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.
The Message of the Warlord
WITH THE UTTER DESTRUCTION of the last of the Korlas came a peace to that far corner of the far North. The fishermen wove new nets, and repaired their boats, and went out on the waters of the bay.
The hunters went into the shadows of the deep woods and cut down long straight trees, hauling the logs down the slopes to the village, and they set about the laborious task of repairing all the huts that had been burned by the Korlas on what had been their final raid. The women went out into the trampled green fields and did what they could to save the crops. Not so many had been destroyed as they had at first feared, and with what grain they would be able to purchase from the other tribes, and with the game the bowmen would be able to bring down, the tribe seemed assured of a hearty winter. And no more raids came. Gundoen had scouts posted to warn of any war-parties coming from the direction of Orn, but no war-parties came.
And soon came the weeks of summer’s brightest heat. For twenty passes of dark God overhead, the grasses turned a withered brown and the trees dried crackling in the forests. The streams shrank and were quietened, and the dogs lay about on the earthen floors of the huts and would not go hunting. There were fires in the forests on the bright sides of the hills, but none came close enough to the village to do harm. The men and women put aside all their tasks but those most necessary; some went down to bathe naked in the cool waters of the bay, while others simply lay in the shadows, sweating and dozing.
Then the throne of Golden Fire fell back a bit toward the South, and the heat began to depart. The children began to play in the streets again, and the dogs barked once more. The women returned to the fields, and the men to the deep woods.
Emissaries came to Gundoen from the River’s-Bend tribe, and the Archeros, and chief Nam-Rog’s Durbar tribe. These were all tribes still independent of Gen-Karn. They came because of the wild rumors flying about the North that Gundoen had completely destroyed the Korlas with no damage at all to himself, and that now even Gen-Karn was afraid of Gundoen. The emissaries saw the newly built halls, the stores of grain and meat, the warriors walking about just as if there had been no war at all. That the tribe should have been able to visit such complete destruction upon their enemies at so little cost to themselves seemed a veritable miracle. Even seeing, the emissaries could scarcely believe it.
Gundoen smiled upon them, inscrutable in his triumph.
He told them of the stranger, Ara-Karn – of how he had come from the lands of the dead and of his greats feats in the Hunt. He even gave the stranger much of the credit for their victory over the Korlas, as if the chief himself had not battled as mightily as a bull bandar.
He even allowed Kuln-Holn to sit at his tables and regale the emissaries at length with his visions and early dreams, and of the great dark mission of Ara-Karn, and of what up to this time he had never before dared tell: of how Ara-Karn had gone to the peak of Kaari-Moldole, the forbidden peak, and commanded storm and sea and returned therefrom unscathed. The men from the tribes listened to the words, and they did not laugh or jest, for clearly there had been some strange doings among the people of Gundoen’s tribe. Of Ara-Karn they asked few questions, and he answered them none. And this impressed them even more than all the rest; for what sort of a man was it who could refrain from speaking about his own accomplishments?
Of the bows, the chief spoke not at all. Nor did he show them any. Instead he left them thinking that all had been accomplished with the traditional weapons, so that the emissaries shook their heads in disbelief and went back to their tribes full of the mystery of Gundoen’s great victory.
Thus, for the first time, the name of Ara-Karn passed beyond the limits of Gundoen’s territory, and it did so shrouded in dark awe. So that when the word of Gundoen’s doings sped throughout the tribes, the name of Ara-Karn figured prominently. Never before had the tribe done such things. And with the name went the stories of Kuln-Holn’s prophecies; so that, though many shook their heads skeptically, with each new telling the wonder and magic of the name grew, so that the stories began to hold things that Kuln-Holn had never intended, but the chief had. And Gundoen laughed to think of Gen-Karn grinding his teeth away in sullen dismay.
The fruit ripened upon the branch; the stalks matured in the field; the chill of autumn came back on the north winds. The harvesting was done by all the women and men of the tribe – cut, threshed, and stored away against the winter snows. The first frosts fell upon the dark sides of the hills, and then it came time for the warriors and important men of the tribe to make ready for the long trek to the Tribal Assembly at Urnostardil. Few tribes dwelt farther away from the meeting-place than did Gundoen’s, so they must be about their preparations and departures earlier than most of the other tribes.
Before these preparations were complete, there came to the chief’s hall an embassy from Gen-Karn, mightiest of the chiefs and Warlord of all the far North. They were led by Sol-Dat of the Orn tribe, now Gen-Karn’s chief man. With him were two other Orn warriors and Estar Aln of the Korla tribe.
Gundoen received them as he would any embassy – in his long hall and with a goodly feast. But he took extra precautions that they should see little of the strength of men he planned to take to the Assembly and that all the bows of the tribe were hidden. And he kept seated beside him with honor Ara-Karn, bedecked in full war-gear, so that they might be sure to see this stranger and take back the word of him to their master. This, like many of the other ideas concerning their dealings with the other tribes, had been of Ara-Karn’s own proposing.
When they had eaten, Sol-Dat rose. ‘I see you are not a man to boastfully set before his guests the best of his meat and drink, Gundoen. That is well, for in Orn we have too much good food. We forget its quality for having naught to compare it to.’
Gundoen smiled. ‘I would like myself to taste some of Orn cooking, save that I fear I might soon afterward grow ill, like poor Est-Hal of the Kamskal tribe. Perhaps some year after Gen-Karn is gone.’
