Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  The Drommu were often hurt badly in the skirmishes, yet in the early raids hardly any died. The Drommu continued to be amazed at Bladeborn’s ability to treat broken limbs and other wounds with his healing magic.

  After a battle with nine beastly Rhinolon raiders, the Drommu lost four of their fellow tribesmen. As they were burying their dead, Bladeborn thought to the Sword of the Ancients, “We really could have used your lightning power in this fight, Nightslayer. These casualties could easily have been prevented.”

  ~~The Drommu casualties are indeed a tragedy. But it is too early to reveal my true power. Hold back, for someday, it will save you~~

  Word of the accomplishments of the Brave Camp and Mammothbiters spread among the southern Drommu tribes and others overcame their cowardice to join Bladeborn’s band.

  Bladeborn soon had a set of magic armbands, taken from two slain Rhinolon caravan leaders. These gave him a small amount of protection from arrows used against him by the Rhinolon. Nightslayer said, ~~These are great prizes, Bladeborn. Look for more of them, and outfit your lieutenants with them~~

  Bladeborn also wore a bit of makeshift armor now—recovered from dead Rhinolon and re-stitched to fit his frame.

  Nightslayer had been silent for some time, only speaking to Bladeborn when discussing strategy. But on the evening after the fifth victory against the Rhinolon caravans, the Sword told about the nature of the afterlife and what it meant to the Drommu Bladeborn was leading…

  ~~One who does good acts in life goes to Heaven, and if you are evil, you will go to the Hells or the Abyss. If you have done nothing of merit in your life, you are re-incarnated. For a soul to gain a final reward, somehow you must change or contribute to the world. The Judge of the Dead makes the final decision.”

  Bladeborn thought to the Sword, “A man from my past, an old Acolyte named Onar, told me the same thing when I was a young man. I trusted Onar, but I wasn’t sure if it was a myth. So, it is the truth?”

  ~~One day, you might live to see the truth of it. Many of these meek Drommu have contributed little to the world. Those of them who follow you are likely to have a reward in the after lives~~

  “Do you think I could use this to motivate them?” Bladeborn asked. “Tell them that their souls are assured a place in Heaven if they fight well?”

  ~~Possibly. A war with a cause is a stronger war. Tell them of your religion, Bladeborn…It is knowledge that the Drommu have lost, but they will feel it when they hear it. Tell their wise men of Saint Morth… and see what happens~~

  Bladeborn began to explain the mysteries of Saint Morth and the Heavens to all Drommu he came across, and they listened but discussing the attacks on the Rhinolon was much more interesting to them. Bladeborn eventually gave up trying to educate them.

  During one of their attacks, a wounded Rhinolon caravan leader that Bladeborn was about to finish off made a threat.

  The beast was covered in its own blood, yet it said, “Deathorn shall find you, human, and you will regret the day you took up arms against us!”

  “Before I kill you and send you to your Hells,” Bladeborn said to the defeated Rhinolon, “I would know more of this ‘Deathorn.’”

  “Deathorn is the greatest Rhinolon bounty hunter in the Raider Marches!” the injured beast claimed.

  “Kill this Rhinolon and be done with it!” snarled Swiftknife, leader of the Drommu tribe called the Mammothbiters.

  “You will not escape Deathorn, human male!” the Rhinolon went on. “Deathorn will suck the juice from your eyes! Deathorn will make toys of your bones and will…”

  “You sound like a cavecricket with your chirping,” Bladeborn said to the Rhinolon, and then Swiftknife drove his spear into the horrid creature’s chest.

  Later, Swiftknife whispered to Bladeborn, “I know of the Rhinolon, Deathorn. If he seeks us, we have reason to fear…”

  “We will not be stopped by such a threat!” Bladeborn told Swiftknife. “Let Deathorn come! We shall treat him like the others!”

  A few nights later, after attacking members of a caravan of Rhinolon in a brutal assault, Bladeborn and his Drommu were killing those they had wounded in a gristly hand-to-hand struggle.

