“My staff!” she exclaimed, pointing at the ground where Archibald stood. “Hand me my staff, the totem of the coast!” The Englishman picked up the strange looking clam-adorned stick that was obviously made from driftwood found on the shores. Itlinaa started to chant and suddenly the beating of wings was heard. A croaking filled the crimson peak and from the skies dropped hundreds of seagulls and their brethren, the white albatross of the coves. They aggressively descended upon the Iftruuls and the mighty serpent U’rasha, who had entangled Song in its coils. A dozen of those birds of the sea attacked the monstrous snake with their beaks. U’rasha twisted and tried to devour its winged assailants. The distraction allowed Song to break free from the grip of his grisly foe. With a great cleave he brought down his scimitar and the head of U’rasha was severed.
“Seagull and albatross!” he mused. “My, how their sorrowful singing lured me to the seas long ago when I was a boy! And now they return when I am in need, close to death, fighting devils! May the gods bless their feathers with their breath!”
A black chasm yawned behind the altar. Beside it Archibald faced Yuurga, the priest of evil. The dark one had reclaimed his axe and stared at the Englishman with hatred and scorn.
“Your rule of terror has come to an end, devil!” said Archibald. “Normally I’d say the first strike goes out to the challenger, yet you are not what I would deem a true gentleman! So, en garde, prêt, allez!” Fast as lightning Archibald struck, yet Yuurga simply stopped the blade of Archibald with his hand. Though it cut him badly, he didn’t seem to feel any pain. Yuurga grinned at the smaller man, who tried to wrangle free his blade. Using the skull of the wildebeest he wore as a weapon, he head butted the Englishman, knocking him to the dusty ground several paces away.
Slowly Archibald rose. Pointing at Yuurga, he said, “Chivalry is languishing in these lands, blast you! You don’t hit people with wildebeest skulls! I miss my England sometimes, ah!” Then he rushed at the priest again, evading a powerful thrust of Yuurga’s axe. He slid through the giant’s braced legs and cut the sinew behind one knee. The black priest tumbled and Archibald was behind him in an instant, piercing his heart and ending his life. The English explorer wiped the sweat from his face and fastened the red bandana around his head. “Another heart pierced by vanity!” he said and looked at his companions. “À raconter ses maux, souvent on les soulage!”
Only two of the buccaneers besides Song yet lived. The others had been slain by the serpent U’rasha, the priest Yuurga, or his Iftruul-servants. Song stood still as a statue, blood-splattered, but alive. He was grinning. “A good fight, Sans Pitié! Tonight a crimson sun will set in the west!”
“Where will you go, friend?” asked Archibald.
Song laughed loudly. “Ha, I shall return to the coast with these two rats here. We shall build a raft and conquer a new ship for myself, this time as a captain! Merchants will shiver and the jungle will whisper my name fearfully! Ho ho, the plunder and the wine!”
“And what are your plans for the future, William Archibald, called Sans Pitié?” asked Itlinaa, speaking for the first time. “Today we were victorious and I am thankful for your heroic actions. Yet Yuurga was only a minion, a minion on the hunt for this talisman of mine!” She showed the men a necklace made from ivory, adorned with strange carvings. “Yuurga’s masters have sent him after this. The black circle of the Drakensberg has risen again and wants me dead! They shall not have the amulet of the Elephant! They will look for me and I shall fight them, alone if needed!”
William Archibald rubbed his chin. “What you say sounds grim and dangerous, indeed! My old friend Henri Estienne, once of Paris, used to say ‘Chacun pour soi et Dieu pour tous’—every one for himself and God for us all!” He looked at the African sky above. “I don’t necessarily agree with everything my friends say. Those in need I aid, whether God may be with me or not! Itlinaa and I shall travel southwards, for I have already heard of the Drakensberg and its horrors. Ah, will I ever see the white rocks of Dover again?” He kicked at the sand at his feet. “My, how I hate this place…”
Mythical Monsters
The Forgotten City of Tehm
By Ernest Cunningham Hellwell
It was a time when many deities ruled the minds of men across the lands. A time when kings and queens were the final justice for all. When the art of war was changing due to a few ingenious metallurgists who had discovered how to make weapons of steel. A time when legends were born from the doing of heroic deeds and the spilling of blood.
