Birth of a Mortal God (8 page)

“Do we have enough tools?”

“Almost, it was a sound idea to use Kingdom slavers. The fools don’t share information amongst themselves, hence none of them knows of us or what happened to their peers upon delivery. One more shipment should give us the numbers we need.”

“But they still need to be processed, which takes time.”

He made a sound Joneras assumed was a grunt. “The new ones needn’t require extensive processing. They just need to be able to move as we command, I’ll break their minds if need be.”

“Our Lord will be most pleased,” said Joneras with excitement before hurrying off.

The chair’s occupant watched him leave. “Ah, to be young and passionate.” Then he turned back to his book.

Unity

“P
ull from the
reserves and reinforce the right flank,” said Asteroth as he saw it wane.

His distant approach to warfare was at first an issue for many yog’murgarr. A chieftain was supposed to be on the battlefield beside his warriors, not somewhere far removed and safe, observing the battle. But when they started to war against the other tribes, something inside him compelled him to do things this way. His first battle employing this new idea was uncomfortable, and his tribe made no effort to hide their opinion on it, but all that changed when they crushed Tribe Ka’rul in a matter of days.

Fortunately, the first two tribes up the Path of the Viper, the Han’ga and Tol’hor, were absorbed into Tribe Ur’ak through negotiations. It just took a well-rehearsed speech about Ann’ak’s prophecy and a show of physical strength. When Asteroth dominated both tribes’ Chak Ha champions, they conceded that he was indeed the son of Ve’ndrious. Their additions gave the Ur’akgarr the superior numbers they needed to be recognised as a serious threat and the complete destruction of Tribe Ka’rul after their refusal to surrender showed the other tribes that he was a chieftain to be feared.

He regretted that all the other tribes always first tried to defend themselves before surrendering. It cost valuable lives, and if not for the yog’murgarr perspective on a warrior’s death, it probably would have bred hatred among the absorbed tribes in his army. But the war was almost over. Tribe Mu’lor had been holding their line, but their defeat was inevitable. A good leader would have surrendered weeks ago, but Asteroth feared he might have another Tribe Ka’rul on his hands.

“Chieftain, the gate,” said one of the nearby runners, ripping him from his reverie.

The fighting seemed to have stopped, and someone was being dragged through the broken-down gate. By the red war paint, he could tell that G’nar was the one doing the dragging. The army cheered as the captive was moved through the lines, and he decided to meet his warleader halfway, gliding down the hill from where he had commanded the battle.

The captive was thrown down at his feet as he landed. The man was a warrior by his build, and was clutching a severed head to his chest. By the braids and totems in its hair, Asteroth took it to be his chieftain’s.

G’nar smiled. “They surrendered.”

Asteroth grinned. “Before or after you removed their chieftain’s head?”

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” said his brother pointing to the severed head.

“Chief led us to death. I save tribe,” said the captive.

“I do not know the customs among Mu’lorgarr, but among us Ur’akgarr, harming your chieftain is punishable by death.”

“My life for tribe. Happy sacrifice,” replied the man with a smile.

“What is your name?”

“To’nul.”

“Stand, To’nul.”

The man did as he was told, clearly confused, having expected to be executed.

“G’nar, give him your axe,” said Asteroth as he retrieved his own. His red painted warleader complied without question, replacing the severed head with his own blood-soaked axe. “To’nul of Tribe Mu’lor, you have murdered your own chieftain, a crime which can not be pardoned. However, in doing so, you have saved your tribe from annihilation. An act of a warrior. I give you the title of Nor’wak. You will be forever remembered as the saviour of Tribe Mu’lor. Now come and experience a warrior’s death.”

To’nul smiled, his eyes brimming with tears before he bellowed a war cry and charged. Asteroth waited for the first strike, stepping forward and left as the axe came down. He kicked hard with his right leg, pivoting on his left foot, causing To’nul’s axe to barely miss him while he beheaded him from behind in a spinning motion. It was executed so fast that most did not understand what they had seen.

G’nar admired his brother’s skill. Though the subjugated tribes denied it, there are many of them who doubted Asteroth’s heritage. But it was displays such as this that were turning more and more of them into true believers.

