The God Warriors (13 page)

"It was a horror beyond imagining. I have read all the journals and accounts of a war that lasted fifty years. The terror, devastation, hunger, disease, you name it. Of those men that left, less than fifty thousand returned. The rest, buried where they fell, in one battle after another, in an endless wave of death. So many lost…" he whispered the last and looked up. "If we had not lost those two hundred thousand we might number fifteen million by now, instead of only five. It was too great a loss and scarred us for hundreds of years. We still bear mental wounds from that war. When the last Great War occurred, like the Lorr we refused to fight. The memory of the last one was too recent and most of us remembered listening to the tales of our elders who had been in the one before. It was too much as I said, so we collapsed the passes and with the Lorr, we vowed not to fight, to support only each other but no one else. Oh, the dark ones tried to get to us, but we held the advantage because most of their numbers were in the south fighting. The humans, decimated, still managed to prevail in the end, and now it is happening again. Please, my King. Give up thoughts of vengeance. We breed slowly. Not like humans or the dark ones, who breed fast. Let us close our shafts and remain below for the next fifty years. Please, Sire!" The last was said in almost a gasp, and the old wizard slumped in his seat.

The story told, the faces somber, history unfolded for fresh eyes to see. As Thorvald slowly stood, he looked around at the men standing before him. A few eyes looked at the wizard with compassion and concern as the old man would not even accept another tankard of ale, which Thorvald doubted had ever happened before. The telling of their people's tale of flight and survival, and then eventual rescue and succor had a deep psychological impact on those assembled. There were even a few eyes wiped and more than one back turned to hide the emotions crossing their owners’ bearded faces.

But, most eyes were on Thorvald, who drew himself up to his full five feet one inch height and glared uniformly at those present. With a snarl, he snatched up his great broad axe with one handed, swinging it overhead and slamming it down, almost splitting the desk in half. A great crash of wooden splinters pelted everyone in the room. He had their full attention now!

"Our people shall not go un-avenged," he roared and pointed a thick stubby finger at Hrani Ardgarson. "What is the total of our militia, Hrani?"

"Well, let's see. Total garrison strength is approximately ninety thousand. That is five thousand in six of our cities and fifteen thousand at each of the four cities closest to the passes leading to the dark ones’ territories. In addition, if you count the peacekeeper force that patrols the cities themselves, add another thirty thousand," Hrani answered.

"Okay. Any way to expand that number?" asked Thorvald.

"We can, but it will have an economic impact. Right now, almost all work except for the old and infirm, and of course the children. If you were to increase the number by one hundred thousand, for instance, you would need to reduce the number of our people in the mines, or farms, or even civil services. Obviously, we could triple that number, or even more if went to double shifts and let a few services lapse, but then you're looking at civil unrest."

"I see." The king turned to another. "Siggurd Baugsson! How does our metal stockpile look?"

"Well, over quota, and honestly I was going to talk to you about that soon. We have practically run out of room to store the metal ingots after smelting, even though we're continuously carving out new vaults. Even with normal consumption, and average exports, we have easily a five-year supply in storage of all base metals and even most precious ores. I was going to ask you to either reduce mining or shut it down altogether for a period, but I don't know what to do with the men. Either that or drastically reduce the price of commodities to increase export sales, but I know how you feel about that," the flustered Thana replied as he gave a gesture of the helplessness of things beyond his control.

Thorvald grinned evilly. "How are we looking with our carbon stockpiles?"

"Since the last wood harvest this spring, I've got it coming out my ears."

"If you went to half output on all major metals and shut down on precious ores, how many would that free up?"

"Let me think, Sire." The Thana was busy counting on the fingers of both hands for a full minute before he reluctantly answered the question. "Quite a few actually, since five percent of our people are miners. By shutting down, gold, silver and platinum completely, I could part with around one hundred and thirty five thousand, give or take." Thorvald nodded at his words then turned to another.

"Fyri Runolfson, status of food supplies and stores!" he barked.

The older Thana looked at him then pulled the pipe out of his mouth he was about to light, pointing the stem at his king. "If you're wondering how many people I have standing around doing nothing, I would have to say about half. Only two thirds of our cleared caverns for agriculture are under cultivation. You know, when we build, we build big. Food storage is optimum. Like Siggurd, I have run out of room for dried storage. We probably have a greater stockpile than he does. I was already making plans to cut back. Even in dry storage, the foods will only stay preserved for a decade. Those new overhead watering pipes we installed really cut back on our labor requirements."

"How many," demanded Thorvald.

"Good question. Only a third of my workers are male, and many of those have disabilities. Maybe fifty thousand, all told," Fyri replied.

"Good. Geirr Ornson!" Now the king pointed at another. "What's the status on overall manufacturing? Give me that, then break it down to metals."

"We are currently running two-thirds single shifts on most lines in all cities. Make that half shift for weapons. I see where you are going with this, we all do, and I really cannot calculate at this time how many men I could spare. I would have to look at line quotas, which lines use men or women, or both, and which products we have an overabundance. I will need a few days to figure it out, but it would be a lot, probably more than you've obviously set aside already." The king nodded thoughtfully.

