 
## NOMADS of the GODS

## By

## GARY MARK LEE

## Published by author

## Gary Mark Lee

## At

## Smashwords 2013

## Copyright 2013 by Gary Mark Lee Edition 3

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Table of Contents

Table of Contents (cont.)

Memory

Chapter 1. Orphans of the Stars

Chapter 2. The Nomads

Chapter 3. The Falling Star

Chapter 4. Gods and Men

Chapter 5. The Rite of Kings

Chapter 6. Captives

Chapter 7. The Hand of God

Chapter 8. Rumblings

Chapter 9. Shadows and Light

Chapter 10. The Hunt

Chapter 11. Laughter in the Night

Chapter 12. The Stone City

Chapter 13. Fire and Ice

Chapter 14. A Hard Choice

Chapter 15. Earth-shaker

Chapter 16. Warriors Weep

Chapter 17. Mazes

Chapter 18. The Gathering

Chapter 19. The Talk-Stone

Chapter 20. The Word of God

Chapter 21. The Challenge

Chapter 22. Fire in the Sky

Chapter 23. Hands and Hearts

Chapter 24. The Judgment

Chapter 25. Outcasts

Chapter 26. Partings

Chapter 27. The Tears of Isarie

Chapter 28 The Sky-Riders

# Table of Contents (cont.)

Chapter 29. Anoc time

Chapter 30. The Oath of Blood

Chapter 31. Hunters and the Hunted

Chapter 32. The Shadow-men

Chapter 33. The Angel of Death

Chapter 34. The Hollow Hills

Chapter 35. Lords of the Underworld

Chapter 36. The Crystal Spiders

Chapter 37. Sun Song

Chapter 38. Death Bringers

Chapter 39. Underworld

Chapter 40. The Burning Time

Chapter 41. Rebirth

Chapter 42. The Twin Dragons

Chapter 43. Fathers and Sons

Chapter 44. The New Land

Chapter 45. War in the Outlands

Chapter 46. Return of the Outcasts

Chapter 47. Exiles of the Gods

Chapter 48. Death Skies

Chapter 49. Red Ruin

Chapter 50. The Gods Arise

Chapter 51. Moon rise

ENDINGS

Map of Gorn

About the Author

# Memory

Forgive me if I speak plainly, for I do not possess the word-speak of the scholars of Torogona, nor can I fill the air with the Oparian's sing-song language. I can only say what, is, in my mind, with the simple words of a star traveler but I will speak the truth. So sit and listen and I will tell you of many things few have come to know and understand. If I stumble in my lettering, or mistakenly use a word, I should not, I hope, you will understand, I write this with a shaking hand. Although the ages weigh heavily upon me, my mind is still clear, I see yesterday as if it were today. My life is an open book and in it, the wisdom of the stars.

There are few who remember anything from the age of the Outlanders and none who remember it all. Now, as I sit, weary with age and memory, I think back on the people of the Wastelands, my mind fills with images of their faces. They roll past my inner eye so clearly, young and old, strong and the weak. I remember all the long days and longer nights of my life. I think back on the centuries before me, wondering if others such as I, have looked back upon their time, to think as I do. Is life just a remembrance of lives past and future? Are there new futures to come? I do not know, all I have, are these few memories, burning in my mind like the fires of Gorn

Gorn! A name that holds all the mysteries of the heavens. Gorn, a place of wonder and terror, Gorn, a land where The Chosen of the Gods, still lift their arms to the sky and pray. I must start at the beginning and let my story speak for itself, to any who care to listen.

Long after the fall of Great Sal-Sinarie, long before the age of the Urans, the galaxy was without direction or purpose. The Outer Rim worlds exiled themselves from The Gathering, they no longer traveled the star ways, to trade or share wisdom. Great republics came and went, in an endless series invasions and war, leaving most of the Core Worlds in ruin.

With each passing year's inevitable losses, the small number of giant ships moving between the systems, waned. None were built and the knowledge of their building and how they worked, became known to a select few. After the last of the Trajion Wars, the less well traveled regions of space, were at the mercy of lawless marauders. It was at the end of this time that a few of the Inner Core's more civilized worlds, began to reach out.

In this Awakening, came the motive force of The Second Gathering, uniting with one great idea. The Inner Core began working to return peace, order, and knowledge, to a sleeping galaxy. As the new Age of Reason slowly advanced into the dark regions, more worlds joined, some willingly others less so, to secure their place in the new order and their share of the Second Gathering's technology. One by one, ancient worlds of the Outer Rim rose from their Dark Age, to walk in the light of The Second Gathering.

I was a prophet of those times, a member of the elite, certain of my place in the universe, eager, to spread the blessings of civilization, some called it Empire, others Destiny. Both saw me land on a score of backward worlds that I sought unceasingly to change, convince and convert. I saw many strange lands and spoke in strange tongues to even stranger creatures. I am one of the living few, to have seen the reclusive Kaylon who live for millennia, in the dark caverns of their ice-shrouded world. I have shared, their communion with the life force and their vast intelligence, I have heard them whispering to the stars and heard the star's slow answer.

A pilgrim was I, a Holy Palmer to the city named Eternity, where I looked into the face of Helox, the oldest living creature of the galaxy. She spoke to me of Worlds beyond Worlds and of many things I did not understand. I have sat in the assemblages of the Xtralion Alliance, listened to their Elders debate the future of the galaxy, the very paths of the stars.

I was one of the few, content in the knowledge that I was one of The Chosen of the Gods. Now, as my end draws near, I sit and wonder, at all I have seen, heard and done and I weep. My faith in the face of history, was as dust to a windstorm of change, worthless. In spite of all my work, all my belief and wisdom, I will die and be forgotten, returning to the stars whence I came. I will become as dust and all shall be gone, changed during the birth of new worlds. Nothing will mark my passage, my work undone. In the fullness of time, I who have traveled the long roads of hidden space, have discovered that all of my travels were in vain. With these eyes, I have watched worlds die, worlds born and yet did not see the truth.

I listen each day in my solitude, for the voice of the stars but hear only the empty echo of, my failing heart. I hear little, though my eyes are dim, I still see. Not the darkness, nor the emerald pastures of paradise, so many believe in. I see twin suns, rising over ancient snow capped mountains. I see sand, blown on dry winds from the burning Salgar Dunes. I imagine, I feel its warm sting on my wrinkled face. I imagine hearing the roaring cries of the Earth Shakers, as they lumber over the green Sirolian plains, I smell the spring rain on warm rock, I close my eyes and weep. Full of desperate longing, to return to the place where the Outlanders roamed, strong and free. My heart draws near to the faces in my memory. I yearn with all my soul, once more to ride across the trackless lands of my beloved Gorn.

I want to go home.

#  Chapter 1. Orphans of the Stars

The stars are not your home.

Those who dwell amongst them are not of The Chosen.

Their souls are not one with yours.

From The Book of Isarie.

High above Gorn, a ship emerging from deep space entered orbit. It was not a great Orin Galaxy class vessel, it was a mid-range ship, a converted Tollacian Cruiser. Its weapons bays had been crudely hacked out, to be replaced with great, cavernous holds for cargo. Its scarred hull, more than two kilometers long, one of the few ships left that could withstand, the stress of traveling from one system to another. A remnant of the ancient days of the Sal-Sinarie Empire, when mighty ships of every shape and purpose, filled the skies of worlds beyond measure. Now, The Gathering, made do with what it had, what was capable of being used.

This particular vessel was the possession of the Mac-Mar Alliance, a loose configuration of trading planets. They survived by supplying lesser worlds, with finished goods and essential raw materials. What was shipped, did not concern the Mac-Mar, so long as it was profitable. The Mac-Mar followed no treaty, convention, or law, save that of profit.

This Mac-Mar ship, was contracted to deliver prisoners, condemned to permanent exile on the world below, which was ideal. The ship had barely managed to avoid, the many raiding and marauding vessels of the Outer Rim.

The Captain sat in his moist chair, thinking about the return run through those same pirate infested regions. He waited for Executive Officer Tog to report that they were securely entered into orbit.

Toad-faced Captain Ugro, was a Markin, though he lacked most of the better Markin traits. He prided himself on his typical and legendary, Markin punctuality. He ran his ship by the book, unforgiving to all who did not meet his strict expectations. He sat uncomfortably in the overly moist command chair, checking and rechecking the time. The control room was chilled to a comfortable level, dripping with suitably aged moisture, as Ugro liked it. Creatures of a predominately, water world, Markin liked to be wet. The Captain was a believer in comfort, he wanted his ship, to make him feel at home.

He flexed his webbed feet impatiently, while Tog checked his instruments, once more. Tog was much like the Captain, though not as large or as magnificently green. His face, lacked the wonderfully enlarged warts that would have made him, as successful with the females of their race, as Captain Ugro. Rumored to be father to ten thousand eggs. Tog had been Ugro's Executive Officer for over five Standard Years. He had grown tired of the Captain's constant complaints, he dreamed, waking or sleeping, of the day when the Captain might retire, or better yet, die _._

_When I sit in the command chair, I will not whine about it being too moist!_ Tog thought

"Well, Tog, are we there or not?" Ugro croaked.

Tog rechecked his readings, then slowly turned to his bloated superior, "Yes Captain, orbit is stable and beyond danger range."

"It best be, Tog. If we are trapped in a pulse wave, you will live just long enough to regret it, am I clear?"

Tog imagined Ugro, dead on the control room floor, "Yes Captain, situation nominal."

The Captain grunted once sharply, "I'll decide what is nominal, make ready all Drop-ships I want my vessel out of here within two orbits. We have some real cargo to deliver after we dump this Schulman." Ugro shifted in the command chair, his webbed hand stroked his chin, "And get someone up here to check the humidity. My warts feel a bit dry."

"Immediately sir!" Tog saluted and left the control room, no sooner had the control room's doors sighed shut behind him, than he began to grumble.

A bit dry? What a simple rock dweller! Too many years of giving orders, not enough of a mind to remember when he could have adjusted the humidity himself, without even thinking about it!"

Tog grunted twice and cleared his mouth onto the deck. "Get those Drop-ships ready and contact the Talsonar by message drop!" he yelled at the two staff officers who waited upon him in the corridor, they scurried away to commence operations.

Tog walked slowly after them, down the long corridor leading to the cargo holds. Crew members gave him a wide berth, they knew he was always in a foul mood, when he had been alone with the overbearing Captain.

He passed the turnoff to Engineering, then continued down the dim hallway to a sealed door. A young crewman stood guard before it, he quickly opened the door, as Tog approached. Tog passed through the portal without a word, or so much as a glance at the underling.

Inside the hold, it was dark and musty, not the regular sweet odor of spoiled food shipments, to be sold in starving systems, nor was it the cleaner smell of spices, bound for the pleasure planets of Urganius. This odor he had come to know well during the great wars, the carrion sweet smell of rotting flesh.

In the dim light, Tog looked around the cells lining the walls of the hold. Wall to wall, ceiling high, each cage was filled with prisoners, living, dead, and dying. They came from all the systems of the Outer Rim and some from the Inner Core, Valcayise, Nonayia, Osinary and the rest.

They wore rags, scraps of cloth, tattered remnants of uniforms. Some were naked, stripped by stronger, healthier prisoners. The naked were mostly dead, or too weak to move or speak. The long voyage had taken its toll, the dead in the bottom of the cages, the dying collapsed motionless, or hunched over, with little strength for movement. They were the outcasts, the homeless and unwanted of the galaxy, those poor souls, who for whatever reason, were no longer useful to their worlds.

Some were criminals, some mutated victims of pollution, or industrial accident. Many were soldiers, who had known no other life, than killing and being killed, discarded at wars end, with the weapons. Here because they were no longer needed, wherever they came from, whatever their story, this was the end of the line for them and they knew it.

Tog walked serenely down the rows of cages, examining the cargo. The dead and dying did not concern him, he was paid to deliver them to Gorn, dead or alive.

He stopped at one cage holding a female human in a uniform. Ordinarily he did not speak with cargo, he found the looks of humans particularly unpleasant but something about this one caught his eye. Perhaps the manner in which she looked him in the eye, rather than turning away. She was young with a strong body, clothed in a worn but relatively clean, military survival suit, she was a survivor type. Her thick dark hair was cut short and like her tunic, not too dirty, her left hand was wrapped in a grimy cloth as a makeshift bandage.

Tog knew many languages, in his line of trade, he had to be a linguist. He spoke to her in one of the more common human tongues, perhaps she would understand, "What is your name?"

The female looked at him for a moment, before answering, "Does it matter?"

"No, I merely thought you might like something to eat." Tog crouched and grabbed a piece of stale Nutrisom that had fallen from a cage, he stood and held it to the light. _She has not eaten in a good many days, she must want it;_ he thought

She began to reach for the morsel, then stopped, her survivor's instinct stopping her. She knew, as soon as she took the food, she would become a target for every desperate prisoner in her cage.

_Still, it was food._ _Food! How wonderful it would taste, warm, sweet, wonderful!_ "I'm not hungry," she nodded and smiled at the Markin.

Tog was a bit disappointed, he enjoyed a good cargo fight and the thought of this human female, torn limb from, limb had been exciting. Still, there was business to be done, fun could come later. Tog tossed the food into the cage next to the female, he watched for a moment, as a wild melee erupted.

Soon blood pooled on the cage floor, with several newly dead creatures slumped in it. The food, lay on the hold deck once more, lost in the turmoil. Tog grunted with satisfaction, he walked out of the hold and down the corridor.

_Humans!_ _S_ _uch foolish creatures, she could have died now and saved herself the agony waiting for her, on the world below;_ he thought.

The woman watched him go, then leaned back against the cage bars, she dreamed of the morsel of food. A moment later, she heard a soft voice.

"You made the right choice."

She turned, to see an elderly human male smiling at her. He wore a tattered white robe and a matching hooded cloak. What white hair she could see, was mated and filthy, his head was a bit over-sized, he had long fingers with no nails. His face was well structured, with a straight nose, high cheekbones and a broad forehead, his body was thin, accentuating the sharpness of his features. Despite his hawk like visage, his eyes were kind, she felt he was not a threat.

"Maybe but I'd still like to have something to eat right now," she said with a sigh. The old man stood, then walked unsteadily to her side of the cage, past several unhappy creatures, scattered about the floor grates. He sat down next to her, leaned back against the Dura-Flex bars of their cage, then grimaced with the effort of movement.

"Well, I have no food but I can offer my company, if you like?" He held out his right hand to her, "With whom do I have the pleasure of exchanging greetings?"

"Andra," the young woman said, grasping his right hand in hers, "I didn't see you over there." _He is such a strange little man;_ she thought.

"When you reach my age, it is best not to be seen. There are too many who can do you harm." The old man looked knowingly about the cages stacked near to them, "I have been watching you, from my little corner for some time. It was brave of you to stand up to that Markin, they rather enjoy watching humans fight over food."

Andra looked around the cage, her bravado in the face of the Markin, had faded, disappeared into the gloom. She remembered where she was, "I don't think we'll need to worry about, who will harm us for much longer."

Andra stretched her arms out straight, then over her head. "I wish I could have a hot bath before I die." She ran her hands through her hair and down over her face.

The old man started to speak, "I am..."