  Suddenly, stepping out of his hiding place behind a group of pack animals, a huge Rhinolon—that could only be Deathorn—threw a seven-foot-long javelin at Swiftknife. Bladeborn dove in front of Swiftknife and tried to deflect the javelin, yet it hit him in the chest. The thrown weapon would have killed Swiftknife, but Bladeborn was unhurt—he had magic armbands and heavy armor, so it left no more than a bloody mark.

  The Drommu bowmen quickly aimed their shortbows at Deathorn even as Bladeborn sprang back to his feet. The Rhinolon bounty hunter was pelted with arrows. Deathhorn was unphased, and he grabbed for another javelin.

  Bladeborn had gotten back on his feet. The huge Rhinolon threw the second javelin directly at Bladeborn, which Bladeborn dodged, continuing to advance.

  Bladeborn’s eyes changed to a gloss-black color, as fury gripped him. Deathorn roared in frustration, and then turned to jump in the saddle of a scaly riding-beast.

  It looked as though Deathorn would escape, but Bladeborn broke into a full-out run, closing the distance between them, before the Riding beast could get a lead. Then, with an almost inhuman effort, Bladeborn jumped, managing to thrust Nightslayer’s tip into the flank of Deathorn’s mount.

  The mount threw the Rhinolon bounty hunter out of the saddle and into the air. Bladeborn twisted to avoid the scaly war-mount’s back hooves even as Deathorn landed in a heap on the rocky ground beneath the injured beast’s front legs.

  Deathorn desperately tried to crawl away, but the wounded riding-beast landed a front hoof solidly on the bounty hunter’s head.

  Deathorn rolled clear of the wildly leaping war-mount holding his shattered jaw. Bladeborn was there to finish him, plunging Nightslayer through the Rhinolon’s heavy armor, deep past breastbone.

  As the injured war-mount ran off into the distance, Bladeborn checked the wound left the bounty-hunter’s first javelin. The spot where the javelin had hit him was beginning to burn. The weapon was undoubtably poisoned. Although it had barely pierced Bladeborn’s armor, he could already feel the effect.

  “Swiftknife,” Bladeborn said, gasping through clenched teeth. “I have been poisoned…Get us back to the cave of the Mammothbiters.”

  Bladeborn nearly lost consciousness as Swiftknife and the other Drommu fled the area on looted riding beasts. During the journey, the pain Bladeborn experienced was excruciating.

  After Swiftknife and the others laid him near to the fire in the safety of the cave, the Mammothbiters and Brave Camp Shaman mixed a salve to help Bladeborn recover.

  When Bladeborn refused their help the Shaman grew angry, claiming Bladeborn would certainly die. But Swiftknife and a few other warriors knew he would live.

  Bladeborn drifted in and out of awareness while the Drommu Shaman argued with Swiftknife and the other warriors. Late that evening, the tribes had quieted down, and Bladeborn’s fever broke. Bladeborn arose from the sweaty animal skins he had been lying under and looked at the two Drommu Shaman.

  “How do you live?” the Mammothbiter’s Shaman asked. It was the first time the camp’s Shaman had ever chosen to speak to Bladeborn.

  “You should be walking with the dead,” the Brave camp Shaman said. “The Rhinolon poison should have killed you…”

  “Yet, I am not dead.” Bladeborn realized he could teach the Shaman of Morth at that time. “I follow a God in Heaven who watches over me. The God is called Saint Morth. I am made stronger by him.”

  “Do you know of the Visionair?” the Mammothbiter’s Shaman asked.

  “I have met the Visionair,” Bladeborn said. “I have spoken with her.”

  “You LIE!” the Mammothbiter’s Shaman hissed.

  Bladeborn said, “One night, in a camp far to the north, two of the tallest Drommu came to me. They took me to the Visionair. I spoke to her, and she said
I would bring change.”

  The two Shaman exchanged looks then looked back at Bladeborn. The Brave Camp Shaman said, “Let me feel your chest. If your heart still beats inside, you speak the truth. Otherwise…”

  “Deceiver,” the Mammothbiters Shaman said.

  “I am not afraid,” Bladeborn said.

  First one, then the other Shaman held their hand on Bladeborn’s chest. Afterward, they looked reticent and unsure.

