The Yet Unname Epic Tale, Chapter 1
From Haelrahv Wiki
Chapter One: The Three Riders
It was during this time that the Ndetri clan lead by Tder Vhaku ruled over a great swathe of the land. Over the ages Vhaku had fought hard to control and expand his territory but this once cunning and powerful warrior had grown fat on his greed and his vanity. Surrounding clans kowtowed to his massive forces and many simply let his armies walk into their lands, unable to withstand the shear numbers of his ranks.
As Vhaku grew stronger with each passing day, across the plains from his empire Tmujin struggled to keep clan Gdo alive. Only surviving son of a small hills clan, Tmujin led the armies of his father, if they could be called such. Their numbers were small but they were proud men and women with exceptional training, especially Tmujin's personal guard. It is this pride that made them some of the fiercest warriors alive.
Between them lay the Thirsty Lands, thus named because it was rumored that no blood had been shed there since the Contract of the Fire, a blood pact sworn upon the remaining ashes of the villages after the Great Fulzek, had been established. Thus far their contract held firm and had protected them, for their combined forces were too strong to resist. But Vhaku’s forces had recently drawn quite close to their territory and it appeared that their confederation may lie in jeopardy.
This is their story: a story of love, betrayal, battle, and how the lives of these men and women shaped the future of Vkeftku.
Frothy spittle flung from the mouth of his mount as he rode hard and fast across the plains. Dust rose in thick clouds as they traveled, the weather had been especially dry this season, turning the normally rich grasslands into a desert of soil. As the rider approached, he could hear the drums resounding, signaling his return. The gates opened wide allowing him access only to quickly shut once he had barely entered.
Mur dismounted and handed over his mount to the nearest boy. Patting its neck gently as the boy lead it away Mur quickly took in his surroundings as he was ushered to the meeting hall. The garrison was more heavily manned than when he left. Guards patrolled the top of the wooden fortification, focused on the area looking over the plains. Ballistae, some still under construction, filled the courtyard and warriors sparred in the remaining space.
Mur turned to the boy leading him and said, "All right let's get this over with." Mur Rlavzu was slightly passed middle age, although he was still in fine shape and only the gray that had begun to creep into his hairline suggested his age. Most of his time under Vhaku had been spent as a spy or scout. He had one of those average unimposing faces that made it easy to blend into the crowds. For the past few seasons, Mur had been living in the Thirsty Lands, posing as a warrior for hire.
It was not uncommon for Darju to leave their homes and travel there, for it was said that there was much freedom in those lands. Of course, one had to prove themselves before being allowed to stay. Those that didn’t were either killed, or worse tortured and left to die in a bloody heap on the plains. Loud voices could be heard coming from the meeting hall. "Nothing unusual," thought Mur as he wiped some dust from his face before entering the chamber...
Inside, Vhaku leaned back in his chair as he listened to his generals argue over their current cause of action. Vhaku had grown to just past adolescence knowing nothing but battle, both on the field and at his table. Some did not agree with his tactics, for they were particularly shady and underhanded, but the fact that he had vanquished his own father, Tder Mlkaru, was enough to get men to follow him.
Mlkaru had been ruthless and not even the trusted of his men were exempt from his wrath. That he had even allowed Vhaku’s existence after their falling out showed that he needed his son, maybe even respected his ability in some way. But Vhaku did not see it things like that. Mlkaru's blunt dismissal of his achievements angered him greatly. His brothers had done less on the field yet got more recognition. Why? Clearly his father had been out of his mind. Vhaku continued to reminisce while his generals argued.
"The Ndetri grow soft. weaker with each dawn we should move and wipe them out now!" shouted Kufkru Mitke, an excessively large Darju whose features were barely recognizable beneath the mass of scars.
"True, and in the process we might destroy maybe a third of their forces in the effort with heavy casualties of our own," retorted Nadnug Gut, "The plains people are not to be taken lightly." Nadnug was a younger general, but had proven his tactical worth in several recent encounters.
