Samples from books that we have published under the Eartherean Press imprint.
This is another in a series from the first book in the 4-book series The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn: The Former King.
© 1981 by A. Adam Corby
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License. The license is included as an appendix to this work.
A Summer’s Raid
THEY CREPT through the dense forest like passing shadows propelled by the wind. No noise or disturbance marked their passing. They swarmed through the leafy underbrush as if they had no more substance than dusty spirits come to seek a sacred vengeance.
After the council of war, Gundoen had led them up to the Grove of dark God. They had come ceremonially, as was custom; and among them had been the foreigner Ara-Karn, as naked and smeared with ash and pigment as the rest. Gundoen had made the sacrifice, and they had sworn the destruction of the Korlas, promising dark God much death and blood, which is said to please Him. Then they had gone down again to the village and armed themselves for war. The women of the tribe had seen them off solemnly with no weeping. They too had learned to be as hard as the bark from the canthin tree.
Now they crept up to the village to the Korlas.
The village of the Korlas was large – almost as large as the main village of Gundoen’s tribe. But this was the Korlas’ only village. On three of its four sides the forest came right up to its walls; on the fourth side were the green fields. As the warriors crept up to the three forested sides, some of them could see some Korla men and women out in the sunshine working on the fields.
The village of the Korlas was enclosed by a high wall of oak logs – tree trunks felled, lopped of branches, sharpened at the top, and lashed upright closely together. Along the top of the walls could be seen the Korla sentinels, walking back and forth, watching the forest for the enemies they did not see.
Gundoen grunted when he saw the wall. The sight never failed to excite his disgust. ‘That shows what cowards the Korlas are,’ he murmured to Ara-Karn. ‘There is no other tribe in all the North that must hide behind walls as if they were no better men than civilized landowners.’
He spat to punctuate his words.
The warriors moved into positions on the three forested sides of the village. By silent signals they told Gundoen that all the men were in position and ready. Gundoen grinned. He raised his fist with the thumb set apart from the knuckles. A dozen bowstrings sang, and there were no more sentinels on the walls.
From the inside of the stockade came the sounds of heavy things falling inertly to the earth. Cries of alarm followed.
‘Quickly now!’ roared Gundoen, leaping forward.
Ropes tied with loops were thrown up the walls; the loops fell over the sharpened ends of the logs and held fast. The warriors began to clamber up the ropes.
First to gain the summit was Ara-Karn, climbing with both hands, his bow between his teeth. When he reached the catwalk he took the bow in his hands and swiftly nocked an arrow.
There was a shout from below, from a tall man with long brown hair. Brandishing his lance, the man leaped upon the ladder to the catwalk. He never reached the top of the ladder: he fell back gurgling to the ground, dead. A long black-feathered arrow protruded from his throat.
Other warriors had climbed the ropes now on all three sides of the village. Ara-Karn could see them along the walks, gesticulating and brandishing their curved bows. The Korlas saw them also, and seeing them appear so suddenly and grimly, with naught but murder in their wild eyes, they cried out for fear. They had trusted in the promises of Gen-Karn and felt secure. They had believed that they could slaughter and burn at will in Gundoen’s village and never have the payment of it. Now they saw that they had been wrong, and that the payment required would be their lives.
The women screamed and clutched their children by the arms, dragging them into the sheltered huts. The warriors also ran in, but only to take sword and armor. They returned with their weapons of iron and bronze in their hands and their helms upon their heads.
Gundoen only laughed to see this.
‘Greetings, neighbor Korlas!’ he shouted down at them. ‘You thought to burn my village and war upon women and babes. And now you think these walls will keep us out. O eaters-of-dung, they will not keep us out; but they will keep you in!’
Like the king of the bandars the chief shook his massive head and shoulders. He lifted his bow, which was powerful and doubly curved and which no man could draw back but he. And he shot an arrow down at the nearest Korla warrior. So powerful was that bow that the long arrow plunged into the warrior’s leather chest plate and passed completely through his body, embedding itself in the ground before the dead man had even fallen. First thin streams of blood spurted out from two neat holes in the man’s armor – one in the front, the other behind. Only then did the body fall.