Andra held up her right hand, "We're going to die in an hour or so and I'd rather not make any new acquaintances at this point in my life."

The old man looked closely at her, "Do not be in such a hurry to die. An old Interface such as I, has little to look forward to, even so there is still a chance of coming out of this alive."

Andra picked a small insect from her hair and crushed it between two fingernails. "I don't see how, no one has returned from Gorn, at least, no one, I ever heard of."

The old man nodded, "Well, some have and from their accounts, scholars have managed to piece together, a very fascinating description of the planet's inhabitants, not to mention its very interesting life-forms."

He closed his eyes, as if reciting from memory. "Take for instance, the collected works of Vardis Cocam. He spent a great deal of time, categorizing the reptilian creatures of that world. For example, did you know, Gorn's orbit is such that it takes it, close to its primary sun, everything on the surface of the planet, is burned. It then continues its orbit, until it swings far out from the larger sun and the planet freezes. Altogether, it takes approximately twelve hundred days and nights, to complete one of their cycles and then there are the diverse life-forms such as..."

"I'm really not interested in Tardis Cocker?" she broke in.

"It was Vardis Cocam, a very famous writer, he won the Tarcus Globe for Excellence in Science Literature and it is a very difficult competition, why I believe it took him nearly..." He looked at the young woman, she was clearly not interested in famous writers, Osh scratched himself, "Ah well, I still like to think on the probability of a future, after all, by my calculations, we should already be dead!"

Andra started to laugh and then stopped, he was serious.

He smiled at her, "I think the Gods have plans for us."

"The Gods? Don't tell me you're a Soul Shepherd!" Andra shook her head and looked down at the grates. The old man, moved his egg shaped head, back and forth swiftly. The motion, reminded Andra of a bird, eager to spot a worm.

"Oh no. No, I am not a Holy man, is that what you think?" He pulled back his stringy hair, to reveal a small, round metallic input, "You can see, I am a Callaxion, we interface with Datacoms, to check readings, service them. It is really a most satisfying profession."

Andra laughed, "You're a Cipher."

"A Cipher?" The old man frowned and thought for a moment, "Oh, yes, Cipher, a somewhat derogatory term used to describe humans, who calculate odds and provide information based upon them, usually for gambling purposes. A neologic corruption of Zero-naught," he smiled, "Yes, yes, very funny."

"It wasn't meant to be funny." Andra crushed yet another of the little red and black insects that infested her hair, "So what are you doing here Cipher?"

"Well, that's a very interesting story really. You see, I was monitoring the Second Level Interface on a control program, when I came across some anomalies. They were not even the sort of regular anomalies, you might find in programs of that type. No, they were unique." The old man, pulled a black and red insect from his hair and clumsily crushed it between two of his nail-less fingers.

"I reported the anomaly, to my supervisor but he insisted, it would not be cost effective, to check every anomaly. It is true, that anomalies generally turn out to be just a small bump in the control programming. I tried to explain to him, this was a unique example but he ordered me to return to my station and no..."

"Is this going to take long?" Andra asked abruptly.

The old man gave her a perplexed look, then looked around the small cage, "Do you have somewhere else to be?"

Andra, to her surprise, gave a small laugh, "Not really, I'm just not all that interested in Datacoms."

"Yes, well let us say, I talk too much and we can let it go at that."

He adjusted his ragged garments, "I do believe, the Gods have a purpose for each of us. A purpose, we must follow, we walk in their shadow and follow, no matter where it leads."

"I thought all Callaxions, were Mechanists, I read somewhere, you all believe in some Mechanoform that programs the entire universe."

The old man shifted his weight on the floor, "Yes, most of us do. I have come to think that just one God, even a Mechanoform, is not enough for the entire universe."

He held his bird like arms out wide, "Have you any idea, just how big the universe really is?"

Andra shook her head, "No, not really but it doesn't matter. I don't believe in any Gods, they never seem to be around when you need them."

"Well, nevertheless, I believe they exist, even if we cannot see them. I calculate, the odds of there not being some sort of all powerful being, is very low. Therefore, I must say with a great degree of certainty, there must be an entity, or entities, that fulfill the requirements of being a God," he smiled confidently and looked at Andra.

She was not listening to him, a small group of Markin crewmen, had entered the hold, they were standing about, as if awaiting orders, the young woman's eyes were on them.

For the first time, the old man looked closely at her worn uniform. He noted the faded patch on its left shoulder, a crimson flamed star, with two crossed swords. The insignia of the Defender Legion of the Outer Worlds, near Cronos.

"I see you were a soldier."

Andra looked at him defiantly, "I am a soldier, not that it is any of your business."

The Callaxion, knew the faded emerald collar tabs of her uniform, denoted her as a Selcarie. Their world had been destroyed, early in one of the myriad of small Outer Rim wars.

"I did not mean to anger you, there is no shame in losing a war."

Andra glared at the garrulous old man, "We didn't lose, we just ran out of, well, out of everything."

"I understand, I was once employed by the Cennatians, to calculate losses for one of their interactions with the Prymax Trade Unions," he smiled, "I was only off by a margin of point zero nine percent!" Now I see why you are being sent to Gorn."

"And why is that?"

"Well, everyone knows that Gorn has a unique electromagnetic pulse that renders all advanced mechanisms useless, therefore anyone sent there, cannot return. Oh there are some brave souls, who take a chance and land on the surface. Long enough to carry goods off the planet but short enough to avoid being caught in the pulses. Jumpers I think they're called but as I said, it is very rare indeed." The old man rubbed his large head, "So you see, it is the perfect place for disposing of unwanted vessels or life-forms, such as you and me. Then we can see that...."

Andra shifted about, she put her head on her knees and closed her eyes. "Do Ciphers ever shut up?"

The old man frowned, "I am sorry, I did not realize, you wished to be alone." He rose, staggered and grabbing a cage bar steadied himself.

Andra opened her eyes, "Wait!" Gently she touched his thin leg, where it showed beneath the ragged hem of his robe, "Please, forgive me," she cleared her throat, "Don't go, I was rude, I think, I would like a little company."

He sat down, next to her, "As would I," he said softly.

For a time they said nothing and stared at the Markin crewmen in the center of the hold, then Andra looked over at the Callaxion. "Why don't you tell me more about the Gods," she said softly. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak.

A bell clanged loudly, somewhere in the depths of the hold, the Markin in the center moved towards the cages. The ship rumbled and lurched, many of the captives awoke and began to scream or cry. Some prayed loudly to their Gods, others sat resigned to their ultimate fate.

"What's happening?" Andra asked, as she grabbed a cage bar with both hands.

The old man looked at her without smiling, "They are preparing to unload the cargo."

Andra held on with one hand, she pointed with her free hand at the Markin, the crewmen were moving the cages, starting on the lowest level. Two Markin had uncovered a maze of Roller-way track, previously hidden beneath the cargo hold's deck, the cages now rumbled down the tracks.

A tired looking crewman, checked each cage against a list on his portable Interface. Then he threw a switch on a wall panel to divert the cage and its living cargo, to the correct Roller-way track, which disappeared into the black mouth of a transit tube.

The Markin ignored the pleas and cries of the prisoners, stolidly continuing their efficient routine, they each knew, the sooner this was finished, the sooner they would depart this dangerous orbit for their next, safer destination.

None wanted to face Captain Ugro to explain why they had delayed departure. The crewmen remembered, or had heard of, what happened to the last unlucky Markin, who stood before Ugro and croaked for mercy. None would risk it happening to them.

The cages continued to move along, one by one down the tubes from the hold into the transit corridors, where they each rumbled into their designated Drop-ship.

Drop-ships, crude disposable pods with rudimentary wings, minimal control systems and no life support, other than being sealed up with whatever atmosphere, they held when closed.

Drop-ships, were used once, disposable like their contents, designed to deliver supplies to Outer Rim Worlds lacking spaceports, or even rudimentary landing pads. The cramped Drop-ships, were minimally powered gliders, meant for a one way trip.

Perfect for the Markin vessel and its cargo. They could deliver their contents and not approach close enough to the world below, to worry about the powerful electromagnetic pulses.

If one or two failed, the cargo was lost but the Markin worked that into their profit margins. On this run they gave it no thought, dead or alive, this particular cargo, only had to be delivered to the contracted destination.

Andra and the old man, huddled in the corner of the cage, as it was jerked onto the Roller-way. It moved down the dimly lit transit tube, into a Drop-ship. There were several cages already inside, the cries of many, different creatures, filled the cramped interior of the Drop-ship.

As they awaited their fate, Andra looked at the other cages. One held a very large pig faced creature, it was a Yangmar, gentle creatures in nature, used mostly as domestic slaves on the Outer Worlds. This one, appeared to have recently reached, the end of her breeding cycle, normally they had litters of ten or more, this Yangmar held a lone infant. She moaned as she slowly rocked back and forth, grasping the infant tightly. It was dead.

Andra looked away, there was nothing she could do.

A loud grinding sound, filled the Drop-ship as the cargo hatches were closed and sealed. Andra's ears popped with the sudden change in air pressure, it was eerily quiet. The crying, the clanging of rolling cages, echoes from within the Markin ship, were all gone.

Andra glanced at the Cipher. _He is odd but a good comrade;_ she thought, "I've made a decision, if we're going to die, I would like to know your name." She smiled.

The old man smiled back.

"I don't mind a bit." she smiled. "So Osh, what do you really think, about our chances of getting down and out of this cage?"

Again the old man smiled, "Alive or dead?"

Before Andra could reply, there was a loud bang, the Drop-ship shook violently.

They were free falling, down to the cursed world of Gorn.

#  Chapter 2. The Nomads

We The Chosen of the Gods lift our voice on high.

We sing the ancient songs of war under crimson sky.

We seek no mercy from our foes and ask none in return.

We die in battle for our faith and in dark fires burn.

Riding Song of the Almadra.

Nothing moved under the blazing suns. There was neither wind nor any other sign of movement on the horizon. The great blue sky stretched empty of clouds, only rippling heat waves flitting like ghosts above the empty terrain. Here and there, small desperate tufts of vegetation, tried valiantly to hold onto life for one more day, bringing a bit of green, to an otherwise brown and lifeless land.

There was life here, small Sun Runners, darted about between the sparse greenery, searching for insects, struggling to survive in the harsh land. Above the desert, hanging like all-seeing eyes, the twin suns of Gorn, looked down upon the emptiness. The larger sun, marked on Star Charts as Karus, was a massive white giant, well cataloged by Outer Rim Star Captains, as a marker to the cargo lanes of the Outer Worlds. The smaller, yellow sun, was a rather small "G" type star, known to space-farers as Micos.

Micos, with its many planets, orbited Karus, the small star alone, was not hot enough to sustain life, Micos' worlds depended upon Karus for their warmth and light.

Now the suns seemed intent upon delving into each and every small crevice, blasting every living thing, until even the shadows were destroyed. The twin lords of the sky, were to be disappointed, over the rolling hills, rose a faint wisp of dust. The slight plume rose from a long caravan of giant creatures, huge reptilian beasts, long lines of them, swaying like a great snake, as they moved across the last barren dunes of a sand sea. The beasts grunted now and again at the treacherous footing of the sand, as they lumbered past great monoliths.

These were not the wild tundra beasts that roamed the forgotten places of this harsh world. These were the mounts of the riders of the Outlands, the Nomads. They moved in a precise order, the strongest of the warriors and their beasts to the front. The riders were tall and heavily muscled, clad in gleaming armor of iron and reptilian bone. The armor of the lead riders, was inlaid with ornate patterns in silver and gold, their armor bore the scars of battle, as did those who wore it.

Each Nomad, sitting upon a strong Whiptail, wore a great horned helmet, weapons dangled from their heavy saddles. There was an occasional mace or hammer but always, on every great beast, a mighty war-ax.

The massive Whiptails, were armored by their thick hide and scales upon their horned heads. Huge jaws, lined with row after row of razor sharp teeth, were revealed when the beasts opened their mouths. They walked upon two massive hind legs, each bearing a long spur at the rear ankle. The broad claws of their nimble feet, sank deep into soft terrain giving a secure footing, they held nearly as well on rough rock. Two small arms, hung from their upper bodies, each arm ended in three-fingered paws. The center digit, was equipped with a massive, long and sharp claw, it could cut into a Trofar in a moment or rip a grown man in two.

A Whiptail could outrun all but a few creatures of the Outlands and kill all but the largest. On the flanks of the caravan, scurried the Outriders, on smaller, nimbler Whiptails. These scouts, were mostly younger warriors of the tribe. They carried colorful flags and banners, a blast from the carved Rimar horns, hanging from their saddles, signaled danger. At the head of the caravan, flying high above all others, the banner of the Almadra, a large red field, bearing a golden sun. All who saw this banner, would know, here rode a tribe of The Chosen and they followed the will of the Gods.

Behind the warriors lumbered the wagons, filled with supplies and trade goods. The wagons, were drawn by slow but powerful Trofar, these great plant eaters, had long been used for hauling heavy caravan wagons and Trofar milk was a favorite of Nomad children. The Outlander's wagons were of an ingenious design, centuries of experience, had resulted in vehicles of supreme strength and beauty. Their wheels were wide, so as not to sink into sand or mud. Each wagon carried barrels for water, grain and materials to repair them. They varied in size, the largest holding a whole family with ease. Made of wood, leather, metal, and heavy reptilian bone, they were handed down from generation to generation. Painted in the colors of their clans, the wagons were one of the treasures of the Almadra. Many smaller wagons, carried tents, more food and water, as well as, the things used in Nomad culture. Everything needed for survival, save the warrior's weapons, was in the wagons.

A team of twenty of the strongest Trofar, pulled mightily upon the ornate wagon of the Holy Writings, more of a rolling temple than a wagon. Its wheels were the height of two tall men, able to support its massive weight, through even the softest sand. Upon it, was room for a multitude of Soul Shepherds, as well as the sacred vessels and valuable objects, needed for the many rituals, the Gods required of the Almadra. The temple wagon had three levels, the first for storage, here the immense ceremonial tent and hundreds of scrolls were kept. Written by the ancient Holy Mothers, who once rode in other such wagons. Upon the next level, lived the High Priestess of the Almadra, sectioned into chambers and small cells, this level was a place of reverence, entered only with the Holy Mother's permission.

The third level, was an open expanse under a great awning. The Holy Mother, her guards and such acolyte Handmaidens as served her, could look down upon her people, as well as up to the Gods from here. Usually the High Priestess and her acolytes rode, in the second level. Sheltered from the heat and the profane eyes of the tribe, they communed with the Gods and performed the mystical rites and sacrifices that maintained the order of the universe and gave balance to the world. They were the guardians of the faith of the Almadra. Only women of the tribe were given this honor, it was they, who spoke for the Nomad's many Gods. It was their blessings that aided any venture, their curse, named the forbidden.

Following the temple wagon, were the wagons of the Handmaidens. Following them, small carts, holding more tents, votive statues and any other objects, the Soul Shepherds needed to worship the Nomad's many Gods.

Last came a large caged wagon, it held the Malock, a massive beast, tended and kept safe until its time came. Surrounding the Holy Wagons, a host of elite mounted warriors, all in identical bronze armor. They were the Thungodra, the tribe's best warriors, chosen by their peers, to be the personal guard of the Holy Mother. They took a blood vow, to die rather than allow harm, to come to their holy leader.