  “He is alive,” the Brave Camp Shaman marveled. “No Deceiver…”

  “You speak the truth,” the Mammothbiter’s Shaman said. “Teach us, Man of the North. Teach us your ways.”

  The following evening, all listened to Bladeborn speak. Both tribes, plus other hunters from the surrounding areas, listened intently, having been told to do so by their Shaman.

  It was the first of many nights where Bladeborn would tell his story. Each night, the Drommu would gather to hear him speak. He was fully accepted into the tribes now.

  Members of the Mammothbiters and Brave Camp spread the word throughout the tribes of the south: Bladeborn had saved Swiftknife from the dreaded Rhinolon bounty hunter named Deathorn. Bladeborn knew the story was being retold many times, and more Drommu came to their hunting party from across the Raider Marches and even from the Northern reaches of the Blasted Plain.

  Over the next year, many different Drommu came and went in Bladeborn’s force. They would take trophies and leave with what little experiences they gained. Yet a few stalwarts, most from among the first Drommu to strike back against the Rhinolon, continued to fight alongside Bladeborn nonstop.

  The battles became harder as the Rhinolon became more guarded. Despite this, the mobile Drommu war band continued their victories, adding mounts, beasts of burden, and hidden caches of provisions.

  As Bladeborn began to understand the Rhinolon’s grunting form of speech, he demanded that prisoners answer questions about trade routes and caravan movements. Out of fear of torture, some of the prisoners contributed good information, not knowing that Bladeborn would never have used torture to gain information, because it was against what he believed was right. However, it was difficult to control the Drommu in his band, most of whom were bloodthirsty and merciless when it came to the Rhinolon.

  The Drommu who were motivated enough to join Bladeborn felt no guilt about killing wounded enemies—the Rhinolon had taken an awful toll on the Drommu for centuries, and they felt a sense of nearly undimmable wrath toward the Rhinolon. Bladeborn’s war party left the dead bodies of their foes arranged under the red sun, food for carrion flyers and for other Rhinolon to find.

  In some of the Rhinolon hunting parties, Bladeborn and his Drommu began to see Rhinolon soldiers. The eight-foot-tall spikey-haired soldiers were more dangerous than the Rhinolon raiders. But the Drommu war band, with Bladeborn in the lead, overcame each challenge the soldiers presented.

  Two years had passed since Bladeborn’s arrival among the Drommu. The guerilla war had gone on for half of that. They were still able to outsmart the Rhinolon, but it was getting more difficult each week that passed.

  Nightslayer said, ~~You don’t want to leave the Drommu now, after prodding them to revolt against the Rhinolon, but before long you must seek the humans of the Valleys in the south. The Drommu may be the best hunters and trackers in this dry environment, but the world holds greater things for you and me, Swordsman. Continue to remind them that they can fight, and tell them to be ready for the day when the Rhinolon come deep into the Blasted Plain~~

  None of the bounty hunters or the spike-haired Rhinolon soldiers could stand up against Bladeborn, even though he managed to hold in reserve the mighty electrical energy of Nightslayer. He had only used it once after he left the City and first met the Drommu. With increasing frequency, however, Bladeborn used his psychic power to stun the Rhinolon Soldiers.

  The range and strength of his new-found powers slowly increased with his use of them and the Essence needed decreased. He was using the abilities more effectively.

  Bladeborn and his force traveled through the southern lands of the Drommu tribes, spreading the loot and tales of the battles far and wide. Bladeborn had given many of them a cause with his tales of battle—the Drommu who he fought alongside knew if they fell in battle, Heaven awaited them. The Shaman agreed, as if the sun was dawning on a long-lost knowledge. Prayers to Saint Morth were now said over the graves of the dead.

  As they moved forward, Bounty Hunters and trackers sometimes pursued Bladeborn’s group, hoping to catch them off guard. But they always remained two steps ahead of their Rhinolon pursuers, occasionally back-tracking to strike first.

  One night, a huge number of Drommu warriors, including Swiftknife, decided that fighting the Rhinolon was all that they wanted to do until their deaths. Bladeborn became blood brothers with every member of the war band, individuals from many of the southern tribes. In a blood exchange, they cut their hands open, mixing the droplets with their thornberry wine. All of them drank deeply of the concotion. They toasted to Victory and a place in Heaven.