The Korlas never stood a chance.
They milled about in the clearing, charging first this wall, then that; but each charge ended in chaos, breaking under the onslaught of deadly arrows. And the warriors on the walls only laughed and jested, and drew back arrows to their ears. It was not a combat but a slaughter. Quickly the compound filled with the writhing bodies of dead Korlas.
They would have fled screaming long before, save that they were led by two great warriors dressed in armor unlike that of the others. These two bullied and beat the others, ordering them here and there; and the Korlas, cowed and frightened like young lambs bleating over the corpses of their ewes, obeyed. But the look of death was surely in their eyes.
Gundoen pointed out the two large warriors to Ara-Karn. ‘They are not Korlas,’ he shouted. ‘They are Orns, from Gen-Karn’s tribe. Did I not say it?’ And he laughed horribly, so that his laughter overcame even the screams of the dying, floating like a cloud over the whole of the village.
The sounds of his laughter even came distantly to the central square of the village. There, in a great wooden cage, were imprisoned the women who had been abducted from Gundoen’s village – all save one. Here they had been penned for public display. Here the women of the Korlas and their children might spit upon and revile their enemies. And here the men of the Korlas might pass by to inspect their property. The captive women were not quite naked, but their tunics had been torn in the slaughter at Gundoen’s village and the mad flight therefrom; therefore the Korla men had much to see when they passed them by.
Later, after a certain amount of time, the captives would be sold in auction to the Korla who lacked a wife, or desired a pleasing concubine, or wanted a serving wench to clean his hall, bake bread in his ovens, and mend his tunics. What a man bought a woman for depended upon the desires of the man and the comeliness of the woman.
Only one of the women was not being held in the wooden cage. Alli, because of her beauty and her dark slanting eyes, had been chosen out by one of the Orn warriors who had led the raid. He had seen her in the hall of Gundoen when he had burst in, swinging his wide bloodstained sword. And even as he was smashing the bones of the foreign champions and stealing the hilt of the sword of Tont-Ornoth, he had lusted for her.
At first they had penned her with the other women, but the Orn could not wait and demanded that she be his come the next sleeping. Nor did the leaders of the Korlas dare deny him, after they had seen him in his battle-madness. So he had taken her to the Korla chief’s hut, which he and the other Orn now used. And because Alli did not resist him, but only wept and shuddered and let him have his way with her, moving as he commanded, the Orn did not chain her in his dim place or return her to the wooden cage. Instead he dressed her in gold and fineries and boasted of the envy of the other Orn warriors when he returned to Orn with her.
And when the warriors had appeared on the walls suddenly and the Korla women screamed, Alli poked her head out of the hall of the Korla chief. She looked about in timid curiosity. She saw the Korla women running into their huts, and she saw the men strapping dark helmets over their heads, rushing toward the back walls of the village. Then the streets were empty again.
‘Alli!’ cried a voice. ‘Alli, come hither!’
Alli looked over to the large wooden cage. There Turin Tim, the homely daughter of Kuln-Holn, was gesturing to her. Cautiously, Alli stepped to the side of the cage.
‘Alli, do you hear the sounds of battle?’ Turin Tim asked. ‘Gundoen has led our men here to avenge the raid and free us!’ The plain girl’s eyes sparkled at the thought.
Alli could only think of the gossip of the tribe, which pitied Turin Tim for being plain and only the daughter of Kuln-Holn, who was not only a cracked-pate but a poor one to boot. The poor girl had had to fend for herself and support her own father. She had never even learned how to dance.
‘Alli,’ said Turin Tim, ‘we must help them to rescue us. There are no Korlas here to guard us now. Go you into the hut of the Korla chief and find a sword to cut the ropes that bind shut the door of the cage.’
Alli’s eyes widened in fear. ‘What if they should catch me?’ she wailed.