Behind the wagons, came a herd of Spike-backs, heavy creatures, saved for the greatest battles, used to break the ranks of an enemy and put him to flight.

Temperamental and of a vicious nature, Spike-backs carried all before them, when at a full gallop. Their massive heads, covered with armor-like hide, sprouted two long horns. Few creatures of Gorn, could face a Spike-back and hope to live. Only the all-powerful Earth-shakers, were unafraid. The Almadra's Long-Range weapons were mounted on their wide backs. Cannons and Disruptors, they gave the Nomads added force in battle.

The Electromagnetic pulses made any advanced weaponry useless, so the cannons worked by using explosive chemicals, that fired projectiles, deadly at close range but used sparingly. The ammunition, was costly in trade goods, paid to the Talsonar, the pyramid people, who were good with metal and understood how to work the explosive chemicals.

In the middle of the caravan, were the wagons of the elderly and the very young. Children learned the ways of the Outlands from the elders. They playing games and helped with the simpler tasks of camp and trail.

All females bore twins and sometimes more but only one child, was allowed to live beyond the first few months. They were not given names at birth, referred to only as son or daughter. They received their tribal names only after they were chosen. The life of a Nomad was hard, only the strongest could hope to survive. Each mother, had to choose one child to live, one to die. This was the time, Nomad women dreaded most, a rite that had been observed since the tribe's beginning. It could not be avoided, no one could defy the will of the Gods.

Traditions such as these, had made the Almadra, one of the most powerful of the Outland tribes. They rode where they pleased, they feared nothing and no man. They lived by the laws of Gorn and prayed to their many Gods. As far as they knew, they had always lived this way and would continue to do so.

Karn sat high and proud, in his mighty Whiptail's saddle. Tall and thickly muscled, with long dark hair and a square jaw, Karn had led the Almadra for a great many cycles. A good and wise King and a cunning warrior, who had led the tribe to countless victories.

His long rule was testament to his ability, when his father was mortally wounded in the Hill Wars, he handed his Kingship to Karn, his eldest son. His body was covered with battle scars, there were also colorful tattoos of his exploits, victories, and conquests. His left hand, was missing two fingers, so was his right eye, lost to a Shadow Man's arrow, now covered by a patch. He was still the most feared warrior of the Almadra. Now many cycles had passed, though far from weakened, he knew, his time as King was approaching its end.

A leader needed to be strong, Karn's strength waned. For now, he sat high in his saddle and looked out over the Outlands with the bearing of a King.

Riding beside him was Arn, his eldest, son, and heir. As tall as Karn, with the same piercing eyes, broad shoulders and strong countenance. Arn too carried many scars from the battles he had fought. His face bore three dark tattoos, marking him as the son of a King. Upon his head, he wore the horned helmet of his clan, in his right hand, he carried the giant warrior's ax, the legendary weapon of the wandering people. Handsome by Outland standards, with a firm jaw and straight nose, he was well liked by the tribe. Though sometimes impulsive and hot tempered, the warriors looked up to him. The Almadra all knew, someday he would be their King.

Arn looked upon his father but did not speak. He knew the old King's time was nearly over, soon he would lead the tribe. He had learned all, his father could teach. As they rode over the dry land, he felt, he had learned nothing. All those cycles, learning from his father, how to lead the tribe, the knowledge seemed to ebb away. He felt like a mere boy once more but this was not the time for self-doubt. He must be strong, to do what must be done for the good of the Almadra.

Nevertheless, this knowledge, did not lift the burden from his shoulders, nor the shadow from his heart. Karn did not return his son's stare, unaware of the thoughts and fears that burdened the younger man.

Arn would have liked to speak to his father, to thank him for giving him life, for teaching him the ways of the Outlanders, for making him strong and showing him how to be a leader.

He wanted to talk of the years past, of all they had done together for the tribe. There was much to say and yet Arn did not speak. It was better this way, hard things were to be done. Better not to dwell upon what had been, or was to be done.

_He taught me well,_ _all that I am now, I owe to him, can I do what must be done, can I obey the laws of the tribe?_ Arn thought to himself.

Behind Arn and the King rode the vast tribe of the Almadra, five thousand strong, Holy Women, warriors, old, and young. The men of the tribe were tall and strong, their hair long, their skins marked with pictograph tattoos, from their passage to manhood. They had endured the hardships of this world, the weak had perished. Proud, asking for nothing but to live free, to follow their King to wherever he chose. They lived and died, by the hard code of the Outlands. In all the lands of Gorn, there were no better warriors than, the Almadra and not just the men. The women were warriors too, standing strong and proud in battle, dying for their King, they gave and asked no quarter. She-demons who protected their young from harm, as fiercely as they stood in battle.

In the center of the group, were the ancient ones, caretakers of wisdom. They knew the ways of the Outlands, the legends of the sky. Treated with great respect and loved by all Almadra, the eldest held within their memories, the living history of the tribe.

Just behind the food and water vehicles, came the fire wagons, their drivers, the Iron workers, metal smiths, who forged the weapons and tools of the Almadra. On top of the first of their great wagons, were the forges and all the implements of their craft. They were followed by carts filled with Dura-Flex, Itarian steel and other metals. All scavenged from the wrecks of the countless Outer Rim ships that littered the land.

The caravan moved slowly past the Twin Peaks of Carnnan and the gutted remains of a centuries-old star cruiser. Half buried in the sand, the remnant of the Trajion Wars, would have been the prize exhibit, of any museum in the Outer Rim. Here in the Outlands, it was home to small desert creatures, a resting-place for Waste-wanderers. The Almadra moved past the great ship, paying it no heed, just another landmark on their trek. They had seen such Off-World ships countless times.

The Almadra traveled at their normal, careful and unhurried pace. They knew their path and destination well. The Nomads never felt the need for haste, time, was an old friend to them, never an adversary. One with the land and it with them, the Nomads were used to traveling, having spent most of their lives on the move. They moved forward until Carnnan disappeared beneath the horizon, the procession entered into the valleys of Omar-ran.

Here the rocks were wind worn, eroded into strange shapes. The land took on an eerie look that always frightened the youngest children of the tribe. The New Ones who had never passed this way, they sought comfort in the arms and voices of the Elders. Held tightly in withered arms, informed by soft voices, they would look into the friendly wrinkled faces of their grandparents, soon their fears passed. Meanwhile, the caravan migrated relentlessly onward.

The Almadra wandered each cycle from the towering glaciers of the Snow Mountains of the far North, to the dark paths of the Western Forests, then into the far Southern Jungles of the lush and humid Yug. They traded with the Shell People of the coast, ocean-rovers who roamed the open waters of the Great Sea and the Pyramid Dwellers called the Talsonar. The Grana miners, creatures who were all but blind, living in the dark, delving deep into the Mountains of Koto-Car. They supplied them all with the indispensable salt that preserved life of all higher beings on Gorn.

Grana miners, were perfectly suited to this harsh land, able to labor endlessly in their dark tunnels. Their legendary ability to endure extremes of heat and cold, such as would kill most humanoids, along with their vital skill, in finding the rare deposits of Grana, preserved and protected them. No one would harm them, Everyone needed Grana and only the miners could find it.

After many days of travel, the Almadra were nearing their sacred lands. The towering, weathered statues of the Gods, rose up like stone apparitions in the rocky hills beyond Omar-Ran. The monuments were ancient, carved by the ancestors of the Outlanders. No one knew their true age, or the names of those who made them. To their knowledge, the stone sentinels had stood for ever, they marked the border between the Profane and the Holy.

As the suns began to set, the Nomads came to the rock strewn entrance of their most sacred place. Each Almadra, young, old, warrior, and Holy Mother alike, all dismounted, they lowered their heads to the ground, in obeisance to the great idols of their people. Some older women, wept tears of sorrow, in remembrance of lives lost, since their last passing. Warriors raised their axes, in a salute, to both their Gods and to fallen comrades. All sang the songs of the Soul Shepherds, the great stone Gods, looked down stoically, as the Almadra passed. Their silent gaze upon the Nomads, gave what blessing it could, as they returned once more to their ancestral home.

Once safely inside the valley, the Nomads dispersed. The warriors relaxed their hitherto ceaseless vigil, this was their refuge, no others dared enter.

The rock of the hills and valley walls, bore marks of countless other gatherings. Stone tombs of long dead Kings, perched on crumbling outcroppings, or loomed beneath overhanging cliffs. Here and there, lay the gigantic bones of Tundra beasts, which had borne other Almadra here, ages before. This place was a land of memories, a place of remembrance for all that the Nomads held dear.

As the twin suns set, the entire valley, was washed in a golden light. It became a place of other-worldly beauty, half-forgotten dreams and unanticipated hopes.

Arn once more looked at his father. _How tired he looks, the cycles are weighing heavily upon him;_ he thought. Arn's face was emotionless, "It will be a warm night and a bright morning," he said to his father. Karn turned to his son, unsmiling, "Yes, it will be a good day to die."

Karn turned away and looked into the distant light of the setting suns. The young Prince closed his eyes. _He knows his time is near, yet he faces it fearlessly;_ he thought. Despite the thoughts, buzzing through his mind, he did not speak.

Directly behind the two men, rode Arn's younger brothers, Agart, with his long hair in a single braid, set with ivory amulets. He was tall and handsome, too much so for his own good, some said. Although vain, he was a favorite with most of the tribe, always ready with a quick jest and a strong helping hand. He admired Arn, knowing, he could never be a leader himself. Secretly, Agart thanked the Gods that the burden of The Eldest Son, was not his to carry.

Beside him rode Anais, shorter than his older brothers, born with an unhappy heart. Anais had the eyes of a Gaze-bird, his long, sharp nose and his darting eyes, seemed penetrating and unreadable. Youngest of the King's sons, least likely to lead, yet shrewd and calculating.

Anais had secretly sworn an oath, to the only God, he believed in, himself. An oath that someday his name, would be carved upon the walls of this sacred valley. He would not reckon the cost, he would pay whatever was demanded, in return for the fulfillment of his dream. He sat unsteadily upon his beast, every so often, he touched the small dagger hidden in his wide leather belt. He grumbled softly to himself, the weather was not to his liking and his back was sore. Anything to distract him from his greater troubles.

Agart heard his younger brother's complaints, he usually ignored them but something ended his patience, "What troubles you now, younger brother? Has someone placed a stone beneath your saddle?" Agart smiled broadly.

Anais turned to him, a sour look upon his face, "Nothing so simple, I weary of this long day's journey and my belly rumbles."

"Hungry?" Agart pulled a strip of dried meat from his saddle pouch, he handed it to Anais, "I kept this for later, it's not too bad, if you can get past the smell."

Anais took the small piece of meat and sniffed it warily, "It smells as bad as the hind end of an old Rimar!" He said.

"You are wrong my ravenous brother. It is the hind end of an old Rimar!" Agart laughed. Anais threw the spoiled meat to the ground and muttered, "He thinks me a fool, someday he will truly play the fool and I shall be the one who laughs."

Behind the brothers was a beautifully carved wagon, drawn by an ornately adorned and oversize Trofar. In it rode the Queen and the lone sister of the three Princes. Barely past her Young years, Seeda sat beside her mother. The young woman held the reins and clucked softly at the Trofar. Although a Princess, she worked as hard as any woman of the Almadra. Kind and loving, Seeda treated all with the same love, as she gave to her family. Her skill with weapons was almost equal to her dancing and she was the best dancer in the tribe. When she sang the ancient songs, her voice, was like a bell, ringing in the silence of the Dune lands. Wise in the use of medicine, she knew the ways of the Outlands. Exceedingly proud of her long, dark hair, which she often worn in elaborate configurations. Sometimes, this displeased her mother, who thought it made the young woman, seem a bit too much like, a camp follower. Never-the-less Seeda had a good heart, she knew, she was a highborn lady of the Almadra and would not give her embraces away freely.

The Princess knew, there were many other worlds, beyond this one, many lives other than hers. For all her love of her tribe, at times, she found herself, filled with a longing to see those other worlds, to know those other lives. As she drove the wagon, she occasionally glanced to her left, seeking to catch a glimpse of Almec, son of Aron the Iron worker, her childhood companion. Over the time of their First Cycle, they had many adventures and suffered many punishments from her father, when caught in forbidden escapades.

Almec had grown into a strong and brave man, a very capable warrior and hunter. It was taken for granted, by those who cared to think of such matters, that one day, Seeda and Almec, would be joined and that their sons and daughters, would add greatly to the strength of the Outlanders.

Seeda however, was not one to surrender herself so easily. Whoever won her favor, would have to pay her price, Almec might yet entice her to live in his tent but there were still other suitors. All worthy men of the Almadra.

Many had set their hopes on her, only to learn quickly of her demanding nature and overpowering will. Seeda would not be an easy catch, for any man and even harder to share a tent with.

Almec knew Seeda was watching him, he sat a bit straighter in the saddle, held his war-ax a little higher and tried not to look at his admirer.

Queen Egmar, knew her daughter watched the young warrior. She reminded herself that it was her time for joining, was almost upon them. Seeda would likely choose Almec, despite the many others, who sought the eye of the King's daughter.

_Well and good;_ thought Egmar.

She liked Almec, he would be a good match, a much-needed halter, for her rash and headstrong daughter. There was much, the Princess still needed to learn, about being a Princess of the Madrigal. Learning would come with time but not now.

There was something pressing upon her heart with the weight of an Earth-shaker. Something that must be done, yet it filled her heart with dread. Her face was calm but beneath, a storm of worry slowly stirred, "Make sure you wear the green robe tonight, not the red. I will not have you adorned, like a Sin-Craver tonight." Egmar gave Seeda a sour smile.

"The green robe, makes me look like a pregnant Burrow-baby!" Seeda replied angrily.

"Better that than the red, it makes your father angry and you know how he..." Egmar's voice slipped into silence.

Seeda looked at her mother, she saw the worry in her eyes; _it comes, she knows the time has come._ The young woman thought to speak but the words did not come to her lips. She listened to the slow steps of the laboring Trofar and tried in vain, to think of happier times.

The Outriders ahead, called back with cries of joy. Through the gathering darkness, just visible in the twilight, was the Almadra's great stone Longhouse. Its thick walls, carved with intricate designs, painted in deep earth tones, from the land itself. Centuries old, the Longhouse, could hold all the Almadra. It was and had always had been, the gathering place of the tribe. Here would be echoed their ancient songs and many of their most sacred rites performed.

The twilight settled into darkness, as the Nomads began to unload their wagons and tend their beasts. Everyone knew their task and the work went swiftly.

Arn watched as his father dismounted and tended to his Whiptail. The warriors treated their beasts, better than themselves. They knew their lives depended upon their mounts, a wise warrior, always made sure of his animal's needs, before his own, even the King! The Almadra served no man, only the Gods, members of the tribe, cared for themselves, there were no servants here.

The creak of leather was everywhere and the smell of sweat, as heavy saddles and weapons, were taken from the Whiptails. Then the beasts were turned loose, to forage freely in the long valley. They would return with the dawn, to the plaintive call of the warrior's horns.