  ~~Now they are all a part of us~~ Nightslayer declared deeply within Bladeborn’s thoughts.

  “What do you mean, Nightslayer?” Bladeborn asked.

  The Sword remained silent.

  On into the morning, circling around the bonfire in a deep cavern, they howled and danced, speaking of past and future victories. Bladeborn thought he saw the Visionair at the festival, but he could not be sure.

  Interlude: Durg the Despicable

  The Rhinolon Commander of the Northern legion and Chief Regent of the Northern capital city was Durg. Many thousands of Rhinolon lived in Onager, including wealthy Rhinolon families and farm masters. All of them were now laughing at Durg behind his back. His failure to find the “Accused One of the North” who was disrupting the trade in Drommu servants, and it had earned him the title “Do-nothing Durg.” They used to call him “Durg the Despicable” because of his habit of breaking the bones of those he didn’t like. For Durg, this new name was much worse.

  Whatever title he had, the North was his domain. He had won his position in the arena of Ograt after being the only warrior to survive a battle with a hydra. Ten Rhinolon had taken the beast on—only Durg had lived. Durg thought Rhinolon historians would remember his day in the arena forever, but that was not how it was turning out. The rise of this “Accursed One of the North,” and his failure to stop him, was becoming his legacy.

  The river that originated in the Spiral Mountains flowed next to Onager’s walls. Although it took twelve years and thousands of the Empire’s servants, Durg oversaw the construction of a massive system of locks to prevent the river from flooding the farmlands to the south. Durg was brutal during the massive project; he had not spared the whip and many servants had died doing the work. Although the cost had been high, the river’s locks were completed.

  Historians should have also remembered Durg for the locks. Still, the Rhinolon populace only saw the negative.

  During Durg’s time, Bladeborn and his Drommu warriors tied up many Rhinolon raiders and soldiers. At the same time other Rhinolon in another part of the vast Rhinolon lands were fighting with humans in the human kingdom called the “Six Valleys.” That campaign was a vexation for Durg because his war parties were unable to find the human lairs. Durg’s soldiers had captured human prisoners from the Six Valleys on several occasions, but interrogation of the prisoners could not reveal the location of the Valley Kingdoms, because ancient illusion magic made mountain passes invisible to the Rhinolon. For a thousand years, even the most powerful Rhinolon Shaman were unable to defeat the spell.

  While Durg had all this to ponder, the threat from the rebel Drommu led by the human warrior became the number one priority. When Deathorn was killed by the rebel warband, Durg sent a message to the Rhinolon Shaman at the holy tower of the Zelgron about the issue. Word came back from the Zelgron that the issue was “…very serious…” and help was on its way.

  In Durg
’s Onager palace the First Captain said, “Argutal and the other Shaman are late. *SNORTTT* We should start eating without them.”

  There were growls and squeals from Durg’s soldiers, signifying agreement with the First Captain.

  “No,” Durg grunted. “It will be more insulting to the High Shaman of we wait and then eat during his ceremony!” Durg hocked up a giant spit wad and let fly into the spittoon. Louder growls of agreement and peals of laughter followed.

  Durg was large, even for a Rhinolon Commander. Some speculated that he was a product of cross-breeding of an ogre and a Rhinolon, but no one knew for sure. He stood over ten feet tall, and it was all muscle.

  He was constantly bathed in sweat, and some thought this was due to his enormous size. The truth was that he had not bathed for many years. Naturally, he smelled like death itself, but no one ever mentioned it to his face.

  The Shaman had been summoned to Durg’s palace to magically determine as much as possible about the Man of the North, the human who had shut down the raiding parties in the Blasted Plain. It seemed impossible that single human had done what this one had. Durg now wanted the human killed—or better, captured for torture. He wanted the human to be made an example of what would happen to those who defied the Empire.

  All the greatest Rhinolon warriors in the Northern reaches were present on the day the contingent of Shaman and Wizards from the Zelgron entered Durg’s throne room—leading a huge, painted bull.