“Give all the warriors burials and make sure all the Mu’lorgarr know of Nor’wak To’nul’s sacrifice.” G’nar affirmed the order before Asteroth bellowed, “My brothers, we have won!” The statement was met with a roar of pride and happiness.

“I’ll signal the women and children to come. Everyone will go about their usual tasks of breaking down the village. Gods know we’ve done it enough times to be experts,” said G’nar as he picked up his axe.

“Only one more to go, brother. Soon we will be united.”

His brother’s smile faded. “The next is Tribe U’nor.”

Asteroth understood his concern. Tribe U’nor was legendary among the yog’murgarr. It was said that during the Time of Proving, they sent fifty warriors to each tribe, each group of U’norgarr killed so many of the opposing warriors that all the tribes admitted defeat within a week. They then isolated themselves on the top of the Viper Valley, killing any who dared come near their fortifications. They were also the only yog’murgarr who knew how to work with Black Stone, building their village from the very bosom of the Viper Mountains.

“I have an idea on how to handle them.”

“I know that look. I’m not going to like this idea, am I?”

Asteroth smirked. “Probably not.”

“All right, let me hear this plan.”

“Well, I was thinking of flying into their village and being impressive.”

“Fly into their village and be impressive. That’s your plan?” he said before running his hand over his face.

“Well, the stories all say they respect strength. We are now more than fifty-thousand strong. Perhaps I can convince them to join us.”

“And if they don’t feel very hospitable? Those same stories speak of the horrible things they do to those who come near their black walls, never mind fly into their village. You think they’ll just let you go? Like you said, our army is now more than fifty-thousand strong; we don’t
need
to convince them of anything.”

Asteroth shook his head. “Not only do they have the higher ground, they also have black stone walls. My little trick of tossing a rock at them won’t be nearly as effective. We could take their village, but it will cost us dearly. I’d rather risk my life and save thousands of others. Remember the Spawn of the Black god is out there somewhere gathering his forces. We can’t lose too many of our men.”

“I don’t like it. If we lose you, the tribes will scatter, or worse, there’ll be a second Time of Proving. Asteroth, the tribes have not been united for hundreds of years,” he said, indicating those around for emphasis.

“I know. I sat next to you during Father’s lectures,” Asteroth answered dryly.

“Then you know what this means, for us as a people. We can’t lose you.”

“I’ll be cautious. If things seem to go wrong, I’ll be in the air before they even realise I have wings.”

“When will you leave?”

“We first need to wait for the women and children, then consolidate ourselves. We need to make Tribe Mu’lor feel welcome.”

“Feast?” he asked absently scratching his right tusk.

Asteroth smiled. “Feast.”

The dark silhouette
continued to grow as the wind currents carried him forward. He was still a fair distance off, but it was already enormous. It astonished him that yog’murgarr built such a structure and reminded him of the tales the shang’gomagarr would tell the children of dor’gungarr during feasts. A frail people who once constructed structures and mechanisms that could rival even the most powerful shang’gomagarr. Asteroth had often wondered why his people possessed so much knowledge of a long dead people and made a mental note to ask his father just that when all this was done.

He quickly increased his altitude as he neared the wall to avoid detection, hoping he would be disregarded as a roaming wyvern by any lookout who suddenly felt the urge to look up. Beyond the black wall, he saw houses, roads, fountains, and many other wonders. All were exactly as they had been described to him as a child. It was as if he had blundered right into one of his father’s stories. All that was needed was a lithe frail people. But the fabled dor’gungarr were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the streets were crowded by large olive figures wearing human-like clothes.

Asteroth wondered if theses were really the feared U’norgarr; the yog’murgarr warriors who stood above all others. He scoured the city for an appropriate place to make his appearance and found a structure much larger than the others. It was circular, and thousands of U’norgarr were in attendance within it. There was a large, open area in the middle, which he assumed was wherefrom the chieftain addressed his tribe.

D’rac watched as
his subjects filled the arena, and looked at his son nervously. He was a handsome boy with tusks that would make any girl swoon. “You don’t have to do this.”

“And how will you explain it to the tribe?”