The land of Khosh! Mostly rugged and barren terrain except for a few oases in the desert region, the Khijar Valley in the north, and the fertile region around the plush city of Khotar in the southwest. To the north of Khotar is the salty Sea of Baal which runs along the western coast of Khosh. To the east across the desert are the steppes which in turn incline into the Himla mountain range that most consider impossible to breach. A finger of the Himla Mountains splits off of the range north of the Khijar Valley and extends west to the coast of the Sea of Baal, making for a seemingly impassable natural border between Khosh and the kingdom of Tarran to the north.
Almec Khan, the self-proclaimed ruler of Khosh, rules from his seat of power in the city of Khotar which is in the only region of the kingdom that is truly satisfactory for farming. It is the major trade hub for most of the Khoshite tribes. Khotar is also near the borders of the neighboring western kingdoms of Camoria and Arcania and it is trade with these kingdoms that has helped Almec Khan gain his wealth and warlord status.
Many different Khoshite tribes are scattered across the kingdom with most of them being nomadic. Some of the tribal chieftains do not recognize Almec as the true Khan of Khosh and oppose him and his dealings with the western kingdoms. They raid his caravans that travel between Khotar and the trading post of Rho Thule to the north in the Khijar Valley, sometimes referred to as the Khijar Pass. Even though Almec Khan is a very powerful ruler with a standing army, his troops have recently proved to be very unsuccessful at protecting the trade route to Rho Thule. Because of this situation Almec Khan conscripted the services of mercenaries from Arcania and Camoria to help protect the caravans from the Khoshite bandits. The majority of these mercenaries are veterans of the bloody war between Camoria and the land of Skythia which ended in treaty some fourteen moons past. Arcania became ally with Camoria during the war. The resulting onslaught of the Arcanian Legion across the Skythian border caused the ruler of Skythia, King Nimneth, to finally sue for peace and eventually sign the treaty that has since held.
The caravan trail from Khotar to Rho Thule is long and arduous with only the Tijem Oasis between, providing water and safe haven. The Oasis of Tijem is manned by a garrison of Almec Khan’s troops of such strength that the bandit tribes do not chance attack. It is the trail that continues north to Rho Thule where the bandits prefer to strike, being at farthest point from the city of Khotar and beyond reasonable reach of the Khan’s army. The trail leads northeast to the more fertile lofted mountains of the Khijar Valley with its wooded hills full of game and vineyards. On both sides of the Khijar Valley are steep rocky mountains with perfect vantage points for defense. Within these mountains are many minerals and gems that are mined by the hands of the Khijar tribe, along with slaves provided by Almec Khan. Wine, hides and precious ore are the commodities most exported by caravan to the city of Khotar from the trading post of Rho Thule. In trade the Khijar tribe receives weapons, grain and fine imports from the rich lands of Camoria and Arcania.
Even though Rho Thule is a great distance from the exotic towers of Khotar, the chieftain of the Khijar tribe, Haru Pesch, is ally with Almec Khan and recognizes him as the true ruler of Khosh. But Haru Pesch refuses to extend his reach beyond that of the Khijar Valley and Pass. A decision well made, for no other tribe has ever been successful in attempts to invade the easily defended pass. Therefore Haru Pesch maintains the safety of his people and their way of life by remaining within the fortified valley and not expanding beyon
d its boundaries.
* * *
A slight mist was to be felt in the air as dusk fell upon the trading post of Rho Thule. Six well-armed warriors dismounted their steeds at the entrance of the great wooden hall of Haru Pesch. Three of these men were of Almec Khan’s army, wearing the traditional padded leather armor and teardrop-shaped helms of the Khotarian Guard, spears and shields in hand with tulwar sword at their side. Another was a tall, slender Khoshite of typical dark complexion and black hair by the name of Tarrak. Being a man of many tongues, Tarrak was in the hire of Almec Khan as a scout and translator for the caravan’s commanders from the west. His attire was much more typical of the Khoshite people with turban upon brow, loose fitting cloth shirt, pantaloons, sandaled feet and a scimitar dangling in its sheath from his waist belt.