"Here's what we're going to do, me lads. Manufacturing, get me those numbers, cut out all non-essential lines, and bring remaining crews to full shifts. I want three shifts working weapons production with a priority on the heavy crossbows and bolts, then armor, and then axes and swords. I want steel and spring steel; hold off on anything non-essential. Agriculture, I want those able-bodied men. Also, I want to start mass production of field ration packs for troops, start using up those stores and make small wagon sized packets for easy transportation. Have each break down into individual portions. You know what to do. Put your excess women on it. Get with Niall over there, and get all the fish you require for the rations. I know he has an over-abundance because I toured the fishery here last week." Now, Thorvald pointed at his fisheries advisor."Hrafn Lambson, I want an ambassadorial team sent to the Lorr. I would seek their council on an appropriate response to this cowardly attack by a cowardly god. Last, but not least, Lyting Hradason. Find a place to train all the new recruits or retrain the ones who used to be militia. I do not care where you find it. The center squares in each city, if need be. Make it happen, or I'll find someone who will." Thorvald said with a snarl for the buildings advisor had started to object. Now, that advisor closed his mouth and simply nodded.

"My King, it's hopeless. Can't you see that? Your own advisors have just informed you the maximum you could bring to war might be upwards of six hundred thousand. The dark ones will have millions. They breed like flies, with most giving multiple births yearly. We will be slaughtered," wailed Regin, who while holding his hands to his face rocked back and forth in the chair.

"Shut up, Wizard. Blood begets blood. They drew first, and we will sheath last. We will avenge our dead. Now Go!"

It did not take three days to reach the previous town; it took four, then another to get the refugees settled. The bad news was that by the time they reached the village, they were out of food and hungry. The good news was plenty of food was available once they arrived. Elsa signed government chits for a three-day supply for her company and emergency supplies for the refugees to get them settled. The morning after, she and her company rode hard for Crystal City. The seriously wounded were left behind to be transported in wagons on a bed of straw to ease their discomfort. Ricon once again pressed to continue onward to Fort Brandor, and this time Elsa simply ignored him. The man was a great second in command, as long as there was a commanding officer in charge over him. However, protocol was clear, and she would follow it.

A day out from town, they came across a priest of Edorta, the Goddess of Healing. This was obvious by the tattoo of a spiral sun upon his cheek, under that of his birth tattoo of Jordache. With him were four acolytes or servants, or at least that is what she thought they were. They had a train of eight pack mules fully loaded with whatever it was that traveling healing priests carried with them. She knew she needed to get word back to the capital, which was still three days away, and something told her time was of the essence. Though she had prayed to Hera, the goddess had not deemed to answer her. She reined up as she neared, taking a chance, signaling her company to halt.

"Ho, Priest of Edorta. Blessings to you and your company!" she called out as she neared.

"Blessings to you in the name of Edorta also, Captain, and these are my acolytes," the priest said with a kindly expression. As she stopped, she noticed he was already in deep conversation with one of his people, who immediately ran to a pack mule and began removing objects. "I assume you or someone in your company is in need of healing?"

"Not really, Priest. What wounds we have can wait. I had an entirely different need."

"And what might that be, daughter?" Elsa was not offended by the familiar term, for all priests and priestesses used it.

Swinging down from her horse, she strode quickly to stand before him, and, seeing his eyes immediately shift to the bloody bandage on her thigh, she waved her hand across the wound to indicate it was of no consequence. She already knew it was healing and would add another scar to the many she had. She needed to know if this priest could do her kingdom a favor and nothing else.

"Father, you have more than a few temples in Crystal City. I need to get word there as quickly as possible. My company just dealt with a large band of Illian where there should not have been one. This one was over a hundred in number, and I need to get word to the capital concerning this change in Illian behavior. Are you able to speak to your brethren there? This is important, and I have a bad feeling about it. It just doesn't make sense. The Illians tried to make it look like a raid in strength, but it was not that. I just know it."

The priest looked into her eyes and nodded, then reached out to clasp her hand, pulling her to the side and staring deeply into her eyes. Nodding to himself again, he called one of his men over.

"Bring the communion cloth, the stone, and the vial. You know the one, Eustis." The other nodded quickly and hurried off as the priest turned to her and said, "You have been touched by the Goddess Hera. That much is obvious. Even though the cost is high for one such as myself, I will do this because I believe in what you portend."

"Well, yes if you mean the Goddess Hera, but portend? I don't think so. I'm not a seer," she replied, perplexed by his comment.

"Oh, yes, you are. Whether you choose to believe it or not, to be touched by an elder god gives you special abilities, and it’s obvious yours are guiding you right now. You took a chance that a lowly priest of the Goddess of Healing could help you, which is something I've never been asked to do before. You are scared and desperately wish to get this information to the right people before something even worse happens. It is obvious," he said gravely and simply regarded her with curiosity. She felt a blush spread across her face and jerked her hands free as he waved her to the side of the road where the tall grass was not horse and wagon trampled, or covered in mud.