“I am the Chieftain. I need not explain myself,” he said irritated.

“I am twelve, Father,” said the boy absently as he continued to don the black armour.

“This whole affair is ridiculous.”

“It is the Rite of Blood, Father. Every boy has to pass to become a man.”

“It is an idiotic practice that belongs outside our walls with those other
things
,” he said with clear disgust.

“It is important to the Old Bloods. They feel that it keeps us in touch with our roots or some such garbage. I’ll be back soon,” said his son indifferently as he began getting ready to leave the loggia.

“The Old Bloods,” said D’rac. His right eye twitching slightly as he spat the words. “Those fanatics would see us striped of both clothing and reason.”

“They’ve been gaining more support ever since their change in leadership.”

“Ah yes, the moulder’s son. It is good to know they chose a man of true intellect! He’s little better than those beyond the wall. I should have disbanded their little sect years ago.”

“An illusion of importance is better than the enforcement of servitude. Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching me? Give the plebeians their little ritual; it distracts them from how powerless they truly are,” said the boy with a smirk.

“You are going to make a wise chieftain someday, my son. How does the armour fit? I told them to spare no expense.” said D’rac as he studied the black armour his son wore.

His son ran his hands over the embossed gold and silver trimming. “It is truly a work of art. It is almost a shame I will only wear it this once.”

U’nark sat among
the masses to observe the Rite of Blood. Fourteen boys, each armed to the teeth, pitted against a starved wolf. It was a disgrace. Their tribe has sunk so deep into the bog of their own arrogance that they have forgotten what it means to be yog’murgarr. Unfortunately, all the positions of power were filled with those who would see them completely stripped of their heritage. It saddened him that they were once revered by the other tribes as warriors of unparalleled skill, but now fourteen of them can hardly kill a single wolf. He watched in disgust as the children chased the wolf around the arena like a pup would a butterfly.

The crowd laughed and cheered at the spectacle, and he once again understood why none of the others attended the Rites anymore. It was a mockery of a hallowed time in a boy’s life, when he could prove himself more than a child. He still remembered when his father had sneaked him out of the city to kill an animal for his Cloth of Honour. It had been a mountain lion, and when he finally slew it, his father told him tales of how their ancestors used to do their Rites completely naked and unarmed. It was in that moment when he really understood how much they had lost over the past centuries.

The boys finally managed to surround the wolf when its desperate growl turned into a whimper. Before any of the boys could deal a killing blow, a red object fell from the sky and crashed into the sand in a blur of movement.

The crowd was in an uproar when a voice bellowed, “I am Asteroth. I am here to call on Tribe U’nor to form a nation with its brothers and sisters. Is there any who would deny this call?”

Asteroth squinted to
distinguish his surroundings. He had wanted to display as much of his godly majesty as possible with his landing, but he never took into account that landing with such force would create quite a significant dust cloud. From the armed silhouettes, he could tell that the warriors had not fled. Not that any yog’mur would. There was an ocean of voices, but no distinct answer to his question.

A juvenile wolf darted past him, and he suddenly stood with axe in hand. He had found that with each passing battle, his instincts and reflexes became more acute; the shang’gomagarr claim it’s because war and battle are Ve’ndrious’s domain and by extension his own.

His eye caught a flicker of movement to his right, and as he turned, he found a black-armoured warrior upon him. His opponent had clearly used the wolf to distract him, in the hope of catching him off guard. A good tactic, however the warrior had sacrificed too much defensibility in his haste, an error he will now find to be quite fatal.

The man realised his mistake and tried to skid to a halt, but it was too late. The axe bit into his breastplate with a screech, and he slumped to the ground as blood gushed from the wound.

Metal shrieked as Asteroth pulled his axe free from the corpse. He looked at his weapon with surprise. He didn’t know what the black armour was made from, but it had completely marred the steel of his axe. In fact, the armour would have probably negated the blow if not for his supernatural strength. If this was the kind of equipment the U’norgarr possessed, it would make subjugating or destroying them a task that could take years. Something he could not allow. He had to end it here, make an example out of these warriors. Destroy them so utterly that the thought of opposing him would seem like madness.