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By
Rick Darr
The doorway stood before him like a dark and foreboding sarcophagus. Distant screams cut
through the quiet like knives, followed by angry growls and a return to quiet. Only a dim green
light kept the warrior from being lost in the blackness. It emanated from a substance, clammy
to the touch, covering the walls.
From just outside his field of vision he sensed movement. Straining to see through the
shadows he caught a glimpse of shapes, bestial in appearance but standing erect. Instead of
waiting for them to maneuver around him he attacked with his short sword and axe, striking
flesh with both weapons. Shrieks, mixed with pain and loathing, pierced the air. Two corpses
lay sprawled before him.
His true destination was deeper within. Looking to test his mettle against a formidable foe –
one of the leaders of these vermin – the Barbarian wiped the blood from his weapons with an
impatient hand and opened the door. This was a lair and there was only one-way out. Slay a
leader and the rest would temporarily scatter, hopefully granting him enough time to escape.
The beasts usually killed with superior numbers; exactly how many of them existed within the
mountain was unknown. Luckily they were often unorganized; only a large group of foes would
cause them to gather forces.
Down the stairway he inched. The smell of rotting flesh laced the air. Another minion rushed
towards him, meeting the same quick fate as had the last two. Stepping over the corpse he
entered the room. It was empty. Where was the fiend?
Barbarian: that’s what Madarr and his people are called. Perhaps they are labeled such
because of their ancestor’s penchant for neighboring women. Be that as it may, they are a
noble people. Ruthless in battle, yes, but also bound by honor and duty. Their tribe has been at
war with the beasts, the Jintai who dwell within the mountain of evil, for many years. Jintai
outnumber the Barbarians, but do not possess their courage and skill in battle.
A commotion outside caught his attention; it sounded like combat. Easing the door open, the
warrior moved towards the sounds. A young female, not one of his people, was battling two of
the creatures. Walking out behind her he stood for a moment, watching. Sensing the outcome
was still in question he approached.
“Lass, do you require assistance?”
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she replied. “No, my lord. I believe I have the situation
well in hand.”
Madarr laughed aloud, for in reality the situation was anything but. The two creatures were
contriving to gain opposite sides of her but the Barbarian refrained from interceding …for the
moment. He would not watch this brave one die, but intercession would happen only if
necessary. As it turned out, after a brutal fight she dispatched both foes. With sweat staining
her leather armor she did the last thing he expected: she turned toward him and bowed.
“My lord, I trust you are not disappointed with my skill.”
“Young one, it was well fought indeed. Just so you know, I would have stepped in if the battle
had turned against you,” Madarr explained, hoping she would not be offended.
“I assumed as much. That is why I could not lose, my lord. It would not have been prudent to
force you to break your word.” As she spoke he marveled at her honesty, and yes, her beauty
as well.
“Lovely one, may I know your name?”
“I am called Suldany. And you are?”
“I am Madarr, war-leader of the Wrath clan. But what are you doing in this vile place?”
Awaiting a reply he looked her over once again. She was different than Barbarian females.
The women of his tribe stood at least six foot tall; this one was lucky to be five. Her face was
pretty and slender, with cheekbones that rounded down to a small yet pretty mouth. His
suspicions were confirmed when she pulled the helmet off and tossed her hair back: her ears
tapered upward to small points. She was Elkan, a race that lived beyond the ice forge.
Suddenly she stood up, looked deep into his eyes, and whispered, “I must leave this place
now, but I do hope to see you again, sire.”
Madarr bowed, but by the time he stood back up she was gone. He held the same hope. As
he turned he attempted to push her from his thoughts. It was time for more killing.”
*****
The warrior sat before the fire. Small children ran about, fighting imaginary battles. His
thoughts were far away, on her, on Suldany. Her woman smell mixed with the sweat of battle
was one not easily forgotten.
“Madarr, the chieftain requests your presence.” The urgency in Pfimarr’s voice brought Madarr
out of his reverie.
“What is it, my friend? I have spent two days in that putrid place and cleaved a leader of the
beasts in two. Do I not deserve a few moments to myself?” As soon as the words left his
mouth he regretted them. This was one of his best warriors. “I am sorry for the quick tongue,
my friend. Perhaps the high one would like me to put this day’s deed to song for him?”
Pfimarr laughed heartily, as did Madarr, who then stood up and walked into the chieftain’s tent.
The leader of the tribe had lived at least two hundred cycles; in the deep creases on his face
you could trace the last fifty. His body had long since seen its better days, but his mind was
sharp. He was not their leader by accident.
“Madarr, sit before me,” he said, his wrinkled hands shaking slightly as he offered the sacred
pipe.
His name was Kazull, but rarely was he called that. He had brought his people to greatness so
respect was due him; nothing less would suffice.
“Leader, you call me to your tent and we share the pipe.” Madarr inhaled the smoke deeply,
feeling its calming effects on his body. “I have been your war-chief for too long not to know we
are about to discuss something of great importance.”
