at the oncoming warriors. The volleys were very effective against the unprepared Nomads, those at the front went down, causing those behind to stumble over their bodies, causing even more to fall. With their guns empty, the Yangmar drew their hand weapons and roaring in fury they fell upon the Outlanders.

  They had very little fighting skill but their great size and thick armor made them a match for the Nomads. They could withstand heavy blows and suffer wounds that would kill lesser creatures and all the while, they stuck back powerfully bringing down rider and beast alike.

  They still suffered greatly, the Whiptails ripped and tore into them, biting off great chunks of flesh or impaling them on spiked tails. Even when their riders were killed they fought until their limbs were shredded or their heads cut from their bodies.

  Tamar-Ran watched the carnage from his war-wagon, the Hal-Jafar had not yet been called into battle, so he amused himself, watching the fighting and taking sips from a large tankard of Marsh-beer.

  The Nomads fight well; he thought; such a waste of good soldiers. He took another long drink and continued watching.

  Anais didn't watch, when the first barrage of shells hit his warriors, he turned his Whiptail and rode away as fast as he could to Obec's Holy Wagon. There were tears of fear in his eyes when he jumped from his mount to catch hold of the moving shrine.

  His fear gave him strength and he clung on for his life, he climbed up to the first level, then with Talsonar shells bursting around, him he started up to the lookout deck. He climbed to the highest part of the vehicle and raced to the ornately dressed old woman who was surrounded by Handmaidens. “You promised we would have victory!” His voice was breaking with terror, “You said I would be victorious!”

  Obec sat calmly in her chair and with a soft emotionless voice said, “Did I? Do you really think the Goddess would give power to a weakling like you?”

  Hearing the old woman's words made the cowardly King trembled with rage. “You are nothing but a frail old woman and I do not need your false Gods!” Saying those harsh words, Anais drew the golden dagger from his belt and went towards the High Priestess. Before he could take more another step, a slim but strong hand shot out and struck him on the side of the head. Dropping his weapon, he turned to see who dared to strike a King.

  He looked at Soffca, her naked body was stained red and her long hair was braided with gold twine, her face showed no emotion.

  The young King looked at her with disbelief. “What have you done, you cannot do this, you love me.”

  The Handmaiden shook her head. “I cannot, I am promised to Isarie and my love is for her alone.”

  Anais' heart felt a wound much greater than any Talsonar weapon or Shadow-man's poisoned arrow could inflict.

  Lies! All lies! She does not love me, he thou
ght, before he could utter a word, he was seized by two strong Thungodra. “Let me free, I am the King!” he shouted. He heard Obec’s cold voice.

  “Not any longer,” she said quietly, she looked at her guards. “Throw this coward onto the ground where he belongs.” At the High Priestess' command, the two warriors picked up a screaming Anais and threw him off the moving shrine onto the hard ground below.

  Obec looked back to the battlefield, while the Handmaidens stood silently by her side.

  The sky darkened and the wind rose as the two armies battled on. The Nomads charged, again and again at the sea of steel before them. Balgar on his Whiptail, was the first to lead his warriors into battle, like a true King. His ax was the first to draw blood but even his many years experience of warfare, could not break the massive enemy wall. He did not turn and flee, he stood his ground and screamed out his tribe's battle cry as he died beneath the Yangmar weapons.

  Kadar, King of the Armrod drove his men into the right side of the huge soldiers, he fared better than his fellow King. After a wild charge he broke through their outer defenses and into the heart of the enemy, where his warriors killed to left and right. The savage Pigmen had no choice but to stand and fight, their chains forcing them to stay and die together. With the Nomad's war-axes cutting them down like ripe wheat, they did just that but the Nomad victory was short lived, the Governor was watching them.

  Darken lowered his range glasses and turned to one of his officers. “Give the signal for the Hal-Jafar to attack.” The officer bowed, then left to give the order. The Sillastine looked back, at the surrounding scene of war.

  They win little; he thought; toys cannot defeat a strong God.