‘They are all at the walls fighting. And their women are more frightened than we are. They know their men are no match for our warriors. Do you not hear that laughter? Know you not whose voice that is? No one will catch you. But go quickly before any of them return.’
‘They are returning?’ cried Alli. ‘No, I cannot dare.’ And she turned and scampered back into the safety of the chief’s hall, leaving the other women still penned in the wooden cage.
The sounds of battle grew louder, nearer.
The terror of the Korlas grew until the Orn warriors could no longer command them. In a sudden rush they broke and fled for shelter beyond the nearest huts, where the deadly arrows might no longer reach them.
Gundoen’s warriors put up their bows and climbed down into the compound. As he waded through the heaps of dead Korlas, Gundoen laughed merrily.
‘Come out, come out!’ he called to the hidden Korlas. But no Orn or Korla ventured forth. Only the leader of the two Orn warriors shouted angrily from the shadows.
‘Only cowards fight those who cannot strike back!’
Gundoen chuckled. ‘Is it so? Then what of you, attacking our children when we were gone hunting? Well, then, if you will be shy, we will put away these toys.’ And he pulled out his great flat sword instead, leading his warriors into the shadows of the Korla huts.
Then was the fighting close and heated. Sword met sword in clangorous strokes, and blood spattered the walls of the silent huts. Gundoen was everywhere, laughing horribly, cursing merrily; and at his side was Ara-Karn, the stranger, matching him death for death.
Under that mad onrush, the terrified Korlas gave back quickly. They sweated and ran and stumbled, rose to give back blows, then, wounded again, ran back further. They fought among their homes in the streets of their own village, and every hut the enemy swarmed about meant women and children lost. And still they dared not hold their ground but retreated, for all the beatings the two Orn warriors gave them.
They fell back to the clearing before their chief’s hall in the center of the village. And there, away from the toil of battle for a moment, they paused, and leaned against the wooden cage for rest.
But behind them the captive women laid hands on them, taking their swords and striking them senseless. Turin Tim lifted one of the heavy swords and swung it with her thin strong arms. The blade bit deep into the thick cord binding the cage door. She worked the blade free and struck again. The cord snapped in twain, and the women rushed out into the freedom of the square.
By now the battle had reached the square. Already battle was boiling around the cage. Gundoen went in combat against the tall Orn warrior, the one who had taken Alli to his own dim place. And that battle was a sight to behold. Sparks flew from their hot, blood-drinking swords, and the thunder of those blows was deafening.
Gundoen struck a blow with the full strength of his bull-like shoulders, and the head of the Orn leader flew into the air trailing blood.
Gundoen shook the blood out of his eyes and called to Ara-Karn, ‘One ahead again!’
‘Is it so?’ asked the stranger; so he turned suddenly and engaged the other Orn warrior. And in three deft strokes his sword was buried in the man’s loins. ‘We are even again,’ he said calmly, drawing forth the blade.
The chief of the Korlas went mad with panic when he saw the two Orns dead. He grabbed one of the freed women and held her in front of him. ‘Cease battling and leave us!’ he cried. ‘Or your women die before you!’
The men paused, uncertain of what to do. They looked to the chief for an answer; but before Gundoen could think, Turin Tim had come up behind the Korla chief.
She tripped him suddenly with her long bare leg, and as he fell she swung the heavy sword, so that the blade buried itself deep into the soft flesh of the exposed throat.
Panting, Turin Tim raised the bloody sword. She said, ‘Warriors of our tribe, will you let your women do all your fighting for you?’
Garin went up to her and put his strong arm about her waist, for he saw that she was about to fall for weakness. The women had been fed only one meal since they had been captured, except for Alli; and except for Alli they had slept only fitfully in the exposed cage.
With the death of the Orn warriors and the chief, the surviving Korlas broke into an uncontrollable panic and fled from the square. And the hooting, howling warriors of Gundoen’s tribe followed after them and killed them to the last man they could find. The last of the Korlas tried to open the gates of the village and flee into the green fields; but Gundoen’s warriors reached them before the great wooden bar could be raised, and they slew them screaming on the high walls of their own stockade.