As the doors flung open, the men became quiet, but only for an instant before taking up the debate again. Vhaku casually glanced at Mur as he entered, leaning back even further in his chair. "Ahh Mur, just the man to clear up our quandary, though I am a bit surprised to see you."
Truly it was a surprise for Vhaku had heard the man was murdered a season ago. Raising his hand, Vhaku motioned for the two men to sit. Murmuring continued about the table as Mur stepped forward rubbing his stubble as he contemplated the words. "I'll tell it to them plain," he thought, "a shock reaction will be interesting to see."
"Rtamze, chief of the Deg clan, is dead."
The table was stunned into silence, but only for a moment before the shouting began. Two voices could be heard clearly over the others.
"Gemrem has given us a sign! Now is the time to attack!"
"Won't their forces just be even stronger now? Nothing fuels war like vengeance. We strike now and they will all be out to prove themselves a worthy successor with our blood!."
Some of the others started yelling suggestions too. "Let's send in our out candidate! No let's..."
Vhaku sat down again and leaned back in his chair, calmly listening to the squabble. He already knew what he had to do..
Meanwhile..
The sun shone faintly as it arose over the scanty trees lining the hillside fort, a gentle breeze cooling the air of an already warm day. The clink of metal hitting metal and the groans of battle stirred Tmujin from his slumber, fondly reminding him of his private practice with Tefa the night before. Glancing absently at his right hand, he realized he was holding a bottle of vocha and took a swig.
Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he slowly let them adjust to the light as he yawned widely and stretched his limbs, suddenly aware of the hard wood from the tree trunk behind him. Shifting into a more comfortable position, he blankly stared at the training session already in full swing on the field before him.
"I should really join them but man my brain feels fried. Probably should ease up on the hehreg...", he thought chuckling to himself. His father's words then abruptly echoed in his head, pounding against his skull like a bad hangover, "You will lead these people one day. You must be prepared!" Tmujin snorted at the idea, taking another gulp of liquor hoping it would push the words from his mind.
Sure he enjoyed the life of a clan chief's son, all the ale you could drink, all the women you could want. But he never wanted the responsibility of being a Tder. "Well that isn't quite true," he thought as he began to reminisce about his childhood days. Back then he couldn't get his fill of ancient war stories or tales of Gemrem's exploits. The thought of battle excited him and he wanted to absorb it all, from the most basic of stances to the most intricate strategies.
"That was when I actually gave a tkol," he thought smugly. Tmujin sat deep in his thoughts as the training lesson continued and was fairly drunk by the time practice had ended. As the participants exited the field, he suddenly remembered the meeting with his father, Tder Dgunro. "Fvom, the old man isn't going to like that I'm so wasted." Slowly rising onto unsteady legs, Tmujin tried not to stumble as he trekked across the small village towards the gathering hall.
As he reached the large wooden building, he noticed a unfamiliar mount tied up outside and as he entered a small Darju dressed for riding long distances brushed passed him in exit. A random, and strangely sober thought entered his consciousness for a split second, then vanished. "Something about colors.." he mused as he continued inside.
The hall was uncharacteristically quiet. Normally at this time of day his father had many petitioners from the village requesting aid of some sort or asking him to handle their disputes. The figure of a husky Darju was barely visible seated in a high-backed wooden chair set along the back wall. His gaze was fixed towards the small flap that served as a window, if it had been open, on the western wall.
"So uh what's going on?" Tmujin said with a chuckle. His father didn't respond and only glanced towards his son for a brief moment before turning back towards the wall. Tmujin furrowed his brow, trying to figure out in his muddled state what could be going on. "Sooo.. don’t tell me your picking up my bad habits and had too much vocha already?"
"Today is not a day for jokes, boy." Dgunro said with a growl, the scowl on his face clearly readable despite being turned away. "A good friend is dead." Tmujin stood in silence for a minute, before saying, "Sorry to.."
"Don't apologize boy! Everyone dies, it was just a little sooner than expected.", Dgunro growled angrily. Tmujin stared quizzically at his father, his brain trying to process anything in his drunken haze.