As Arn released his mount, he saw his father, standing near the Longhouse, beside a fallen statue of a long dead King. The old leader, stared down at the fallen image of his forebear, he was alone deep in his thoughts. Arn sighed and walked towards his father.

"Leave him to his thoughts, my son," Egmar placed her hand on his arm, "Your father needs quiet and his own thoughts, more than anything we might say to him." The Queen stared at her husband.

Arn looked into his mother's clear eyes, he felt the truth of her words, "Do the Gods ever feel so alone?" he asked her.

"Yes, that is why they created us," the old woman answered softly.

Arn looked up to the glittering stars, just beginning to shine in the darkening sky, two moons also shone. He sought understanding, "Must the Gods always lead us on the same path? Cannot the laws of the Almadra change?"

The Queen took her son's hand in hers and looked at him. _H_ _ow he has grown, how he has changed. "_ No, there is a time for all things and they must pass, as they have always passed. Your time is come, you must meet it, as did all the sons of all the Kings."

Arn looked at the King, his father again, he stood beside the Longhouse like he was one of the statues, "Do the Gods hear our prayers?" he asked.

"Always," she answered, "I have prayed for strong sons and daughters, as have all the mothers of the Almadra. Look about you and see the answer the Gods have given. See the strength of the Almadra and the God's answer to their prayers, it lies in that strength."

Arn looked up at the moons again. _M_ _y mother is beloved of Isarie, someday she will sit at Isarie's side. "_ Then I will pray for my father, I will pray that he sits with the Gods and drinks with them in their Golden Hall."

Arn's mother looked at him, she laid her hands on his shoulders, "The Gods will hear you, my son, they hear all who call to them but most clearly, they hear the call of a King's oldest."

A wind from the heavens, passed beneath the stars and into the Sacred Valley of the Nomads. This night wind, was well known to the Almadra, Isarie's Sigh, the old women called it. It was a wind that promised death and birth.

#  Chapter 3. The Falling Star

PRNA-OGRESS REPORT– Transshipment 99761 – Standard Time 67100 – Transport Ship 280.

All Drop-ships ejected - jumper ships returned - seventeen jumper ships made planet fall - two jumper ships lost due to EMG pulse induced malfunctions - losses are within acceptable levels - setting course for next scheduled transfers – Departure Micos Standard Time 67101 - Ugro, Commanding.

END-SHIPMENT REPORTS TO DISPATCH CENTRAL, LAMARCK PRIME.GORN TRANSFERS COMPLETE.PROFIT LEVEL NOMINAL – END.

The tiny Rock-runner darted in and out of the jagged boulders, trying desperately to remain unseen, too many predators higher up the food chain were about. Instinct screamed, "Hide!" The small lizard was fast, very fast, its rust colored skin, blended with the rocks, as it skittered in bursts, from one hiding place to another.

Between two medium sized boulders, it paused and turned its large yellow eyes up to the twin suns. They were low on the horizon, with nightfall, would come relief from the heat and the safety of darkness. It could hunt insects, though with one eye wary for any night-flier that might cross its path.

The little creature settled back between the boulders, to wait in the shadows. Three of the moons made their way across the sky. The Rock-runner watched them, waiting for darkness. The moons crawled across the space between the rocks, then something else moved, something it had never seen before. A streak of fire, brighter than the emerging stars.

The Dropship was in trouble, its minimal guidance system, had failed shortly after atmospheric entry. Far off course, nowhere near its intended destination of the Pyramid City of the Talsonar, it descended rapidly into the desolate Outlands.

It was barely maintaining stability, as it roared through the upper levels of the thick envelope of air that surrounded Gorn. Only a miracle, would stop it from crashing like a meteorite into the barren landscape below.

Inside the Dropship, Andra and Osh hung desperately to the bars of the cage. The interior of the cargo ship was filled with smoke, the heat generated by entering Gorn's atmosphere was extreme.

Andra turned her eyes away from her new found companion, no longer able to be brave, she felt it was the end. All the bravado, shown throughout her of life was gone.

She felt alone and afraid, "Is there an Afterlife?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"We will soon know," Osh smiled at her and took one of her hands, tightly in his own.

She squeezed his hands in return.

The Callaxion could not resist making a pronouncement, "Did you know that of the estimated seven hundred and thirty seven thousand inhabited worlds of the Outer Rim. Most of the advanced civilizations, believe in an Afterlife of one kind or another? I would consider those, very good odds that Gods do exist, in some form or another. Therefore, it stands to reason, they could be watching us right now." The idea seemed to give the old man some comfort but Andra did not appear at all interested in the odds.

"I am sorry if I talk too much," the old man said softly, "but such is my nature."

The ship burned like a falling torch, pieces of its outer hull breaking off and streaking up past it. The heat shield could fail at any second, the outer fire would then consume those within.

Andra looked at the other prisoners in their cage, like her, most seemed afraid. A few closed their eyes, simply waiting for their end to come, one or two stared numbly into infinity.

One great Ogarian, began to laugh, his warlike race, often faced death this way. Andra was human and as with most humans, she wondered what lay ahead. Would it be the paradise many believed, or would it be fire and pain? Momentarily, she wished, she'd spent more time, finding answers to some, of the questions, now filling her head but there hadn't been time. She held Osh's hand tighter, trying to take her mind off, the smoke and heat.

"What were you saying about the Afterlife?" she asked the old man.

Osh smiled at her, "Well. I was saying that, with so many cultures believing in an all-powerful being, it is really quite difficult, not to accept the hypothesis that some such beings do exist. I once had a conversation with an Ungary, who stated most emphatically, it had once, actually met a God. It told me, she was a rather short female of their species, with many more breasts than normal for an Ungary female." He laughed, "Then again, we all know, what liars the Ungary can be!" Osh smiled quizzically, "It is strange, how all sophists lie, it is part of being intelligent I suppose, a survival trait, perhaps?"

With the ground rapidly approaching, the Drop-ship glowed brighter than the brightest of the planets and stars in the night sky. The ship fell through the many layers of atmosphere, thin upper clouds, then heavier ones, until it was a few thousand feet from the surface. A few more pieces of heat shield broke loose but the flames were gone. A loud, buckling sound came from the vessel's hull. With a sudden jerk of deceleration, the air brakes deployed, the Dropship stabilized and slowed its descent, from a headlong fall to a gentler glide. Inside, the sudden change in speed and direction, had slammed the cargo wildly about, once again there were screams and wails. Several of the cages, had come loose, they slammed into other cages, coming to rest at crazy angles.

The unlucky cargo, in those cages, were mostly killed or badly injured. One cage tumbled end over end along the side of the Drop-ship, slamming against the hull, the cage broke open. One corner of the cage, broke a power cable, a burst of sparks, followed by flame, shot from the shorted circuit. The dim lights flickered once, then went out.

In the sudden darkness, Andra still held tightly onto the old man's hand, waiting silently for whatever was to come. The Drop-ship gave an occasional bone-rattling jolt, its tortured frame at its limit, as the vessel turned in a wide descending arc.

Over the screams of the terrified cargo, Andra could hear the rush of air coming from the outside of the hull.

A wild animal scream, filled the night air, the Rock-runner retreated farther into the space between the boulders.

The Drop-ship hit hard, the angle, shallow enough that it skipped back up into the air, after plowing through several dozen feet of loose sand and soil and kicking up a huge cloud of dust. Somehow, it cleared a medium-sized hillock by a foot or less, to land in the shallow valley just beyond, then, almost gently, it slid to a stop.

A dark plume of smoke and dust arose, marking the trail of the Drop-ship across the Outland's landscape. The ship rocked back and forth for a moment, then lay still, creaking and popping, as the metal hull and frame, cooled in the night air.

After about a minute, the Rock-runner mustered enough courage, to emerge from its hiding place. The landscape had changed, the Drop-ship wrapped in a shroud of black oily smoke, rested very close to its hiding place.

The creatures of Gorn survived, because they never missed an opportunity. If there was shelter, they made it their own, if there was water, they drank it, if there was food, they ate it.

As the Rock-runner sniffed at the smell of the smoking Drop-ship, its instincts told it there was food, it raced quickly to the wreck. Sniffing about for a moment, it found an opening and entered.

The strange object, was dark and filled with dust and smoke but the Rock-runners large yellow eyes, could make out the many dead and almost dead creatures. It moved cautiously from cover to cover, as was its nature. Finding a small piece of crimson flesh, it grabbed the tasty morsel, then retreated into the safety of a dark corner.

Pain, waves of pain! Andra awoke to the feeling that her head might explode, she sat up and looked about; _am I still alive?_

For a moment she waited, taking inventory of what she felt. Her mind turned to the endless stories, she had heard, about what happens after you die. Some believed in a garden of pleasures, for the righteous, or a flaming pit, for those who were unfaithful. Some worlds, believed you just went on another cycle of birth and death, for all eternity. Others taught that your soul simply melded with the stars and you became a knower of all things.

Stupidly, Andra thought her head was filled with stars. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of light, they came and went with the waves of fierce pain that hit her when she moved her aching head.

More pain!

After moments of muddled thought, Andra felt confident that in the Afterlife, her head would not hurt. Andra decided, somewhat reluctantly, she must still be alive. She touched her head and smelt her hand, to see if she was bleeding. The wet iron smell of blood was not there.

A soft silver light, shone through a large hole in the ship's hull, Andra's eyes adjusted to the darkness as she looked about.

Someone near her moaned, the old man had also survived. The dead body of the massive Ogarian, had a jagged piece of hull metal, protruded from its back. It lay on top of Osh pinning him against the side of the tilted cage, everyone else in the cage was dead. Osh moved a little but he was too weak, to free himself from beneath the huge creature. Andra crept to his side and observed his breathing, he did not seem seriously injured. Moving him would be a risky, nevertheless, remaining in the smoldering Drop-ship, was far more dangerous.

With all her strength, Andra pushed the dead weight, of the fallen Ogarian from Osh.

She lifted the old man up and held him by his thin shoulders, "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Of course not," the old man grumbled, "but I am a sight better, than our late traveling companion here." He poked the Ogarian's corpse with a nail less finger, "I think we should try to remove ourselves from this place."

He pulled himself up as best he could and checked himself over, straightening his tattered robe and cloak, as he did so.

The bars of the cage, had bent just enough in the crash landing that they could squeeze between them. Andra's head throbbed as she staggered to the bars.

"Quickly," she said, motioning to Osh, to follow her.

Of course quickly! _If I can move at all;_ Osh thought. He staggered with his first step and nearly lost his footing. Andra grabbed him and held on, together, they made their way carefully between the bars, then to the hole where the Drop-ship's hull had split and out into the still night.

Outside, the air was cool and still, Andra struggled to help the old man, walk through the soft sand, where the Drop-ship had come to rest. She was determined to get them both to safety, her head spun, she felt, as if she might faint at any moment.

Somehow, she stayed on her unruly feet without letting go of Osh, until they reached a pile of rocks, out of the sand and safely clear of the burning wreck. Andra fell to the sand, the old man collapsing next to her. She tried to catch her breath, her head felt worse, her vision was blurred but they were alive! Osh moaned, coughed, rolled over and opened his eyes, "Are we dead?" he asked weakly.

"Not yet," she answered, with more conviction than she actually felt; _why aren't we dead? Is the old man right about the Gods having a purpose for us?_ She wondered. She scanned the barren landscape, nothing moved beneath the light of three moons and a myriad of stars. "I don't think we're going to have to wait very long, to see if that Ungary you mentioned was telling the truth."

She looked at the wrecked Drop-ship, it was burning even more, a column of highly visible smoke, billowed up into the dark sky. The smell of burning flesh, filled the dry night air.

Osh stared at the remains of the ship, as it burned; we _were lucky it was only powered by fuel cells. If it had carried an actual drive unit, or null-grav generator, the power cells would have breached and there would be a radiation filled crater._

Gorn already, had many such craters, the land about them, useless for hunting or anything else, peopled by mutants and forgotten exiles. Only those dared to make their homes in the forbidden places.

Andra lay back in the soft sand, her back leaning against a medium sized boulder. She felt too weak, to ever move from that spot. She looked up at the stars and let her mind drift off to other places, to better things.

She had been a soldier on Selcarie, one of the millions, who volunteered to defend their home world, against the invader. The reason for the war, she had never really understood. The Selcarie claimed self-defense, the invaders, swore they were keeping outsiders from encroaching onto their space ways and trading rights.

Andra had decided long ago, the details did not really matter. If she did not fight, she would die just the same, so she enlisted. Trained as one more soldier, to her surprise, Andra turned out to be, a very good combat soldier. She rose quickly through the ranks, a battlefield commission as Lieutenant, quickly turned into Captains' rank, with it, the command of a small of commando unit. Her troopers fought valiantly but in the end, Andra, her commando and her world, were defeated, conquered. She was captured, evaluated, processed, then offered the choice of re-education, honorable termination or exile to Gorn. Re-education, was a euphemism for a life in the Caldranium mines, or as a Pleasure Girl, in one of the Conqueror's Comfort Camps. The Death Squad, or "Honorable Termination" as the diplomats called it, just seemed too messy for her taste. She could not see herself, winding up in a pit with hundreds of others. Once a proud, competent soldier, part of an army of millions, she was now just a scarred young woman in an unknown land.

The old man appeared to have fallen asleep, Andra closed her eyes and waited for the same blessing, to come to her. For a moment, she thought she ought to pray, she tried to decide, to which of the God's, it might be best to offer a prayer. _Tobar? Not well known but he was said to like soldiers. Perhaps the Twin Gods, Vol and Rol? They always bickered, too wrapped up in their eternal dialogue, too hard to get their attention. So many Gods, so many!_ Before she could make up her mind, blackness engulfed her.

The heavy column of smoke and fire from the burning ship, was like a beacon in the vast emptiness of the Outlands. The people of the deserts, knew better than to build large fires. Far too many sharp eyes, were watching, Waste-wanderers, Shadow-men and worse. Safer by far to remain hidden, to not draw any attention, to travel by night, when alone in the Outlands. The youngest of the Nomads, knew to dig a hole in which to build their small fire, or to use a Washa, the clay fire pot. To always use, the driest of wood, never to make black smoke that lingered in the sky, like a finger pointing down from the heavens, to where you lay waiting.

The smoke from the burning wreck of the Drop-ship, had caught the attention of a troop of Sandjar, bone gatherers. Small scavenger humanoids, the Sandjar survived in the desert, feeding off the carcasses they searched out. They made use of the dead beasts, in all manner of ways, bones were used to construct their small huts, hides to cover the shelters. Bones ground into meal, was their staple food, rotting meat was consumed with relish as a delicacy. They left nothing of what they found.

The Sandjar were short, slight, with a green hue to their skin, hidden beneath the animal skins that protected them from the harsh wind and sun. Sandjar had a distinctive, strong odor, particularly unpleasant to the Nomads. They preferred moving by dark, their eyes adapted to Gorn's night. The light of a single moon to a Sandjar, was as day to most creatures of Gorn. Sandjar could track a dead carcass, for twenty miles with their noses, which were as sharp as the four rows of razor-like teeth that lined their slit-like, lipless mouths. Able to tear carrion from bone with ease, or inflict a nasty bite on living prey. Sandjar spoke a primitive, guttural tongue, as well as using sign language and body gestures, when forced to communicate with one of the other races of Gorn.