Sol-Dat curled his lips scornfully. ‘That might be too long to wait, Gundoen.’ Again he had referred to the chief as if he were not the leader of his people. Yet Gundoen was too crafty to be drawn into open warfare before he deemed it proper. The matter was too important for him to have given vent to his own hot temper, hard though it was for him to control it.
Sol-Dat then turned his gaze upon Ara-Karn and questioned him about the death-barge he had stolen and how much of its loot he had been able to keep after the chief had taken his share.
Ara-Karn only shrugged lightly. ‘Once, O Chief,’ he said, speaking only to Gundoen, ‘a man told me he had seen a monkey, a wild beast, hairy and shaped like a demented man, trained to speak human tongue. But never have I believed that man’s words until now. However, though a monkey may talk at me, I will not speak to a monkey.’ At which there was laughter throughout the hall.
Sol-Dat reddened to his bronze breastplate. ‘Gundoen, I will no longer bandy words with you. Words are the knives of women’s tongues; warriors have other weapons. Be it known that you have broken the peace of the tribes against all prior agreements, the laws of our people, and the wishes of the great Gen-Karn. You have invaded the lands of another tribe and stolen their game. You have attacked the Korlas and killed them wantonly, slaying warrior, woman, and babe. You have burned their village to the ground. But not all the Korlas were in their village, Gundoen – some fled to the woods before you could massacre them, and others were at Orn, the guests of our Warlord Gen-Karn himself.
‘These have come to great Gen-Karn and supplicated him. And since the Korlas are now too few to defend themselves, we of the Orn tribe have agreed to press the suit on their behalf. At the Tribal Assembly you will be called to defend yourselves, or repay the Korlas in kind. Notice has been formally given.’
With these words Sol-Dat turned and signed to the others who had come with him. Without waiting for a reply or to feed their ponies, they left the hall and rode out of the village down the path past Outpost Rock.
Gundoen only laughed, and drank his ale deeply at last, and spat it out upon their trail with relish.
§
WHEN ALL the preparations were complete, the warriors who were to go to the Assembly were feasted in a final farewell ceremony. Usually this feast was one of the happiest of the year, for the harvests were in and another year had been survived. Yet this year it was not so gay, because all knew that not everyone who was to leave would as surely return.
Hertha-Toll was of all the women most cheerful, at which the other women took some heart. ‘Look,’ they said among themselves, ‘the wise woman is full of cheer; can matters be as bad as we fear then?’ And when she spoke before the feast, Hertha-Toll prophesied only good – a great victory for the tribe, first place among all the tribes, and the downfall of Gen-Karn.
But alone with Gundoen in his dim place, Hertha-Toll put aside her smiling face and begged him not to go.
‘It is shameful and without honor, I know,’ she said earnestly. ‘But why can you not even now gather our tribe and remove to the Southlands? We have food and drink already prepared; the other preparations would take but a little time. Perhaps our luck would be better in the South.’
Gundoen was put off by her manner. ‘What is wrong with our luck now?’ he grumbled. ‘Woman, you trouble me. Have these matters not already been decided? Why do you wish to cast your gloom over me now?’
‘It is only,’ she said, ‘it is only because I love you. I do, Gundoen, with as much fervor as I did when I was a young girl famed for her beauty. And I have had dreams. But’ – she sighed – ‘I should have known that I could not stop a truth that I had already seen.’
‘What dreams?’ he growled.
She shook her head. ‘I burst with them but cannot tell you. You made me promise to speak no more, did you not? – to speak no more against him. Yet only this will I say, my chieftain: If you go to this Assembly, you will die. And you will die horribly, with no friends about you. And your body will never make the final voyage. And you will have been betrayed by him you hold most high.’
Gundoen did not answer her in the darkness. He lay on one side facing away from her, and was still for the entire time of the sleep. Yet she could tell by his breathing that he did not sleep.
And later in the outside brightness of the light of Goddess, when all the warriors were upon their ponies ready to depart, Gundoen laughed at his wife’s gloomy looks as if she were a child. And he said privately to her, ‘When I return with Gen-Karn’s head hanging at the side of my saddle-blanket, then there will be an end of prophecy for you.’
He brought his pony about so suddenly that Hertha-Toll had not a chance to reply, and he rode to the head of the long columns by Outpost Rock.
He spat upon his hand and stretched it forth. He wiped the spittle gleaming upon the sharp stone.
‘Departing I use my own spit,’ he declared. ‘But when I return I’ll cover the spot with my enemies’ blood!’
A cheer sounded from the warriors astride their ponies, from the women standing on the edges of the sere brown fields, and from the children behind them. Gundoen grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming in the light of Goddess. The warriors started forward and slowly, because of their great numbers, entered into the concealing leaves of the forest. Then the last of them waved fiercely and turned the bend, and only the measured beat of their ponies’ hooves could be felt in the soft earth.
Eagerly the women bent their ears to the ground. By the rhythms of the beat, much could be omened concerning the success of the expedition, and none was better at this than Hertha-Toll the Wise.
Yet when the vibrations finally fell to naught, and the middle-aged woman lifted up her squat brown frame and turned slowly back toward the village, she said not a word, no matter how many and eager were the questions showered upon her.