Finally turning to face his son, Dgunro says firmly, "Now, please tell me you remember something of your lessons boy, tell me of the Thirsty Lands and their succession." Tmujin pondered for a moment, still trying to clear his head. "Um..whoever is the strongest warrior..."
Sighing audibly at his son's response, Dgunro stated matter of factly, "It is not only strength in battle boy, but have the strength of mind as well. I can assure you there will be other tests."
It was true, succession in the Thirsty Lands was by no means hereditary. The land needed to drink sometime and the death of a Tder meant that it got to be satiated at least for a little while. A large tournament was held but fighting prowess alone could not guarantee your success. You also had to be a good leader, able to command the crowds and be able to manipulate those who wished to aid you and those who wished you to fail.
"Well, don’t just stand their boy and get packing!"
"Packing? We going on a trip?"
"Not we, you. The tournament starts in five days."
Meanwhile...
A sharp gust of wind carrying the smells of the morning meal entered large hide tent as the flap was roughly swung aside. The scent more than the tall shadowy figure at the entrance caught the attention of several of the men and women congregated within. The figure armored heavily in unadorned piece mail, longbow slung across the shoulder and larger than average dnuhze strapped to the waist, stood with hands on hips awaiting recognition. When none came, the warrior spoke in little more than a whisper, "Where is he?"
With a flourish the warrior removed their helm, revealing a dark-skinned woman with scowl embedded into her brow and around her mouth, and her eyes flashing angrily at the group. An older man stepped from the circle saying, "Zkemna, in all due time, first.."
Clenching her fist tightly around the bottom of the helm, a quick snap of her wrist sent it flying towards the old man, the ends of his short hair flipping out slightly as the metal object whizzes past his head. "That was a warning shot, I said WHERE!"
Without a word the man turned towards the back of the building, guiding through a partition to where an old Darju man was laid out dressed in full battle regalia. She growled as she approached then raised her hand. The loud smack of flesh against flesh cut through the quiet of the room as she backhanded the dead man across the face.
"You have been away a long time sister," said a soft voice from behind her.
Zkemna turned from the body to face the voice. A man clad casually in hides stood in the doorway. He was not quite as tall as she but he was still an impressive figure despite the softening around his eyes uncharacteristic for his age. Zkemna snorted as she raised her hand again as if to strike but quickly changed her posture and held out her hand in greeting. "Ahh Krilk, you try keeping the peace in the southern lands and we'll see how long you are gone," she retorted.
Krilk smiled warmly and said, "Come we have much to discuss." Leading her from the tent, they walked down the packed dirt road that served as one of the main thoroughfares though the village. The silence surprised her. "Well not exactly silence", she thought, "but more a lack of the usual hubbub."
Sensing his sister’s unease, Krilk quietly muttered, "The mourning period lasts three more days." Zkemna nodded but still kept her gaze alert as they continued toward a small tent nestled amidst the lodgings of the other soldiers. Nodding to a pair of sentries, Krilk ushered her inside. The interior held little furnishings, a small table strewn with papers ringed by a few cloth-backed chairs.
Settling himself in one of the chairs, Krilk picked up a jug from the packed dirt floor and takes a long drink. Zkemna stood before her brother for a moment before taking a seat adjacent. "So do we have enough men for the job?"
Krilk contemplates for a moment before saying, "Yeah, but barely, soon we will be flooded with not only onlookers for the burial rite but those awaiting their chance in the arena who care little for the village besides a means of glory. I am glad you returned when you did."
"Not worried bout the head seat brother?"
Krilk chuckles. "You are the least of my worries sister." Zkemna smiled in return, a smile that almost reached her eyes. Her gaze turning fierce, she said with a growl, "So where can you use me?"
Meanwhile...
Calm words of reassurance fell from her lips as she stroked his hair. The flash of a scarred face appeared from the doorway before melding quickly back into the shadows. "Just in time.."