Wary and suspicious of others, the Sandjar were the scavengers of the Outlands, carrion eaters who followed after battles, storms, or other calamities. Restless, always moving, searching, their small troops roamed the Outlands ceaselessly. This particular tribe had not fed in many days, the acrid smoke from the Drop-ship was a signal from their Dark Gods that precious food, lay very close to hand.

Og, leader of the troop, stood a head taller than most of the others. Perhaps four feet tall, with long legs and arms, his sensitive nose, caught the smell of death in the morning wind. Death from a great distance, death where the smoke lingered in the still night sky, clear to his eyes, against the bright stars.

Og was no better, or worse, than most Sandjar leaders. He was very proud of his many strong Offspring, over the cycles, he had mated many times. Though most of the offspring, had died young, enough survived, to make him proud. Sandjar females were offspring producing machines, nothing more. Males were intelligent, hunters, the females bred, bore and suckled the Offspring, they drove the troop's carts, when on the move.

Og stared hungrily at the dark smoke from beyond the dunes. It was but a few miles distant, his stomach rumbled. He grunted and moved his claw-like right hand, to indicate to the others that they should head for the smoke. With answering grunts and high pitched squeals of anticipation, the troop began to move.

Twenty in all, a close knit family, each member with a job to do. They piled into their few small bone-carts, then Og gave the signal to march. The small desert Trofar that pulled the carts, snorted and complained, as they labored in the soft sand.

It took but a short time for the Sandjar, to reach the dead Dropship. Eagerly they jumped from their carts, dancing about in pleasure, at such a fabulous find. This was a great treasure, a whole ship of food and Off-World supplies that would sustain them for months. Trade goods! Of the hundreds of Sandjar bands that roamed the Outlands, perhaps, only one or two troops a year, might find such a trove. Even then, other troops had often, picked the wrecks nearly clean.

This time they were first!

Shouting and dancing, Og's troop, beat their heads upon the ground, in wonder and thanks, at their good fortune.

Og was overjoyed! His family was going to live a while longer and live well. After frugal living for months, now they would feast until their bellies stretched. For a time there would be no worry about food, here was all the meat they could want. He could smell it, the sweet scent, wafting to his hungry nose, from within the Drop-ship's cracked and fire-blackened hull.

Walking slowly towards the wreckage, he looked carefully about the small valley. The smell of burning flesh was wonderful, his stomach rumbled again. He smiled, turned and gestured to the others, time to gather the harvest.

Soon the strong males, gathered bodies and placed them outside the wreck, there, they were dismembered by the females. The Drop-ship was still very hot, parts of it would have to wait, until the still smoldering fire had died out. Still, there was more meat than could be eaten immediately. Og chewed on a morsel of some large Outer-Rim creature and watched from atop a pile of jagged rocks. From his vantage point, he directed the others and watched the horizon, for any sign of interlopers.

As the bodies were torn down to manageable pieces and loaded into the waiting carts, the troop members hungrily, stuffed succulent meat into their mouths. The offspring, grabbed at whatever the adults dropped, fighting amongst themselves, for the choicer pieces.

Og shouted down at them, the offspring stopped their chattering arguments. There would be plenty for all to eat later!

Now there was work to be done, work that must be done quickly, soon others would come, others who were stronger, hungrier. Og's little band would be driven off.

The Offspring went back to gathering the smaller portions of the bodies. Though the smell of the fresh meat, was hard for them to resist, they feared Og's teeth more, they worked swiftly under his watchful eyes. Andra and Osh, had not been seen yet, the Sandjar, were far too busy, to have spotted them, in their hiding place.

When the Sandjar first approached the wreck, the creak of their carts and bellows of the Trofar, had awakened Andra. She slowly opened her eyes and sat up, it took her a moment, to realize their danger. In the moonlight, she saw the small creatures in their odd little carts, a few hundred yards away. Osh and Andra, were still hidden in the shadow of the rocks, unseen by the approaching Scavengers.

She awakened Osh, with a hurried shake of his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion, "Are we dead?" he asked, weakly.

"No, but if we're not careful, we soon will be, look out there!" She boosted him up a little, to better see what approached.

"I see what you mean," said the old man, "You had better leave me, try to make it on your own."

Andra thought about it for a second, she would surely have a better chance on her own. Somehow she could not bring herself, to abandon the only person, who had shown her any kindness on this hellish journey.

She shook her head and smiled wryly, "No thanks! I hate traveling alone." She pulled him with her, back into the hiding place, deep within the rock pile. The rock pile atop which, Og now perched, directing his troop in their grisly task.

Four moons of Gorn, now shone overhead, making it easy for the bone gatherers, to see what they were about. Night creatures, gifted with large golden eyes, the night and darkness, was their true element. They could not smell anything that lived, the smell of burnt flesh was too strong, masking all other scents. Although any survivors, would not live long, once discovered. The effort of pulling Osh and herself, back into the rock formation, made Andra's head reel with pain, it slowly faded into mere dizziness. She sat beside Osh, her head on her knees, "I think we might be safe here," she whispered.

The old man pondered this for a moment; _w_ _hy does she help me? "_ You should go, I am not worth much, certainly not your life," he sighed, "There is so little of me left, I do not think, they would go to the trouble of eating me."

"True, you're not much of a meal but you seem to bring me good luck," she joked, "We need more than just luck but right now, it's all we have."

"Luck is not, real, did you know? It's nothing more than random conjunctions that occasionally converge, to give random individuals, the sensation of being favored," Osh closed his eyes.

Andra raised her throbbing head from her knees and looked up warily. She was about to speak, when her eyes focused, she realized, the leader of the bone gathers, was staring directly into their hiding place, straight into her face.

It seemed that their sensation of being favored, their luck, had just run out.

Many miles to the South, another pair or eyes watched the heavens.

It had been a long day and Tamar-Ran was angry that many of the Drop-ships had not safely arrived. He knew, he would have to answer to the Governor, for the missing cargo. He did not look forward to the meeting. They collected the cargo with haste, he did not wish to be at an even greater disadvantage, when the Governor received the news of the missing Drop-ships.

He examined once more, the ripped hull of the nearby Dropship. At least some cargo, from this one, was salvageable. The engines, had been torn off in the descent and a small fire, burned in the smashed tail section. He could hear voices from the air ports, which opened automatically on impact. The creatures inside, were making plaintive noises, wailing and screaming, as usual. That meant, not all the cargo was dead, unlike the last Drop-ship they found.

That Drop-ship had split open on impact, cages were strewn about the soft sand, here and there, the remains of a body or two but nothing of much value. Tamar-Ran had decided to leave those for the Rock-runners and Sandjar, rather than waste valuable time, searching for any who still breathed.

It was getting late, he wanted to return to the city, as soon as possible, he knew his men, did not like being outside the city at night. The Drop-ships that had made it to their designated landing zones, had already been unloaded. This was the last one they had found.

He turned to his second in command, "I want the living cargo gathered up quickly. Leave the dead."

The second in command, saluted wearily, he relayed the Commanders orders, to the Recovery Team.

Tamar-ran was of the Talsonar, the Pyramid City dwellers. Their homes were the great stone pyramids that stood on the horizon. Tall and thickly built, with a hairy, leonine face, Tamar was known throughout the cities for his calculating nature. He had worked his way up, from underworld worker, to Captain of the Enforcers. He had broken many skulls to get to his high position and breaking a few more to keep it, was as nothing to him. Like most of the Talsonar, Tamar-Ran had come to Gorn, as just another piece of cargo. A criminal on his home world, he had been sentenced to exile, on this small slice of hell. Sent to the depths of the Pyramid Cities underworld, to work, maintaining the great machines that gave it life. He had vowed not to end his days in the darkness.

First as a Head-breaker, doing the guard's dirty work, later as a leader in one of the more ruthless gangs, of that literal underworld, he worked his way up. After many years of fighting, dark struggles and assassinations, he made himself a person of power. He lived in the light again but still, deep inside him, the darkness gnawed.

He sat upon a broken hull plate and took a sip of water from a clay jug. With yellow eyes, he gazed at the signal light, on the apex of the nearest pyramid, flickering against the night sky. For a moment, he allowed himself, to wish he was back there now. He would have dearly loved, a good mug of Marsh-beer, rather than this bitter and warm, well water but it would have to wait.

He watched as his men, loaded the captives into the transport carts. The creatures sniffed nervously at the night air, they looked up at the strange sky, docilely they obeyed the commands and cracking whips of the Enforcers.

Soon the carts were full, with fresh, strong workers, to replace those who had died, Humans, Yangmar, even three or four Ugarians!

Tamar-Ran felt a bit better, despite the loss of the other Drop-ships, the Governor would be pleased to have more Ugarians. Not to mention, it really was no fault of his, he couldn't be held responsible for the failure of those damned Markins, to make good on their promises. Maybe the Governor would see his side, maybe he would be reasonable. Tamar-Ran had done the Governor more than a few favors. Troublesome people had disappeared, with no bothersome loose ends to raise questions. The Governor might remember some of them.

Tamar-Ran also remembered the last time he had returned, without all the cargo the Markin had promised. The memory put him back into his foul mood.

"If they're too weak to move, leave them!" He shouted suddenly to his men, "By all the Gods who ever thirsted, I need a drink!"

Tamar-Ran looked up at the night sky, at the four risen moons. He despised the black veil of night, he had been underground for so many years that if he never saw darkness again, it would be a blessing. He took another drink of the warm, bitter water, then spat it out onto the sand. _Water! Which God made water?_ _May he drown in it_ ; he thought.

He turned to scream at his men, once more, then thought better of it. This world was not his, it never would be, right now, he would have traded the whole stinking planet, for one cool tankard of cold Marsh-beer.

#  Chapter 4. Gods and Men

War and thunder fill the sky.

Drums beat loud and deep.

March to death then race to die.

And smile as war God's weep.

Drinking song of the Almadra.

The Nomads gathered in the great Longhouse, feasting on succulent cooked Rimar. They drank deeply of the sour wine they called Po and filled their mouths with fresh baked Kasha bread and the sweet fruit from the Balbar tree. It had been a long journey to their valley and they were glad, finally to be able to rest and eat their fill.

They sang the ancient songs and told tales of wars long ago and the glorious victories over their enemies. They sat at the long stone tables and spoke about the days past and those yet to come.

As the dark wine flowed with the night, it was inevitable, that a few minor fights would break out. It was not malice, just letting off, pent up energy and having fun. When the fights were over and minor wounds dressed, they laughed and joked, as to who had the greater strength and who would have to wait for another day, to boast and brag.

Long into the night, they sang and drank. The warriors removed their dusty armor and left their weapons in a corner of the Great Hall. It was one of the few times, they allowed themselves to be unarmed. A Nomad, is never seen by outsiders, without his weapons. This was their home and they did not feel, the need to defend themselves. Even without their battle-axes and armor, the Nomads were a fierce enemy. Tall, broad shouldered and with the reflexes of a Sager Cat, it was not wise, to make a Nomad angry, they were quick tempered and proud. It was safer to tease a Whiptail, than a warrior of the Almadra.

They lived by a simple code of honor and few broke it. If they did, they were quickly exiled from the clan, to live the rest of their lives, as Outcasts. Waste-wanderers, were lone Nomads without a home or a tribe. They were loyal to their leaders and to each other, a Nomad would rather give up his or her own life, than sit idly by, when a friend was in need.

The women of the tribe, were also strong and proud, they did not wait on the men, as in some cultures. They were all treated the same and if you wanted something, you got it yourself. The females could drink, as well, if not better than the males. They were not weak, or in need of protection, like Off-World females and those who dwelt in the stone cities. They could take care of themselves, they were strong and brave. They were not like the ill formed females of the Lowlanders, or the over painted and perfumed, Sin-Cravers of the pyramid cities. They were tall, straight and intelligent, they fought strongly and mated the same way, a Nomad woman, was worth her weight in Rimar horn and more.

The elderly or Frail-legs as they were sometimes called, had their own place in the Great Hall, a table and chairs by the great carved fire pits, there they could rest and have everything they needed. The oldest of them, were cared for like the tribe's small children, with love and respect. They were the Star Singers, spending most of their time in a world of their own. They seemed not, to care for or even recognize, those who were once their children or grandchildren. They would sit, whispering to unseen persons, or look up at the night stars and moons, speaking words no one understood. They were no longer a part of this world and seemed to listen only to the night. They were still cared for and made as comfortable as could be, they sometimes spoke to members of the tribe but their words had little meaning.

There was a council of Elders, men, and women who gathered, to give advice and wisdom to the leader, they were from different families in the tribe. With them were the Soul Shepherd's, keepers of the faith, who made sacrifices to the Gods, when they thought it necessary. They carried the words of the Book and gave their blessing when they thought the Gods were pleased and their curses, when the signs said the Gods were angry. In reality they had very little power, that was in the hands of the Holy Mother. Soul Shepherds were little more than Nomads, who lived by the strict code of Isarie and looked down on those who did not.

Arn sat in one corner of the long hall, not eating much and drinking little, he told no stories and did not sing the songs of his tribe. He was thinking of other times and other places, of when he was a first cycle boy, learning the Nomad's ways. He remembered the days with his brothers and his sister. How they would laugh and play learning games that taught them how to survive in the Outlands. He saw in his mind's eye, the happy days of his youth and the long journeys over the Lands of Gorn.

Agart noticed, his older brother sitting alone in the Great Hall but he knew, this was not the time for idle conversation. His brother was about to face one of the greatest challenges of his life. He wanted to talk to him, to tell him, he would always stand by his side. He stood looking at his elder brother for a long time, he drank deeply from the ivory horn in his hand. He was about to go to his brother, when he heard his mother's voice.

"Leave him be," she said softly, "it is not your time or place to interfere."

Agart looked at his mother. _Mother, mother, my mother;_ he knew she was right but his need to be at his brother's side this night, was very strong. "I know mother but what are brothers for, if not to stand together?"

The old women shook her head, "Your brother must stand alone for this, there can be no interference if he is to be called leader, now listen to my words, if only this one time."

The warrior smiled at his mother, "I always listened to you, did I not?" _No I never listened, I was too young and smart._

The old women began to laugh, "Listen? How many times, did I tell you not to tease the Whiptails and how many times, did I have to tend your wounds, because you did not? You are a good son Agart but sometimes your hearing fails."

"I will have you know, my hearing is perfect, it's just that, I do not understand your words sometimes," he laughed; _her_ _words are always good to hear, she is wise, Isarie gave her wisdom._

They both looked at Arn, sitting alone, they stopped laughing. Egmar's eyes, began to fill with tears, "With the suns I will lose two loves," she said softly. _The_ _suns, the suns, why cannot Isarie, stop the suns from rising?_ She walked away slowly.

Agart still standing, watched her go; _mother,_ _my mother, I will pray for you and for my father._ Then he looked down into the murky depths of his drinking horn.

In another corner of the Great Hall, there were others, who were having a better time. Seeda had filled her bowl with some very tender morsels of the best Rimar meat and a warm cut of golden brown, Kasha bread, her favorite meal. She liked food and ate her fill when she could, still retaining the strong body of her kind. She was the envy of the tribe's other females. She found a quiet corner near the warm fire pit, eager to take the first bite of her dinner. She set the bowl down, to adjust the Rimar hide cushion on the stone bench, when she turned to pick up the bowl, it was gone.