Then the Korla huts were looted of all gold and weapons and ornaments, and the hilt of the sword of Tont-Ornoth was recovered from the Orn warrior’s pile and returned to Gundoen. The men found Alli cowering in the Orn’s dim place and at first mistook her for a Korla woman because of her garb. But she cried out to them, and they recognized her voice. She emerged from the Korla chief’s hall and fell familiarly into the blood-spattered shelter of Gundoen’s arms.
The Korla women were dragged out into the streets with their children, there to be reviled by the vindictive freed women. Any boy with second teeth the warriors slew outright, lest he grow to seek vengeance for the slaughter of his father. The other children and most of the women they let be. But if a woman wore a costly tunic with fine bright colors, a warrior would strip it from her back to give to his own wife at home. And if a woman were comely enough, a warrior would take her for his concubine or his serving wench, as the Korlas would have done to the women of Gundoen’s tribe.
And Gundoen would have no pity for the last remnants of the Korla tribe. ‘They struck at us most foully,’ he declared. ‘And made war upon our women and children. And they did this thing for no other cause than greed and the urgings of Gen-Karn. No mercy did they show, and none shall they receive. Their destruction will be a sign and a warning to all the tribes of the North of the power of our tribe.’ And some said that these words were not wholly the chief’s, but both they and the plan were of the stranger’s devising and instance. But if this were so, Gundoen did not appear sorry to follow the advice.
So they left the gates of the stockade barred, and set their torches to the village, and burned it to the ground. From the cool shade of the forest they could hear the screams of the women and babes, and the beatings upon the too-high walls. But Gundoen’s face was like the carved face of dark God as he watched the black, baleful smoke rising from what once had been a village of one of the tribes of the far North.
The warriors set their backs upon the scene and wearily traveled homeward. They fed and clothed the women who had been captives of the Korlas and rejoiced that they were safe and still untouched. Alli rode nestled in the lap of Gundoen, which he allowed even though they had taken all the Korla ponies and had three ponies to every rider.
Alli snuggled against the bloodied armor of that broad chest and kissed the chief, sighing for sheer comfort. And Gundoen smiled down on her gently and patted her soft rump. But later, when they had come to the village again, he put her aside. And things were never the same between them again.
§
THE TRIBE held a great victory feast upon their return. Hertha-Toll ordered that all be made ready and the boards brought out into the sandy square, stocking them with what meats and breads the Korlas had not found.
With great ceremony Gundoen returned the sacred relics to their places. The warriors paraded all the loot taken from the burned village, and the women laughed and rejoiced in their new fineries. Now that swift and heated vengeance had been taken for their slain loved ones, the people of the tribe felt that their spirits could pass peacefully over to the lands of the dead. They put aside their hatred, for it had been slaked in swift action. And they made merry instead. Even Gundoen put on a cheerful face and danced drunkenly before the clapping onlookers.
But Ara-Karn sat apart.
The chief had offered him the seat of honor, but he had refused it. He drank little and ate nothing at all. He lounged on the sand lazily, yawning now and then, seemingly bored. There were none of the green flecks in his eyes now, so that they seemed dead and empty even in the face of the joy of victory. In the middle of the feast he rose and stalked off into the shadows.
No one noticed his passing save Kuln-Holn. But before the Pious One could rise to follow him, Garin came up.
With Garin was Kul-Dro, walking upright now with hardly any pain in his ribs. Kul-Dro had battled well in the Korla village despite his nagging bruises, though Kuln-Holn knew it not. Kuln-Holn had not gone on the raid.
‘Kuln-Holn,’ said Kul-Dro, sitting cross-legged before him, ‘I am here on the part of my firstborn son Garin. He wishes you to know that he was with your daughter in the heat of battle and was greatly impressed by her. He wishes you to give her to him in marriage.’
Kuln-Holn sat back and blinked. Never before had a marriage offer come for Turin-Tim, and because of her late age he had begun to lose all hope. He nodded eagerly. ‘Certainly, to such a fine young man as Garin I will give my wholehearted support.’