"It is true priest, the Goddess Hera spoke to me once, but not since. I tried to enlist her aid first, but she is not responding," said Elsa in frustration.

"Do not worry, my child. I will communicate directly with my superior. He will decide, based on your words, if the King should be consulted, or if it should be someone else. I do this task because of the signs we've been granted, and your distress simply tells me to expend the energy necessary to do so." Another kind smile from the priest, and she found herself relaxing. She was so worried and pent up, she felt like she was going crazy, as the feeling was just so urgent.

"What other signs?" she asked, now curious.

"Why, there is a new champion in the land. That is not a good sign, and now a Hera-touched captain is beside herself to get a message to the capital. Rumblings in the northwest indicate Logi is doing what he does best. It all adds up."

"What do you mean, priest? What about this champion?" Now she was getting frustrated, having no idea what he was talking about.

"You might call him the ultimate champion. Originally of Ares, both Hera and Shianna have made him their champion as well. It is unheard of. Never before in a written history, spanning more than five thousand years, has this happened. Of course, this means bad things."

"A champion?" she said stupidly.

Just then, Eustis came running with a grass mat, a large pure white stone with intricate symbols chiseled into it, and a small vial of amber liquid. Quickly, he trampled a large square of grass near them, and then laid out the mat, putting the cloth on top of its protective surface. Finally, he set the stone in the center while handing the vial to the priest.

"Captain, what's going on?" called out Ricon from thirty feet away, beside the road.

"Settle the company, Ricon. We might be here awhile," she responded.

"But…" he shut up when she swiveled her gaze upon him, frowning.

"Come sit, and do not worry about tracking dirt on the cloth, it will be pure again when we step off," said the priest. She could tell he was concentrating by his expression, and she obeyed, unsure what to expect.

Quickly she sat crossed-legged as he did where indicated, each on opposite sides of the urn. As they settled, he pulled the cork out with his teeth, and, leaning over the stone, he let one-drop fall in the its center. As soon as the amber drop hit the white surface, it evaporated, filling the air with a fine mist. He quickly pushed the cork back into place, sealing the remaining contents. He then placed the fingertips of both hands upon the surface of the stone nearest his position. To the side, the acolyte named Eustis stood ready for any command his master might give him.

"Aragus, we would speak with you," he intoned into the mist, which still hung around them. Elsa saw the priest's eyes remained closed, while sweat beaded upon his forehead.

"Is it working?" she asked, not knowing what to expect.

"Shhh," Eustis said to her.

"Ah, there you are. Master, I have a captain of the guard with me who needs to convey a message to those in charge at the capital." A pause, and then he spoke again. "Yes, it's important. She is god touched by Hera and was recently in a battle with Illian forces that she says did not act properly. She is frantic to get this word to guard command without the delay of her passage south," another pause, and then. "I realize the energy we are both expending on this form of communication, but because of the recent signs and the urgency of this one who has been touched by the gods, I deemed it necessary…Yes, I agree. Her name is…" Now he paused again and belatedly Elsa realized she had not told the priest her name, just as Eustis hissed at her.

"What is your name, Captain!"

"Captain Elsa Dragod, Commander of Wolf Squadron, Crystal City forces," she hurried to say.

"Captain Elsa Dragod, Commander of Wolf Squadron, Crystal City forces," the priest repeated. "Please speak your message, Elsa, and it will be repeated in my thoughts to my master, who will convey it to the Commander of the Guard."

Quickly, Elsa told the High Priest her suspicions, too many in this type of attack, not enough goods taken and the rest burned. Or, actually, the Illians tried to burn the remainder to make the village appear pillaged. They did not take all of the young women and female children either. Many of the women were simply killed, and there were signs the Illians tried to disguise that fact by placing weapons near some of the bodies. The Illians they had killed wore much better armor than usual and fought as if they had superior training.  The raid seemed staged, its only aim to kill as many Jordache as possible by an elite squad.

She thought about it for a moment and added that the raid happened at the trading post, four days travel north of Friva by refugee pace, which was perhaps a day and a half by normal horseback. Then she finished with an urgent plea to contact her commander as soon as possible before falling into silence. The priest continued in communication with his superior for a few more minutes before slowly withdrawing his fingertips from the stone’s surface, then he blinked several times, almost falling over backward. Elsa quickly reached across the stone to grab the man by the upper arm as Eustis ran forward to offer him a flask of some liquid, of which the priest greedily sipped.

"It is done, and my master, Aragus, will have word to the commander within the hour. He will in fact deliver it himself, you may rest assured, Elsa," the priest said as Eustis helped him to another mat beside their horses, where food and more drink awaited him.

"Thank you for doing this, priest. I can't help but feel this is important," she said in a low voice, still pensive, but following the man as he settled in a comfortable position to rest up.

"And I agree with you, captain, but it is out of our hands now."He turned away and helped himself to some of the meats and cheeses laid out for his repast, beckoning the captain to join him, but she refused. There was not enough for her company, and she was anxious to get started south again.

"Fare thee well, Father," she called out after gaining her saddle again and motioning her troops forward.

"And you, daughter," he called out in return.