The old one laughed, but the deep cough at the end betrayed his failing health. His face took
on a serious look. “As you well know, we have been fighting the beasts since before the
writing of the scrolls. Only the fact that they usually do not venture out in daylight from those
caves has allowed us to survive. You also are familiar with the small pointed ear beings that
live far off to the west.”
“Yes, lord, the Elkans. Many years ago our ancestors fought them in a long war, then eventually
each side left the other alone. Within the last ten cycles we have traded with them. As a matter
of fact, I fought alongside one today, and a brave fighter she was.” Kazull raised an eyebrow,
thought deeply for a moment, and then spoke once again.
“It is because of the fact that they are small yet capable warriors that I have sent an emissary
to them, requesting a meeting. My goal is to form an alliance.”
“Alliance?” It was Madarr’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “An alliance? My lord, we have never
needed anything but our own swords and courage. Why would we want to do that now?”
“The time has come to destroy the beasts. They have ravaged the Elkan as well as our own
people. If we join forces the wretched things can be cleansed from our land, once and for all. I
wanted to talk to you before their emissaries arrive, Madarr. You remember the last time we
attacked the creatures in force. They fled into their numerous tunnels and killed many of our
warriors. If the Elkan ally with us, they can keep the tunnels secure while you and our army
strike the decisive blow. If all goes well with the meeting I want you to draw up the battle plans.”
“We are meeting them now?” Madarr was puzzled; Kazull had never before considered joining
forces with anyone.
“Yes, their delegation is here, waiting for you and I to finish. If you are set against it we can
delay this for now, but I do believe it needs to be.”
“Thank you for consulting with me, leader. If you believe it is a good thing, then I agree.”
Kazull nodded and then called for the others. As the three Elkans walked in, Madarr turned to
greet them. He heard the laugh, recognized the sweet voice, and then saw her face. It was
Suldany.
“My lord,” she said. The pretty smile widened as she gracefully bowed.
“Milady, perhaps it should not surprise me you, that you are here,” Madarr said.
She gestured towards her comrades. “This is Chisah. He is our raid leader. And my brother,
Atius, acting leader of our people since my father has taken ill.”
“Suldany, Chisah, Atius…this is Kazull.” Madarr backed away to allow them access; surprised
at the reverence they gave the Barbarian leader. Kazull sat for a moment then waved for all to
be seated. Over the next hour they discussed the treaty, trade, etc. It was Atius who finally
guided the conversation to the point.
“So Kazull, Madarr, what makes you think we can defeat the beasts, even with our combined
forces?”
Kazull looked around the tent, settling his gaze on Atius. Madarr kept his eyes on both of them.
Yes, he had confidence in his warriors, but relished little the idea of another full assault into
that hellish place.
“It is time for all of us to live without worrying about whose child will stray from camp and never
return, to be able to sit in the moonlight and not wonder what might be crawling out from
behind the next rock. Your people live farther away and may not take the full brunt of their
attacks, Atius, but I’m sure you have stories of your own.”
“Yes, what you say is true. And I mean no disrespect, but you still have not answered my
question, Kazull.” Madarr realized he had a good deal in common with these forthright people.
Atius continued. “There are many stories of what lies in the heart of that mountain. It is even
rumored the evil god that created the beasts dwells there.”
Kazull pondered a moment and then looked at Atius, speaking in a tone Madarr had heard on
rare occasions only. “It will not be easy, that is certain. Evil god? Of that I cannot say. If so, our
shaman will help us deal with him. But with your people’s smaller stature, they can track the
beasts back into their tunnels. Five cycles ago we attempted to clean them out ourselves, but
the vermin would run into their holes only to emerge on our flanks. There were hundreds of
them. More than one of our warriors died when attempting to follow; many found themselves
stuck in the small confines, only to be literally dissected alive. Fighting that many inside is not
a desirable option. It is Madarr’s belief that if we can get the bulk of them out into the open
before daybreak, we can divide our forces and crush them. Then once we are inside, your
people can follow them into their holes, keeping them busy long enough for us to push into the
heart of their lair.”
As the conference went on, Madarr could feel Suldany’s heated gaze upon him. She was
getting to him, and he wanted her. Kazull’s voice broke him from his reverie. “It is settled then.
Two days from now the beasts shall die. Madaar, show our guests to their tents.”
Luckily he spoke when he did. Madarr’s mind had gone to places it should not have, a very
bad thing mere days before a battle. As they walked from the tent Suldany looked at him with
lust in her eyes. Desire sparked, but he did his best to push it aside.
“Lovely one,” Madarr said, “I shall use my feelings for you as a potion to help me slay our
enemies.”
She looked up at him. “I feel the same way, my lord.” Branches above them in the moonlight
cast shadows across her lovely face. “Until the time is right,” she said, then turned and walked
away.
Madarr sat at the campfire. The bustling sounds of the village had now diminished. Only a few
spoken words could be heard, along with the creatures of the night calling to one another. Was
he a reflective man? No, but the coming battle did spur him to look and listen to things
differently. Death had always been just around the bend, but now seemed closer. Perhaps this
would be his last chance to take in the sounds and smells about him. He closed his eyes,
leaned back, and absorbed them until a fitful sleep washed over his soul.
CONTINUED ON PAGE 2
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