The other two were not of the kingdom of Khosh. Both were brown-haired lighter-skinned men, obviously from the western lands. Braxus, a large hunk of a man, tall and muscular, was raised in the farmlands of Camoria. He was freshly out of the Camorian army in which he had fought bravely against the painted Skythian warriors in the war not so long past. Cape and hood partially covered his banded leather armor, animal skin loin covering, padded leggings and sandaled feet. His arms were a circular metal shield strapped upon his back and a medium length sword in scabbard at his side. Next to him was Argus, a man of medium frame and height but muscular in build and extremely fit. A retired Legionnaire of the Arcanian army and also a veteran of the Skythian war, he still wore the chest-fitted metal cuirass, pteruges skirt, bracers, greaves and leather boots that are the common armor and dress of an Arcanian soldier. At his side, a sheathed medium length gladius sword made of the finest Arcanian steel.
The Khijar tribesmen that guard the great hall of Haru Pesch eyed the men carefully as several stable boys relieved the men of their horses. Brushing the dust of the trail off his armor, Argus told Tarrak to dismiss the three Khoshite guards that accompanied them. Tarrak obeyed and excused the Khan’s men in their native tongue. Argus and Braxus both traversed the steps to the doors of the great hall with Tarrak following.
“I would have words with your chieftain!” exclaimed Argus. Both guards looked at each other with uncomprehending eyes.
Tarrak moved between Argus and Braxus. “They know not the tongue of your western lands, my lord! Allow me.” Tarrak spoke to the guards in their own language. Another guard was summoned to escort the three travelers into the hall to appear before the Chief of the Khijar tribes, Haru Pesch.
The great hall was lit by torches along the walls and a large fire pit burning brightly in the center of the structure. Just beyond the fire was a small elevated dais. Upon the dais was an ornately carved wooden chair in which rested the chief of the Khijar. He was a short but stout Khoshite of full graying beard. A scar across his left eye hinted that this man had seen his share of battle in years past. Cloaked in animal furs and guzzling wine from a tankard, he stood from his makeshift throne to welcome his guests.
Tarrak stepped forth and began to address the chieftain in his own language only to be interrupted by Haru Pesch in the Arcanian tongue. “Damn you, Tarrak! Spare me your slithering words. If I wish to hear the hiss of a reptile I will call upon you.” Tarrak bowed to the chief and recoiled slightly as Haru began to laugh exuberantly. “It is all too rare that I have reason to speak in the tongue of the west. I am honored to receive you, my friends. I hear that you have saved my caravan from raiding bandits, a feat not easily achieved. You must be Argus?” Haru approached Argus, eyeballing the Arcanian at great length. “I have received messages from the great Khan regarding you and your friend Braxus the Bull. His trust must be well placed, seeing that you have repelled those bandit bastards from pillaging my wares.”
Argus bowed and raised his gaze to the chief. “We have heard tales of the great Haru Pesch, and I am sure that in younger days thou wouldst have dispatched the outlaws with little effort thyself. They were but a small band easily fought off.”
Haru busted out in laughter. “Flattering words will achieve much with me! I think we shall get on splendidly. Let us take food and drink. I’m sure you are ready for finer delights than the trail can provide.”
The chieftain clapped his hands and sputtered some words in Khoshite as scantily-clad servant girls brought food and wine to a large table that looked to have been hewn from a single tree. “Please, my friends, sit. I think you will find Khijar hospitality unequaled in this life.” All sat at the table except for Tarrak who stood by with his head bowed. “Stop pouting, you spineless worm!” Haru commanded. “Sit and partake, Tarrak! You see, Tarrak’s father and I shared many battles in the days of old and upon his death I decided to keep an eye on the boy. Now he is a young man of great knowledge of many tongues, educated in Khotar where they teach skills of the mind instead of the blade. It is time for him to travel amongst the real men and learn the ways of the warrior class now. So you said it was a small band that was upon you?”
Braxus was stuffing his mouth with food and drink by now, leaving Argus to respond. “Yes, my lord. They were but a dozen and in my mind ill-equipped for the task. They were easily hastened off as soon as they gave witness to Braxus offing two of their comrades. We stand forty men at arms camped at the southern mouth of the pass, waiting to return the caravan that you send to Khotar. You will find that your men already took possession of the incoming caravan’s wares once we arrived at the opening of the valley.”