  The order to attack sent the Hal-Jafar into action, with Tamar-Ran at their head they jumped from their armored wagons and began firing their chamber rifles, the effect was devastating. These well-trained, seasoned warriors were skilled at handling their guns. They fired round after round and with each bullet they brought down a rider or his mount. Soon the Nomads, were being driven back and after them marched the Talsonar. Along with the Hal-Jafar came runners, they were set free to race towards their enemy, exploding themselves in a holocaust of fire and steel.

  High above the fray Egmar watched her people being exterminated. They die, they die and I live, I cannot stand and do nothing; she thought sadly. She started to leave, when the Darkman called out to her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  The Queen looked at him, “to be with my people,” she replied, she turned and left, leaving her son behind.

  The Shadow-man was tempted to order his men to detain her but he did not. He watched her leave then turned back to the battle below; if that is her way, then I will not stop her. His words did not keep his cold heart from feeling pain but it only lasted a moment and then it was gone, now he felt as he'd always felt, empty.

  The feeling did not last, soon the hatred that consumed him returned and with it a terrible vengeance. He turned to the robed men nearby, “Give the signal to attack,” he watched them put the Rimar horns to their scarred lips and blow a long deep note that echoed over the land.

  When she heard the sound of the Shadow-men’s horns, Obec sat upright in her ornate chair, her wrinkled face showing a little smile. He has kept his promise, now the power of Isarie shall be unleashed.

  She watched columns of dark robed warriors burst out from the caves in the Heart of Shawcona's base. They poured out like a dark river of death that would never end, a mass of warriors and beasts. The Shadow-men numbered in the thousands, each carried a powerful bow and a good supply of arrows, poisoned with Rock-worm venom. They did not shout any war cries as they rode forward, they simply moved as one great mass. When they were in range, they loosed a flurry of arrows that filled the sky to rain down upon the Talsonar, like a dark veil of death.

  In a matter of moments hundreds of soldiers were killed. They were not prepared for an attack of deadly arrows, even if the shafts only scratched them, they soon fell to the ground screaming in pain, their mouths foaming as they died horribly. The Yangmar died by the score, they were far too slow to avoided the wooden shafts, although they only felt like pin pricks, they soon rolled on the ground, roaring in pain. This made them an easy kill for a vengeful Nomad.

  Darken saw all of this, in an instant he knew what had happened, he had been betrayed and his ally was now an enemy. He was still confident of his power, he knew something no one else knew, Generals Leeander and Yung would soon be with him, their combined forces would quickly put an end to these treacherous toys.

  He thinks he has won but the game has only begun; he thought

  The High Priestess’s face was full of joy as she watched the Talsonar soldiers falling by the hundred. She was not frightened, even when a Long-Range shell exploded nearby, killing several loyal Thungodra, it was preordained, the will of the Gods and the Wages of War. Around her the Handmaidens started chanting of war and death, songs not sung in ages, songs of blood and pain. To the old woman, they were the sweetest of lullabies, soft sounds to fill the mind and make glad the heart but it did not last.

  As she watched the battle, the Shadow-men turned their bows towards the very heart of the Nomads and fired a massive flight of arrows into them. When the shafts struck the warriors, they fell screaming in pain, some arrows left their Whiptails roaring like demons of the pit.

  Obec rose from her chair and clutched her wagon's handrail, “What is this? He has betrayed me! He has betrayed me! Valcoush! Sacrilege, he turns against the Gods!” She screamed at the Thungodra, “Destroy them, destroy them all!”

  The battlefield erupted into a mass of death, the Shadow-men drove into the Talsonar and the Nomads alike. They killed anything that was not of the darkness and even though they also died by the thousand, they did not turn or run. They were like demons of the Outlands, caring nothing for themselves, wishing only to kill and kill again.

  Darken’s face was showing his rage, he rubbed the ornate plate in his head and paced back and forth on his observation deck. “Where are they, why are they not here?” His words were directed at no one in particular. The officers, around him stirred uneasily lest they were blamed for his anger. He was about to vent his fury, on a soldier by his side when he heard a loud trumpeting, turning East he saw General Leeander's army marching fast to his aid. Seeing thousands of soldiers, his anger subsided.

  Now they will pay, now they will see what a strong God can do, now they will die in red ruin; he told himself.