She quickly looked around her, to find the lost bowl, it was being held by the handsome Almec, who was about, to take a bite of the bread, Seeda glared at him.

"I see we have a thief in the hall of the Almadra, or is it just a little rock-hopper, come to scavenge food?"

The warrior put the bread back into the bowl and handed it to Seeda, "I am no thief," he said defiantly, "and I am much better looking, than a Rock-hopper!"

Seeda took the bowl and sat down on the bench, "I do not know, I have seen some very handsome rock-hoppers."

The warrior sat down beside her and smiled, "Then you do think I'm handsome? Maybe you would like to kiss me?"

Seeda spit out the small piece of Kasha bread and looked at the young man, "Kiss you? We are not in Omargash and I see no dome overhead." She held out her bowl to him, "Perhaps you should take this as a mercy, your mind must be growing weak, you're beginning to sound like a Star-singer."

Almec took the bowl and put a large piece of Rimar meat into his mouth, "Thank you," he said with a full mouth, "I was feeling a bit light headed."

Seeda stood up quickly and gave him a hard look, "What? Are you saying, kissing is something only Frail-legs would do? There are many warriors, who would be pleased to kiss me!"

The warrior stood quickly, "No, I am sure most warriors, would find kissing you very pleasant."

Seeda looked him in the eye, "Most?" she asked, then waited for an answer.

Almec just stood and looked at her. He'd learned after many years that his mouth often got him into trouble and he did not want a repeat. He sat down and looked around the room. Across the hall he saw a tall young woman, she had long dark hair and a strong supple body, she was sitting with several warriors, anyone could see, she was enjoying herself. "Ah, I think I see Arie sitting by herself, perhaps she would like my company?" Almec got up to leave.

Seeda could also see Arie, as usual the best warriors in the tribe, surrounded her. When she saw the smile on Almec's face, she looked away, seeming disinterested in him, "I think you are right, Arie is very lonely, maybe it is the way she looks or the fact that she cannot dance."

Arie had been Seeda's rival, ever since they were children, she always got more attention from the boys and was a favorite within the tribe. Everyone knew, she was a very good dancer and that she wanted Almec. Whenever Almec wanted to tease Seeda, all he had to do was mention her name.

"I heard, she is a very good dancer, one of the best. I remember when she used to dance like a wind rider," he said off handed.

This was too much for Seeda, she jumped up, spilling her bowl onto the stone floor, "Wind rider!" she yelled, "More like a lame Earth-shaker, if you ask me!" She looked down at her broken bowl, then back at Almec, "Now look what you have done!"

She was about to storm off, Almec touched her arm, "I am sorry, maybe I was mistaken about her dancing."

Seeda looked at him, she wanted to stay angry but she could not, she knew deep down, he was only trying to make her mad and it had worked. She sat down on the stone bench, "Why not bring me another bowl and we can discuss it," she gave him a little smile.

She knew that if she took the food from his hand, they would be mated, she would not fall into that trap. _When he comes back with the food, I will make him put it on the floor._

Almec also knew, if she took the food from his hand, she would be his mate. He also knew, Seeda would never fall for the trap. _She is just seeing how far I will bend._ He looked at her and smiled, "Very well, I will get you a new bowl but it will be empty." _I want to fill her bowl, I want her to take it from my hand._

He started to walk away, Seeda called out after him, "A large horn of Po, I am very thirsty."

The young man turned to her, "You can that get yourself," he said, then walked away. Seeda glared at him but she had to smile. She found her mother was beside her, she was looking at her daughter.

"You should not tease him daughter," she said, "someday he will be your mate and it is better to live together without a war."

She knew her mother was right, about them being mated someday but she did not want to acknowledge the fact, "I would rather mate with a Spikeback than, that foul smelling swamp drifter." She started talking to herself, so that only she could hear, she did this a lot and everyone knew it as the sign, she was in a bad mood.

Her mother understood her daughter but it did not stop her sitting next to her and taking her hand. "You do not have to pretend with me my child, I bore you and raised you, I know what lives in your heart, you know it too."

Seeda knew, her mother was right as usual but it is hard for a daughter, to see the truth from a parent, "He is a good man and a good warrior," she said, "but he knows it. I do not want to end up, a weak willed bed warmer, never knowing the life I want."

Egmar smiled at her daughter, her voice low and calm. "We must all do, what has to be done, as your bothers and I do. It is our way and the way of our ancestors. You will still live your life, no one, can take that from you."

Seeda held her mother's hand, "Yes, you and father taught me well, I will make you proud, father will...," her voice trailed off; _my father, my father!_

Egmar was also thinking of her mate, she looked past her daughter into the nearby fire pit, "We must all follow our paths." _Wherever they lead._

Outside the Great Hall, the night sky was clear and empty of clouds. Tonight, the valley was bathed in the soft warm glow, of three of Gorn's, seven moons, shining brightly. In the distance, the cries of the grazing Thundra, could be heard and the other animals of the valley. There was a soft wind blowing, carrying the smell of the night-blooming flowers and the pungent odor of the mating Sun-droppers. Large dangerous lizard like gliders, they built their nests in the great caves, at the far end of the canyon.

Karn stood on an outcropping not far from the Longhouse, the old warrior was not eating or drinking tonight. He was thinking of the long years, now behind him, his boyhood and the faces of his father and mother. He remembered their worn features clearly and their voices. He saw them, as if they were standing beside him and he was a little boy again. He could smell the Rimar meat, his mother cooked for him and the songs she sang, as she rocked him to sleep.

In a vision he watched his father, Alma-kan, the great warrior and leader of the tribe, riding on his Whiptail, holding his head high in the bright sunlight. He remembered how he was taught to hunt the wild Thundra beasts and the swift Flame-Crests. How he stood defending his people in the great battles of his time. He hoped, his father would have been proud of him now, he hoped, his long years as King had been good ones for his tribe.

He stood, looking out over the long valley and wondering about the Afterlife; _will my father and mother be there to welcome me?_ _W_ _ill I have to wait long, to see Egmar again?_

There were many questions, without answers, it was much easier, to let them go and think about the sunrise. With it, would come an end and a beginning. He could do nothing to change it, with the morning light, all his questions would all be answered.

Unseen by his father, his youngest son Anais, watched in hiding, crouched behind a jagged bolder, he looked at the old King. He did not look upon him with love, or even respect, he hated him. He hated his father for not paying him more attention, when he was a boy. He hated him for not giving him more power, within the tribe. He hated him, because he was the youngest son, with little chance of being made leader. Most of all, he hated himself. He was not tall or strong, the tribe did not like him, he was not, happy. The only thing that gave him strength, was his hate, it had always been his companion. He lived for hate, wanting nothing more, than to vent his hate on others. He spent his whole life, waiting for the chance, he knew, one day, his hate would be freed.

He watched for a long time, dreaming of the days ahead and his plans for revenge, he turned and walked slowly towards the Great Hall's entrance.

He heard a woman's voice.

"The Gods are not content!"

He turned quickly, expecting to find one of the many enemies, he was sure he had. Instead, he saw the withered face of Obec, the High Priestess of the Almadra. She looked ancient with her tattooed face and dark piercing eyes. He felt as if, she could look right through you, into your mind and see your heart's desire. It was strange seeing her alone, she hardly ever went anywhere, without her loyal Handmaidens and personal guards. She stood in her dark hooded robe, not seeming to feel the night air, or anything else. It was safe to say, everyone in the tribe feared her but all listened to her, she was the tribe's Voice of the Gods, second only in power, to the King.

Anais looked into her black eyes, they had always frightened him as a boy, when he looked at her now, he still felt a slight shudder.

"The Gods are not content," she said again, "they say that Arn is not a true leader for the Almadra."

Anais did not believe in the Gods, he did not believe in anything but his own wants and fears. After a moment or two, he summoned up the courage, to look into her face.

"If the Gods were truly powerful, why would they allow themselves to be anything but content? As a soul shepherd you should know that." He spoke with a sudden air of defiance; _she thinks I fear her, she is wrong!_

The Priestess stared at him, she was taken aback, by the unhappy brother's sudden courage but did not show it... _He is afraid, I can see it in his eyes, that is good._ She pointed to the night sky, with her claw-like finger, "Can you count the number of stars in the night sky? Do you know where the winds go when they leave the land? Have you marked the year of your death?"

Anais shook his head, "No, no one knows such things."

"Then do not question the Gods, who made the stars and the wind and you." The old woman came closer towards him, Anais moved back a little, frightened of her, no matter how much he wanted not to be, "The Gods have spoken to me, they say that Arn is not the one to lead."

Anais let the words run through his head; _The Gods are not content, Arn is not to be King._ He was not sure, what the old witch had in mind but he liked the idea of his older brother, not being made King. How he wished, his brothers were dead and he was King but it was not to be. He looked at the old women, "You are too late with your prophecies, the suns will rise and with them a new King will be chosen."

He started back towards the Great Hall, he took a few steps, then he heard the old woman say, "The suns rise then set, there are many days and nights ahead, only the Gods know where they lead. Do you hear the Gods speak?"

Anais shook his head; _I do not hear the Gods, because they do not exist!_

The old woman smiled at him, "Well I do," she walked away from Karn's youngest son.

Anais watched her go; _The Gods are not content,_ _Arn is not to be King? There are no Gods but belief in them gives power and I want power._ He felt a little better now, he even smiled; _foolish old woman, someday I will be King and you, will fear me._

Then he went back into the Great Hall and left the night to itself.

#  Chapter 5. The Rite of Kings

Two warriors shall enter the challenge pit.

But only one will rise from it.

And that warrior will be called Leader and King.

And all will know that he is The Chosen of the Gods.

From the Book of Isarie.

The twin suns of Gorn were just emerging over the horizon, their golden shafts of light slowly filtering into the Almadra's sacred valley, bringing a new day and a new beginning.

The entire tribe was up, long before Sun-birth, they had spent the night feasting and singing, now it was time for more serious matters. They were dressed in their finest, older women wore brightly colored robes, their hair fixed in the traditional way of the tribe. They adorned themselves with their finest gold and silver necklaces and large hooped earrings, set with stones and seashells.

They held sacred artifacts of their many families, small statues and icons, pieces of pottery that had belonged to their mothers and their mother's mother. Worn, rusty weapons, once wielded by their father and his father before. Some even held chests filled with the bones of their long dead. Every family had an ancestor chest, a movable crypt that was prayed to and displayed on ritual days. There were few things, more important to a family, than their ancestor chests.

The children played as they always did but they were careful, not to dirty or rip the ceremonial garments, they had been forced to wear. They played and giggled as all children will do, if they became too rowdy their Elders would give them a hard stare and their frolicking would abruptly end.

Their parents also wore the same costumes and headgear, marking them as members of a certain family. They stood with the old people, who did not seem to understand what was about to happen.

The warriors had cleaned their armor and sharpened their great battle-axes. They painted their faces the dark red color of war, male and female warriors, stood together, shoulder to shoulder. As well as coloring their faces, the female warriors, braided their long hair with brass, bone, and beads. On their wide belts, hung the twin war daggers, carried by all Almadra. Called the dragon's teeth, they were for close combat, also used in a final act of defiance. Nomads would use them to end their own lives, rather than submit to being taken prisoner.

The rising suns, shone off their horned helmets, giving them the appearance of bronze statues, they stood waiting in a long line, no one spoke.

They had gathered at the tribe's Great Stone Circle, a pit dug out of solid rock. Ten meters across and three meters deep, its walls carved with intricate designs, showing the tribe's history, from its beginnings long ago, to the present. There were figures of the great Kings and Queens, who had ruled the tribe over the many centuries. The wars they fought and their great victories. Around the circle were huge statues, of long forgotten Gods and heroes, now standing as a reminder of other times. They stood looking down into the pit, like visions of the great Gods, watching over the men and women of the Almadra.

There was a dome-like structure overhead, like a lattice work. Made from the colossal bones of Outland beasts, it must have taken many cycles to construct. In the middle of the dome, hung the skull of a small Earth-shaker, ruler of the Outlands, the only creature the Almadra truly feared.

As the suns rose higher, the light filtered through the bleached bones, making a pattern on the ground. It was an impressive sight, giving a magical atmosphere to the whole site. It was a scared place, a place of worship and power.

The tribe gathered here from time to time, as witness to the Rite of Kings, the choosing of a new leader.

Arn stood on one side of the great circle, holding his war-ax tightly, he looked silently ahead. He had waited all his life, for this day, the day when his strength and courage, would be tested to the full. He had been trained from childhood, every battle he had ever fought was training for this moment. All of these memories, were now put aside, there was no time for idle reminiscence, only today and the battle ahead.

Karn stood on the other side of the great circle, looking across at his son, with his one remaining eye. He could not help but think of the day, when he first saw his son, it was one of the greatest moments of his life. Those days were long past, lost forever in the cycles of his past. Now it was time for a new King, his reign must end, this was the way of his tribe, the laws of Kingship, a law he could not break.

Egmar stood with the Elders of the Tribe, she looked at her husband, then at her son. She loved them both, each with the special love that only mothers and wives know. She too remembered the days past, how she cried for joy, when she first saw her son, he was a twin like most of the births of the tribe.

_How strong he looked_ , _how much I loved him;_ she thought _._ She remembered the Day of Choosing, the day all mothers dreaded. It was the darkest day of her life but it had to be done. The Gods made it so, no Almadra would go against the will of the Gods.

Karn looked up at his Queen, their eyes met and in that look, she could see all the love he had shown her. _H_ _ow beautiful she looks,_ _how beautiful;_ he thought _._

Egmar looked at her husband; _how wonderful to feel his arms around me, on winter nights, to feel the touch of his hand on my skin. How young we were, I will love him always, in this world and all the worlds to come._ She wanted to rush to his side, to hold him once more but she knew that could never happen; _h_ _e was King and I was his mate, Isarie made it so and no Outlander can change that._

At the same time, she longed to hold her child in her arms again, to speak to him and sing him the songs of his childhood. In her mind, she saw the long years as he grew to manhood, his training as a warrior and becoming a man. It all seemed to pass in an instant, all the years gone, with nothing left and now, the day all Queens dread the most. There were still so many things to be said, so many unfulfilled dreams but time had run out.

Seeda and Agart stood side by side, they were both dressed in Almadra battle armor. Agart was proud as he looked at his father and brother, in his mind, there were no questions. He knew the ways of his tribe, he knew that this was how a new King was crowned, a son must face his father in combat. There would be no mercy and no interference, in his life, a King must standalone. They would fight to the death, it was their way and in his mind, it was right.

Seeda stood beside her bother but her mind was filled with doubt; _why does this have to happen? Why do the Gods demand such trials?_

She had always believed in the Gods, she spoke their prayers and practiced the rituals they demanded. This was different, this was not the killing of a fattened Burrow hog, or a fasting day, this was human life or death. She tried to believe it was all necessary, she forced her mind to accept, what was to come but no matter how much she tried, she could not. She did not believe, she desperately wanted to open her mouth.