Haru rose from the table and walked behind Braxus. “I am sure that the sight of The Bull coming would hasten anyone to flee but I must compel you to caution. I fear this raid was but a test of numbers and strength. I think it best if you are most watchful upon your return to Khotar. What you take back is much more valuable than that which you brought to Rho Thule.”
Braxus washed down a mouthful of meat with wine, sputtering, “The only way they will have your goods is over our rotting corpses!”
Haru put a firm hand upon the shoulder of Braxus. “Let us hope that it does not come to that, my friend. Now enough talk of business and death. Girls… dancing girls are what we need now.” Haru clapped his hands again and bellowed out commands in Khoshite and several young beautiful women appeared. Thinly veiled in gossamer, they sprang to dance, the bells upon their ankles ringing and their finger cymbals clanging.
By the time Argus, Braxus and Tarrak exited the hall of Haru Pesch, the sun had sunk below the peaks of the valley, leaving Rho Thule shrouded in darkness. As the mist and fog thickened the night air, Tarrak led Argus and Braxus through the village to the inn where they were all to bed down for the night.
Upon entering the tavern portion of the inn Braxus exclaimed, “It has been a long and dry journey, my friends. Let us partake in more wine before we dream of dancing wenches.”
Tarrak looked at Argus questioningly. Argus shrugged his shoulders. “I see no wrong in it. Let us sit. Tarrak, take this and bring us some libation.” Argus handed Tarrak some coin as he and Braxus found a table. Soon Tarrak returned with a jug of wine and three tankards. They all began to drink and speak of the impending caravan journey of the day to come.
The tavern was filled with Khoshites; mostly men, except for a few whores that obviously worked the tavern. There was one exception that Argus took note of: a lone man sitting in a dark corner of the pub who was most obviously not from the land of Khosh. He was a large muscular white man whose long golden locks flowed onto a fur hide draped over his shoulders. The hide appeared to be that of a grey wolf. Under the hide was a black leather cuirass with a raised image of a lion’s head in the center of the chest piece. Leather bracers on both forearms accentuated the rippling muscles of his arms. He wore a large leather belt about his waist with wolf’s hide loin covering and leggings. His boots were of fine leather tailored in the west, most assuredly not the work of any craftsman of Khosh. The grips and hilts of two crossing swords on his back stood out from under the hide draped around his shoulders. He appeared to be a fairly young ma
n judging by his physique, but the blonde mustached and bearded face seemed to exhibit that of a hard and sullen man who had seen many adventures. He paid no attention to the two brawling Khoshite miners wrestling on the floor beside him as he stared into a tankard with fixed gaze. One of the whores tried to entice him but was swiftly sent away with a push of his hand.
“A toast!” blurted out Braxus. “To the great Almec Khan for paying us so handsomely for guarding his caravan.”
As Braxus and Tarrak lifted their tankards Argus looked to them, puzzled. “What? Oh yes, to the Khan,” replied Argus, clanking his mug against the others.
Braxus looked at Argus questioningly. “What has your mind frozen, brother?”
Argus, with eyes still fixed upon the blonde warrior, responded in a half whisper. “You see the blonde man at the corner table sitting alone?”
Braxus and Tarrak both cast their gaze towards the man. “The Aiserian?” asked Tarrak.
Argus gave Tarrak a nod of affirmation. “He came to Rho Thule some moons back. He was employed by the great Khan as a caravan guard. But he only did this for a couple of trips and since then he has stayed here at the inn. I suspect him to be a fugitive of the western kingdoms. I can think of no other reason an Aiser from the north lands would venture to a place such as this.” Argus lowered his voice. “A fugitive to some but a legend to others. I swear by the goddess Mira that this man is familiar to me. Do you have knowledge of his name, Tarrak?”
“I know not the man but I have heard him referred to as the White Lion. It is told that he killed many bandits in a raid of the last caravan he guided back to Khotar. After that he returned here and has been in Rho Thule ever since. How is it that you think you know this Aiser?”
Braxus poured himself another tankard of wine. “Yes! Do tell how you come to know this White Lion.”
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