‘Nor do you have to worry about a dowry,’ said Garin impulsively. ‘Let Turin Tim come and live with us.’
‘Quiet, boy,’ growled Kul-Dro.
‘No.’ Kuln-Holn shook his head. ‘That would not be right. Upon her marriage I will give Turin Tim nothing less than all I possess. My hut was not burned by the Korlas, and my boat, because it was far down the shore, was left alone. I will give these things to her. Also my fishing nets – though I confess that the nets are old and rotted in places.’
Garin’s face brightened at this unexpected news. They drank a bowl of ale to seal the bargain, passing it around on the right hand; then Kuln-Holn took Garin to Turin Tim. When he told her of the proposal, he was surprised to see Turin Tim blush and stammer; she could hardly have hoped for such a match as this.
But Garin caught her around the waist and chided her. ‘You showed more spirit in the cage in the village of the Korlas,’ he chided. ‘Are you another girl now, or am I so much worse than Korlas?’
So she laughed and kissed him. Kuln-Holn wished to leap in the air. This was all the blessing of Ara-Karn. The thought of the stranger reminded him of the man’s seeming sadness at the feast. Immediately he went in search of him.
After searching through the entire village, he found him out on the long arm of the bay. The stranger was standing in the coarse grass above the rocks, idly tossing stones into the white foam.
At Kuln-Holn’s approach he turned.
‘Lord,’ said the Pious One, ‘once I was a common man like many another. I was by trade a fisherman, and I was born to this tribe in that same hut where you stayed, when first you came among us. I would mend nets and trade the fish I caught for whatever else we needed. For I was never a warrior or a good man for the hunt, but at fishing I was your man.
‘I had a wife and a daughter. And my wife was growing again with the life I had placed within her. That life was to be my son, the first one granted me by the Most High.
‘And I was a simple man and not the poorest man in the village: not half so poor as you have seen. Many fish I caught on the wide sea, and with every catch I threw one fish back in, in sacrifice and thanks to Her. Our hut was grander then than what you have seen, for it is long years now since I fished for my bread.
‘And then my name was not Kuln-Holn. They called me by another then: that which my father had given me. But now it is years since I heard that name, so that even I have forgotten it. Long years, since a terrible storm came upon us. We knew that a storm was coming, for there had been signs. And many of the other fishermen would not go out upon the waters for fear of the storm.
‘But I said to them, in my youth and ignorant pride – for which may She forgive me! – I said, “You others are old and feeble like women. There have been no bad storms hereabouts for more years than I can tell you. And what have you to fear if you have sacrificed one fish out of every catch to Her, as you should, and as I have done?” Also I had in mind my pregnant wife and baby daughter, and thought I would need all the fish that I might catch. For the fish bite best when they know a storm brews.
‘So I went out on the waters in my boat, trusting to my luck. They called me a fool, but I only laughed and shoved my boat into the waves. And that time was the finest fishing I have ever known. I sat out alone in the best spots, and every time I cast my nets they returned brimming with fat fish, so heavy I could scarcely lift the nets. My boat filled with fish so quickly that soon I took to casting out the smaller ones of less tasty variety to make room for the larger, prized ones. And I laughed, and tugged my cap, and thanked Her whose ocean it is. But I did not remember that it is not called the Ocean of the Dead for nothing.
‘And before I was yet ready to return, though I could have gone back with a full load long before, the storm came overhead. The winds blew, the seas hove, the rain came sideways in its fury. And Her face was blackened with rage.
‘My boat was swamped so that I had to take to bailing. And when that did no good, I was forced to cast out those beautiful fish I had caught – though it tore my heart to do so. I cast them forth one by one, for with each fish I discarded I hoped that the boat would be light enough. Only it was never enough, and I was forced to throw away every single last beautiful fish. Then I was so sorely cast down that I almost begged for death in my disappointment. But that would have been too merciful.