_No! This must stop, this cannot happen! I will not let this happen!_ The rage and love, swelled inside her body, she could feel it rising. She opened her mouth, ready to scream to the tribe and the Gods, "This cannot be allowed to happen!" Nothing came out.

There were no words, she stood, frozen. The world around her did not seem real. She thought to herself. This _must be a dream,_ _a walking dream from which she would soon wake and all would be right again. Her father would speak to her once more, and they would ride in the morning light. She could be a child again, her bothers would tease her and tell her she was too ugly, to win a mate. They would hide her hair braces and put bore worms into her bed, then listen to her screams and she in turn would call them weaklings and food for the Sun-droppers._ She smiled as she remembered the days of their youth, it was all like a dream but this was no dream, there was nothing to be done now, the suns were up and it was too late. _Too late,_ _too late!_

Seeda stood waiting quietly, she looked at her bother beside her, she wished she was as strong as he, so certain of the ways of the Gods. She had been taught that the ways of the Gods, were not for her to know. That was left to the Priestess and the Soul Shepherds, she was a warrior, it was her role and she accepted it. Deep inside she knew, the Gods would no longer have a special place in her heart.

Obec the High Priestess, rose slowly from the ornate chair she had been sitting on. She wore the impressive headdress of her station, colored Onyx-bird feathers and Forest-crier plumes. In her wrinkled hands, she held the golden orb of the Gods, Handmaidens stood beside her.

The Handmaidens carried out all the tasks given to them, they did not mate or speak unless spoken to, they spent their lives praying to the many, Outland Gods. They wore tattoos marking them as Holy, their heads covered with saffron hoods. Next to them stood the Thungodra, the loyal body guards of the High Priestess. They were armored from head to toe in black steel, with gold and silver markings, symbols of the Gods, on their chests. It made them look like large dark sand beetles. Heavy war clubs and axes were at the ready, in case anyone, should be foolish enough to challenge Obec's authority.

The old women stood looking at the tribe for a long time, she was waiting, waiting for the right time, to begin the ceremony. She had been High Priestess for a very long time and knew the power that was hers. She knew that the sight of her, struck fear in the tribe, she understood how real power worked. Now she would stand and let the tribe wait. She believed in the Gods but she believed in her own power more. As the first shaft of morning light, shone on the faces of their stone Gods, she spoke, her voice filled with the power of belief.

"In the beginning there was Isarie, she made the planets and the creatures of the land and sea and the air. She bore many children, who are the Gods of all things. There came a time, when she battled with her father, Arm-Ra, for the Eternal light and power over all. They fought in the dark Pit of Marloon, for a thousand cycles, they battled until Arm-Ra perished. His twin hearts became suns in the morning sky, Isarie looked at the golden discs and she wept, her tears fell to the ground, to become the children of the earth. We give thanks to Isarie, for life and for her life giving gift, the Salt of the Earth."

The old woman waited, as a young Handmaiden, handed her a golden bowl. Obec reached into the bowl, she lifted her hand, in her claw like fingers, was a small crystal. Greenish, in color, it glimmered in the morning light, she held it up for all to see. When she did, the tribe raised their right hands, they all held a small crystal of the salt in their fingers. The whole tribe, from the smallest child to the oldest elder, all held the small green crystals, they bowed their heads and spoke as one.

"The Salt of the Earth."

They put the crystal into their mouths and swallowed, after a moment the High Priestess spoke, "The Rite of Kings has come, let the Gods choose," she sat down and everyone waited in silence.

Arn looked at his father, then held up his heavy battle-ax, his father did the same, they turned to the High Priestess and saluted her. They turned back to face each other, there was a tense moment, as they waited, then with a loud war cry, both of them leapt into the stone circle.

The war drums began to beat loudly, the tribe's warriors cried out and beat their axes on the ground. They shouted and made terrible battle cries, the blood of their enemy ran cold at the sound. They had all traveled far to see this battle, the Rite of Kings.

Karn now forgot, his own son, was the enemy facing him. His experience from his long years as leader and the many battles he had faced, now took over. He was no longer a father, Arn no longer his son, now he was a warrior. He would do, whatever it took to defeat his enemy and if that meant killing his own son, so be it. It was their way, the tribe would accept anything less. If he showed mercy, or did not fight to his full potential, then the tribe would kill them both. He had to fight with all his power and all his skill.

Arn moved like a great Sager Cat, every muscle tensed, ready to spring, every nerve in his iron body, ready to fight. He knew, this was what he must do, he must kill his father, to become King, there was no other way. He too, forgot that the man he was facing, was the man who gave him life. He saw only an enemy, one that must be destroyed.

They both circled each other, looking for any opening that might give them an advantage. They could hear the shouts and war cries of the tribe but they paid no attention. Their eyes were fixed on the battle before them, the old King made the first move, with a loud shout, he swung his battle-ax with all his might.

Arn had less than a second to react, he blocked the strike. The razor sharp edge of his father's war-ax, cut his cheek, sending a trickle of blood down his face. A thought entered his mind. _M_ _y father will kill me, if I do not kill him first!_ _I must kill him, it is our way._

He lifted his weapon, swinging it with all his might, at his father's head. The old warrior moved out-of-the-way, just in time, the blow bounced off his shoulder armor. More blows were struck, sending sparks flying and making the watching warriors shout their approval. They both moved back and began to circle each other once more.

From the rim above the pit, the warriors watched intently, they knew, this battle would decide the tribe's Kingship. Their future, was being put to the test but they did not think about that now. They saw, only a great battle, a clash of warriors, one they could tell stories about, for many years to come. They continued shouting, the ancient war cries of their tribe, beating their weapons on the rocky ground. The sounds of the war drums, grew louder, as they were struck with a savage fury.

In the pit, the two champions fought like wild beasts, the sounds of their axes striking rock or armor, resounded in the morning air. They screamed and cursed and invoked the Gods to their efforts. The blood lust was upon them both, if anyone had fallen, or leapt into the pit, they would have been killed, it mattered not, if they were friend or foe, they would die. They fought without mercy or compassion or remorse, this was what made them so feared and so strong.

Arn was strong and agile but the old King, had skill and cunning on his side. He had faced countless enemies and the Gods had seen fit, to make him the victor. The old man knew that to please the Gods, he must fight with every fiber of his body. This was how he remained King, this was how he defeated so many strong enemies, this was no different, he would fight to the death, as would his son.

Seeda looked down at her father and brother, now the fight had begun it felt different. All thoughts of mercy and forgiveness, faded away like a walking dream, the blood lust of the Almadra took over. All she saw, was two mighty warriors, in a battle to the death, her eyes shone with battle fever.

They fight well, they are warriors, they must kill, kill, kill!

She lifted her war-ax and beat the ground, like all the others. She screamed for blood and bit her lip until blood flowed but for Almec, holding her back, she would have gladly leaped into the pit to fight with her father and brother until death took her.

Almec looked at her and thought; _she is so beautiful, so brave,_ _she would make a strong mate, my mate._ He turned back to the pit and screamed for blood like the others.

This was how warriors of the Outlands lived and this was how they died, never asking for quarter and never giving it.

Beside her, Agart watched too, his heart filled with pride, he understood the ways of his tribe. He knew how things were done, _The Gods will decide,_ _the Gods are all powerful and Isarie is merciful;_ he thought.

Although he shouted and screamed like the rest of them, he did not feel the blood lust. He only felt proud that his father and brother were doing what must be done, what had to be done, for the good of the tribe. Long ago, he had accepted the fact that only one could remain alive. Either his brother or his father would emerge from the pit, if his brother died, then the task of fighting for leadership would be on his broad shoulders. He would have to kill is father, for the good of the tribe, it was the Rite of Kings. He was satisfied with this, it was their way.

Karn was now bleeding from numerous cuts and scrapes, he was covered in blood and sweat. His once shiny armor, was dented and dirty, one of the curved horns of his war helmet was missing, cut off, by a near fatal blow from his son. The walls of the pit, were smeared with the blood of them both. He fought on but he knew his strength was slowly ebbing. The long cycles of his hard life, were taking their toll. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and watched his son's every move and he prayed, not for victory but instead, to die with honor.

_I have done what a King must do,_ _I will sit in the Halls of the Gods and they will know my name;_ he thought

The Elders of the Tribe stood stoically, they did not shout or scream, they watched with the detachment that comes with age. They had seen this ritual before, Kings came and passed on, good leaders and bad, all had to endure the pit to secure their right to rule. They would remember this day and tell the story in writing and song, for ages to come.

Near the Elders sat the Frail-legs but unlike the rest of the tribe, they did not watch. They sat, looking up at the morning sky, smiling, some spoke to unseen visions, or sang ancient songs. They did not hear the sounds of battle, or the drums, they listened to a voice, only they could hear. They swayed back and forth, to a song understood only by them.

Arn was tiring, his war-ax felt heavy, his eyes were blurred with blood and sweat and he was breathing hard. He had faced many enemies in his time, rival tribes who invaded their lands, Shadow-men and the people of the stone cities. In all his days, he had never fought a warrior like his father. In his younger days Karn, would fight with him, to teach him the ways of war. He now knew that his father had always held back, never fully letting loose, his strength. Now it was different, life or death, his father was using all his cunning and skill to defeat him. If he was going to live, he would have to do the same.

I must kill my father, I have no choice, his time has come, I must fight!

Egmar watched the battle, with each strike of their axes, she died a little, her heart pounded in her chest and her legs began to tremble. She stood quietly, showing no emotion but thoughts raced through her mind; _I am Queen and a Queen must be strong, Karn? My husband, my mate, I will always love you._ _I am Queen, I will not betray my tribe, I will not betray Isarie but you did betray the Goddess, so many cycles ago, so many. Betrayed! No tears, no tears._

There would be time for tears later, in the long cycles to come. There would be time for her heart to heal, now was the time for a King's wife to stand-alone.

Karn was getting weaker, the blood loss from many cuts, slowly draining him. He knew, as did the other warriors of the tribe that he would not last much longer.

The Gods will know my name.

He moved in, swinging his ax hard, he had trained his son, so he knew his weak spots and his strengths. He knew he would drop his left shoulder, when he was about to strike. When the time came, he aimed high, then went low and wielded the ax with all his might.

Arn saw the blow coming. Jump!

It was only by luck that he was not killed, at the last moment, his father had slipped on a piece of loose rock and his blow went wide. He managed to block it, thus saving his life.

The warriors shouted, again and again, this was by far, the greatest battle they had witnessed in many cycles. It was one, they would remember all the days of their lives. There was one, who did not see a great battle, he only saw revenge.

Anais watched his brother and father in the pit, while the others shouted or witnessed the battle with pride in their hearts, his heart was filled with a cold emptiness. He had dreamed of this day, for a very long time, he would see the end to one of his many hatreds. He smiled, wanting to remember every second; _f_ _ools, they fight and die for nothing, there are no Gods, there is no Great Hall, there is only darkness, fools!_

In the times ahead, he would look back and feel the same cold vengeance he was feeling now, it was his way, it was his life.

Arn knew, the end was near, his father was all but spent, he also knew that a trapped beast is the most dangerous, he must not let down his guard for an instant. He moved carefully and held his ax at the ready, he moved in close and studied his father's eyes. They did not look the same, he could see, the battle lust was gone. His father's soul was no longer taken over by the blood rage. Instead, his soul was filled with love, the love of a father for his child, the old King smiled at his son, Arn smiled back.

_My son has fought well,_ _he will make a good King, I will wait for him in The Great Hall of Isarie, my son, my son;_ he thought.

Arn looked at his father's face; _my_ _father was a great King, he will sit on the right side of Isarie and he will wait for me._

With one last flurry, the King attacked, he lifted his great weapon, Arn saw an opening, he ducked the swinging blade, then drove his ax, deep into the old leader's side. There was a cry from his father, then he dropped to his knees.

It was over.

The war drums stopped beating, the warriors stopped their cries for battle, they stood quiet and noble once more.

Arn looked down at the fallen King, he was finished. _The Gods will smile on my father._

The old King held his side, blood flowed freely, Karn looked up at his victorious son; _my son, my son._

There was pride in his eyes, he had fought well, he had won the day and he would be a great King. The young warrior nodded once to his father, his father did the same, no words were spoken, there was nothing to be said, they had done what must be done, they were satisfied.

As the Almadra looked on, Arn lifted his war-ax, he swung it with all his remaining strength; _the Gods will smile._ It whistled through the morning air, cutting off, the old King's head.

The warriors of the tribe let out a great cry, Karn was dead, long live their new King. Egmar bowed her head, her eyes filled with tears... _Wait for me my husband, I will come._

Seeda dropped her weapon, she looked up at the clear sky... _Father? I will pray for you._

Agart nodded and whispered a prayer to the Gods... _Take my father to your hearts, let him see the face of Isarie and sit beside her for all eternity._

In the pit, Arn looked down, at the body of the man, who gave him life. The fighting fury that had overcome him, was gone, his mind cleared and his heart began to beat slower. He had won, now he was King, from this day forward, his life belonged to the tribe. At this moment, he should have offered a prayer to the Gods. A prayer for guidance and strength, if the Gods willed it, he would be a good King, with them at his side. He did not pray, he bent down and touched the bloodied head of his dead King.

Very quietly, he said, "Forgive me my King, forgive me father," he stood up holding Karn's severed head. His body dripping with the blood of battle, he looked up at the warriors of the Almadra and spoke in a loud strong voice. "I have proven myself before the Gods, if there is any who challenge this, let them come forward to face me," he waited.

The warriors stood silent, no one would enter the pit this day, they were satisfied, the Rite of Kings had been done.

Obec slowly stood up from her chair and lifted her hand, "The Gods are satisfied, Arn Is King!" She smiled to herself; _Arn is King but for how long?_

With those words, the warriors cried out, their cries shook the ground and rose up past the circling moons and into the twinkling stars. The sound of triumph, continued outward until the Gods themselves heard their joy, now it was over, the Almadra had their King and a new beginning.

#  Chapter 6. Captives

Those who move over the land and eat the dead, are not my children.

They are to be driven into the dark places of my world.

And there they will feast upon the demons that bore them.

From the Book of Isarie.

The old man, was not sure he wanted to be alive. The Sandjar had not killed them but it might have been better, for the past few days, they had been given bitter water and moldy food. They did not know what the food was, nor did they want to but it kept them alive. They had been beaten and abused, more for sport than anything else. The Sandjar seemed to enjoy, seeing them in pain, it was fun, they would poke them with sticks and scream at them in a language they did not understand. The tribe's small children, liked to throw things at them, generally making their lives miserable. More than once, one of the little monsters, bit them with their sharp teeth, to see how they tasted. If they fought back, the adults would strike them with dried Rimar bones or stones.

They had been traveling over the sands, the humans did not know, which direction they were heading. The landscape seemed to be the same in all directions. Sand, rocks, and pieces of debris, was all they could see. It was hot but they managed to shield themselves from the twin suns, by covering themselves with anything they could find, in the cart, at night they shivered. They did not know, where they were being taken, all that mattered was trying to stay alive.

Osh was laying on a load of scavenged parts and rotting flesh from the Drop-ship's dead prisoners. The old man, seemed to be a lot tougher, than even he expected. His hands were bound and the smell from the decaying flesh beneath him, was overpowering but still, he was thankful to be alive. He looked over at Andra, also bound, she was not, conscious but he could see from the slow rise and fall of her chest that she was alive.