‘I bailed and strove to fight the storm; it laughed and thundered, and threw my little boat about. So dark it was that I did not know where Her face lay, and where the dark horizon. Long since had my little mast snapped, and my nets and oars blown headlong into the tempest. And I had nothing but the sodden rags on my back. I cried out for mercy in the boiling darkness.
‘Only thunder answered me. And in the depths of that thunder I heard a voice. Like to a woman’s voice it was, only such a woman as had never trod this earth. Her voice was like that of some great Queen of the Southlands, and it was husky in its anger. I knew then that it was the voice of the Goddess. It was like an image reflected in a rippling pool, distorted for all its majesty. Nor could I make out Her words, save in the fever of my soul. Then I knew that, for all I had obeyed all the customs and sacrificed in thanks to Her, it had been but a show, and unreflected in my heart. I knew it then, though I had not yet the words to say it. They came later, in all the tortured years since I have had to think upon it.
‘Only a miracle kept my little boat afloat. I bailed and rowed with my hands, but all my efforts were as nothing compared with the awesomeness of that tempest. I was certain that the current of the Dead had caught hold of my boat, and that I was being dragged still living over the seas to the shores of death. And there the angry spirits would eat my brains in horrid fashion, and such would be my punishment.
‘I resolved myself to it and gave over my efforts. “O Most High,” I cried into the darkness, “whatever you give to me, that I will take as my due.”
‘Then I lay back in the boat and gave myself up for dead.
‘She did not drive me to my death. Soon afterward I heard the sound of breakers, and swam among the rocks to the shore. There I collapsed upon the beach, nearly dead, naked, and bleeding.
‘When the storm at last abated I took thought of my location, which was many leagues North of here, in the coarse wilderness where none dwelt. Now a clan of our people has set their huts on a bay there. I drank fresh water from a stream and wove clothing out of the long grasses and made my way back here, fevered, wild, and always near to death.
‘They were all amazed to find me alive, for they had long given up all hope for me, and had even said the ceremonial words for me. I asked about my wife, and then received the full measure of my punishment: for she was dead, having died in the terror of the storm giving birth to my son. Only the birth had been too early, and the boy, too, was dead – he never even drew the breath of life.
‘I went mad in my grief, and only Hertha-Toll, with her wondrous skill, brought me back to life. Many a man thought to be dead from drowning she has revived with her herbs and skills. When I was again able to walk about, I gathered little Turin Tim in my arms and swore to serve the Goddess in all things, upon the very life’s breath of my only surviving kin. I went about thereafter preaching of my lesson to the others of the tribe. That was when they began calling me Pious One, and my birthing-name was forgotten. And that was the last time I had gone out fishing before you came here, though I built another boat to tow the dead forth.
‘And never since then have I been sure that She has truly forgiven me. It is this thought that torments me more than any other, and will give me no rest even in my dreams. Yet now I feel almost as if the great tidings I had looked for will come to pass. Are you not Her messenger, lord? Ara-Karn, I have given my daughter for Garin to wed, and let them have my hut. I have no ties here now – she is the last of my kin. Let me be your man, lord, and I will aid you in your divine mission.’
Ara-Karn looked down upon the kneeling man. For a long while, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the sea birds and the waves mixed in their ears.
‘Whatever I might require of you?’ Ara-Karn asked at last, his strange accent stronger than it had been for many weeks. ‘You will serve me as you would a god?’
Kuln-Holn bowed his head. ‘Whatever Ara-Karn might command, that Kuln-Holn will do.’
‘If you ever disobey me it will mean your death in the end. I will have no halfway men.’
‘Aye, lord.’
‘Then stand.’ Kuln-Holn rose. The stranger put his hand on the fisherman’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. ‘Very well, Kuln-Holn, I will accept you as my man. But where it may lead you, and what it may require of you, I think you can little dream.’
Kuln-Holn did not hear the last words; his ears were filled with the rush of happiness, for Ara-Karn had accepted him. And now it was as if the Goddess were about to bestow the fullness of Her forgiveness, and dreams he had dreamt so long, of peace and plenty and Her good work, were now to come finally to pass.