Andra and Osh, had talked very little over the past few days, whenever they did, the Sandjar became very angry, they did not seem to like, their captives communicating. Maybe they thought, they were planning an escape, or some other plot to harm them. Whatever it was, they would beat them, or scream loudly, until they finally learned to remain silent, rather than incur their wrath.

The old man looked up at the clear sky, he was not sure, how they got through the last few days, or why they were still alive but here he was, alive but not much else. He decided to let things move as they would, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had been one of the few real scholars, to make the trip to Gorn and live to see it.

_Maybe, this was meant, to be? Maybe the Gods exist and this was their plan for me, the Gods are very precise in their judgments and calculations, they must have a plan;_ he thought.

He smiled, then he shook his head, he had lived a long time and had come to the conclusion that, the Gods like the future, are not to be counted on, what would come, would come. He lay back on the dead bodies and reassured himself, things could be worse, although he was not sure how.

One thing bothered him, small red spots were breaking out on his and Andra's skin. The old man had some knowledge of Off-World diseases but did not recognize this one. He felt his vision was blurring some and his bones ached but then again, they always did.

He had read that many who came to Gorn, acquired the same spots, it was blamed on the twin suns, or the strange Electro Magnetic pulses that plagued the planet. There were reports that a green salt called Grana was a cure. They had not been given any such salt in the past few days. He did see several Sandjar, putting small crystals into their toothy mouths.

_Could that be the Grana?_ He would need to examine it further, until then, the spots had to run their course. Whatever caused the redness, he hoped it would not be fatal.

Og sat proudly at the front of the wagon, his belly was full and the carts were full of fresh meat, enough to last them for a long time. His family had worked feverishly, all through the night, gathering everything of value, from the crashed Dropship. Better yet, they had gotten away, without having to deal, with other scavengers. They even had two prisoners, they would fetch a good price in the pyramid city's markets. A strong woman was always in demand, she could be used for many purposes, a good worker or an underworld slave.

If there was no interest from them there, the Sea People, always needed another hand, on their harvest ships. Alternatively, she would make very good eating. There was nothing better than nice fresh meat and females were more tender than males. As for the old man, he was too old to be much use and too skinny to make a good meal. However, there were ways to prepare food, he might have a good liver or heart. Og loved a nice warm heart, as long as it was not too tough. From the look of the old human, his heart would be as tough as Rimar hide, making a meal of the old man, was out. Maybe, it was best to discard him now and leave him to the Sun-droppers.

The Sandjar leader, looked over his shoulder at the old man's frail body, he nodded, yes it was best to leave him. He was about to do just that, when he looked at his mate, she was very near her birthing time. Her belly was protruding and he could plainly see the bright yellow spots that appeared just before labor started. Next to her, was his other wife, older and unable to bear children, she was useful as a midwife. Maybe the old man could be of use after all.

The pregnant wife, suddenly let out a cry, it was time, Og stopped the cart by a large jagged rock. When the cart stopped Andra awoke, she opened her eyes and tried to focus. Every muscle in her body hurt, she could smell the dead bodies beneath her, she began to gag.

Osh looked at her."Good morning," he said.

The young woman looked at him, "What's good about it?" she said, "and what is that smell?" She lifted herself up as best she could, with bound hands, "Still alive I see?"

"It appears so," Osh replied, "I told you the Gods had a plan for us, I just wonder what it is? For a time, I was assigned to reprogram the Worshiper Interface on Rowgalus Prime. They wanted the Holy Scriptures, to be more up to date, as I was adding several new passages, I came across a most interesting saying, it said, even Gods die."

The old man scratched his head; _I wonder where Gods go when they die?_ He began to think about this but not for long.

Og suddenly grabbed both of them and dragged them from the cart, hitting the ground hard, they laid in the soft sand.

"Hey! Watch what you're doing, you ugly green bastard," Andra shouted at the Sandjar leader.

She should not have, he kicked her hard in the side, then waved a heavy club at her face. He screamed at her and although she did not understand, she realized, it would be better keep her mouth shut. Og gave her another kick, then walked away, Andra lay for a moment, then lifted herself up. She looked at Osh and managed a weak smile, "I get the feeling, he doesn't like me," she quipped.

Og went back to his mate, he motioned to the others, the Sandjar began to dig a wide pit in the ground. Andra could see what was happening, she whispered to Osh, "What are they doing?"

"They are digging a pit for the birthing ritual," he said, "As well as being scavengers, Sandjar are very good diggers. The females gave birth twice a year, most of the babies die at an early age, so they need to keep the females pregnant. When a female is ready to mate, she emits a rather foul odor and the color of her skin, changes from dark to light. She becomes quarrelsome and behaves strangely, rolling on the ground and making soft purring sounds, or so they say. Then the male Sandjar will show her his..."

"Why don't you tell me later?" Andra was not really interested in the Mating Rituals of her captors, she would rather concentrate, on finding a way out of their situation.

The old man nodded, "As you wish but it really is, very fascinating."

Andra watched them dig, until there was a pit about three meters wide and about a meter deep. They laid a bed of some type green moss, they poured water on the moss, making it moist. The pregnant Sandjar, then lay down on the makeshift birthing bed, the females gathered around her.

The female lay with her thin legs apart, making grunting sounds, the other females, chatted or made soothing noises. This was to calm the pregnant Sandjar and hasten the birthing possess, Og seemed happy, everything was proceeding as it should. He did not hear the two captives whispering.

"Now is the time to make our escape," Andra's back was to the Bone Gathers.

The old man looked at her with a wrinkled brow, "Escape to where? Our hands are bound and we have no food or water." He motioned for her to look around, "I do not think we would get far, with nothing to eat or drink and no direction to travel."

He was right of course, it was a silly plan but it was hard for Andra to do nothing, "Yes, I guess you're right but we can't go on like this, much longer."

"Perhaps not," he said, "but the longer the better, who knows, we might survive?"

Andra thought; a _re all Callaxions so optimistic? We might survive!_ _I'd like to have a better reply than that!_

They heard a loud cry, looking over, they saw the female had given birth. The midwife held a small greenish looking Sandjar, it wiggled in her hands, like a ground worm. The rest of the family, leaped about in joy, making loud grunting sounds. The group's females, began licking the baby clean, a way of showing affection and respect, to their leader's mate. Shortly afterwords, they laid the baby on the soft wet moss, it was still crying loudly.

Og looked at his small child, he seemed proud. It was another mouth to feed but it would also add to the tribe's strength. To survive it needed nourishment, not the rotting flesh from the Drop-ship, or the thin milk from its mother's tit. It would need real food, food that would help it to grow and become strong, he knew just where to find it.

He went over to the captives, after looking the old man over, he seemed to reject him. He turned to the woman, a much better choice! He grabbed her, then tore the clothing from her back, he ran his sharp claws, over the soft flesh, he seemed pleased. He roughly dragged Andra over to the newborn.

Andra was not sure, what was going to happen. Looking closely at the small baby, she saw, it had a large slit, where its mouth should be. The baby cried out, she could see, it was lined with two rows of small sharp teeth. Fluid dripped from wrinkled lips and a purplish tongue, darted in and out, like a small snake. The thing's eyes were shut, its tiny arms, waved around like small tentacles. Andra had seen many newborn babies and always found them appealing, this one, made her shudder in disgust.

To Og, the little baby was beautiful, as with all fathers, he was happy and protective of his child. He would do whatever he could, to help it, survive. He listened to its wailing and he knew just what it needed. He took out a small knife, bending down, he took the woman by the arm. He made a small cut on her back, the blood started to flow but not for long. Og stood back, the Sandjar females, forced Andra down near the baby, they watched as the tiny infant, attached itself to her back. Its small hands had three fingers each, with sharp claws at the end of each digit, its nursing claws. They dug into Andra's flesh and held fast, then the baby began to suck deeply. It seemed there was nothing better for a newborn Sandjar, than live Off-Worlder blood.

Andra, was sickened, it was like having a giant leech, draining your body of life. _G_ _ive me a rock and let me smash this little monster's head,_ _I don't care if I die, just get this thing off me;_ she thought.

She knew, it would be her end, it might have been worth it, to remove the parasite but she decided to let things continue. It stopped crying and made soft cooing sounds. The new mother, came to Andra, she looked at her, then she took a small piece of green crystal and put it into Andra's mouth.

To Andra it tasted bitter and she almost spit it out. The tasted changed to, not bad at all, in fact it was delicious. She seemed to feel much better too, it was like a courage drug. She felt new strength, a new vitality, whatever it was, she was happy to eat it.

The tribe members watched the new baby suckling, they had another member now. They would let the new mother rest for a time, then they would continue their journey. Their carts were full, there was much to be thankful for. Some of them, took small wooden drums from the carts, they built a fire, a body that was not too decomposed was selected, they began cutting it into small portions. There would be a feast tonight, a celebration of new life, they started dancing around the sandpit, they would continue for the rest of the day and far into the night.

Not too far from the Sandjar, the Almadra were on the move. They had a new King to follow, Arn led them over the sand and rock, like his father had before him. Riding on his Whiptail, he thought about all that was to come. _W_ _ill I be a great leader like my father, will I be able to find the Rimar herds and fresh water._ He shifted in his saddle; _w_ _hat of the other tribes, the Hal-Jafar, the Wind riders, the Talsonar, Earth-shakers, Shadow-men. Will I be able to defend against them? I now know, why my father had to be strong, I will try to be the same._

Agart rode beside his brother, in the valley of the Madrigal, in a stone tomb, they had laid their father to rest. He would remain there for all time, when they came back, they would pay their respects to him. Sacrifices would be made to the Gods in his name and prayers offered, so his soul could enter the Afterlife. Agart had done all that was required, now he would stand by his new King. He would do whatever was needed, to keep the tribe strong and appease the Gods, it was his place in life and he was satisfied.

Anais was not at his usual place at the head of the column, he rode beside the High Priestess' huge wagon. He was not thinking of the past few days and the death of his father, that was all done now. He was thinking about what the old Holy Woman had said, "The Gods are not content." _What did it really mean?"_

It was a message to him from the Keeper of the Faith, Obec was letting him know, she was not, satisfied with the choice of King. If she was not pleased, there might be a way of using it, to his advantage. He rode near to the wagon, to send a message to the Priestess, he smiled to himself and dreamed of the days to come.

Seeda and her mother, sat quietly in their cart, they had not talked much over the last few days, Karn's death, was still fresh in their minds. Seeda heard her mother crying softly late at night, she knew, she was mourning her mate. There was nothing she could do, she hoped her mother would return to them someday, she did not want her to become a Wailing Woman. Females of the tribe, who spent their lives in mourning, never smiling or laughing. It would take time but she knew the day would come.

Egmar sat beside her daughter but she did not feel the motion of their wagon, as it bounced over the rocky terrain. She was thinking of her lost love, over, and over. She saw an endless vision of the days and nights of their lives together. _So many years, where had they all gone?_ _Was it all a mere flicker in time and space? Will Isarie remember our names?_

She remembered everything clearly, every laugh and tear, every fight and sorrow, she cherished them now, it was all she had. _Memories, so many memories._ Memories can appear clearer than reality, all the bad times are forgotten, only the clear light of love remains.

The Almadra were heading towards one of the great stone cities of Gorn, it was the home of the Talsonar, the city dwellers. The tribe would trade with them for essential goods and materials, they did not like the Talsonar and the Talsonar hated them.

The city was filled with Off-worlders and Waste-wanders, in the minds of the Madrigal, it was an evil place. A place where Sin-Cravers lived and High-breeders looked down upon everyone else. If they had not needed what the Talsonar had, they would never, have gone near the place.

They did need what they had, they were the only ones, who could supply them with the weapons they needed, to keep them safe from their enemies. In ancient times they fought with hand weapons and the war beasts they rode. They faced their foe, man to man, living or dying by strength and skill. When the outsiders came, they brought with them guns and explosives. They traded with the Outlanders and soon, all were corrupted by their power. The people of the stone cities got what they needed, Grana to keep them alive.

The green salt was carried in special heavily armored carts, pulled by four Trofar, a phalanx of warriors, guarded each wagon. Without the Grana, there would be no trade and without the weapons, they would be vulnerable to attack from their enemy. It was an uneasy alliance, one that could prove fatal.

For now it was a necessary evil, they would go to the city and trade, they would take the weapons and return to the Outlands. It was the only way, there was nothing else they could do.

Arn led the tribe over the sands, like all his kind, he did not need a map or any device to guide him. As far as he knew, there was no navigational machine or instrument that would work on this planet, it kept them safe. Any outsider, who ventured too far into the wastelands and lost sight of a marker or the pyramid city's beacon, had little chance of ever finding their way out. Only true creatures of Gorn, had the six sense of direction, they always knew exactly where they were.

The city people, had tried many times, to discover their secret, they always failed. If they built too many markers into the Outlands, the Nomads destroyed them, they did not allow markers to be placed between cities. They hoped the Off-worlders would kill each other, battles between pyramid cities, happened frequently but still most of the cities, were still inhabited. They traded with the many, tribes of the lands of Gorn.

The secret of traveling without becoming lost, belonged to the Nomads. An Outlander, would not betray his tribe, by leading them into the desserts or other lands. It was one of their most sacrilegious offenses, it would surely bring down the wrath of the Gods, onto the offender. The Outlands belonged to them, it was their home and always would be.

Although time is forever, beings are finite, the wheels of time wait for nothing and no one, grinding both Gods and men alike beneath their weight.

#  Chapter 7. The Hand of God

Those who dwell in the stone cities are Half-Souls.

They worship evil Gods and will not see my face.

Do not walk with them for their way is not yours.

And do not lay with them for they breed only death.

From the Book of Isarie.

The Pyramid City of the Talsonar rose up in the lowland plains, like a spike on the back of an angry Rimar. Its titanic height, thrust upwards into the sky, reaching ten thousand meters or more, anyone, seeing the structure, could only believe, it was put there by the hands of the Gods.

The beacon topping the pyramid, flashed its powerful signal day and night, guiding and rescuing travelers from the endless tracts of the Outlands. The pyramid could house hundreds of thousands, keeping them safe from the heat, wind and fire that burned once every cycle of the planet.

There were many levels, each used for a specific purpose. The base was for the workers and slaves, they lived a dull endless life of work and more work. They had no real future, if one died, another Off-Worlder or some other poor creature, replaced them.

Above them were the officials and the bureaucrats, they oversaw day to day work and kept track of the countless city records. Their lives were far better, than the lowly laborers and slaves. Most of them had worked their way up from below, hoping someday to ascend to the next higher level.

Above the officials were the rich, or the High-breeders as they were known. To those below, their live styles were unimaginable, all their needs were met, they wanted for nothing, food, drink, entertainment. They rarely if ever, went to the lower levels, seeing it as some sort of hell, they made sure it didn't interfere with their luxurious lives. Now and again, someone would sneak into the upper levels, hoping to find a better way of life. They were quickly found, then tortured for the amusement of the upper class, or thrown from the higher level to be smashed on the ground below. The High-breeders prayed to their own special Gods, after all they could not be expected to have the same Gods as everyone else. It would not be right, their prayers were special and needed special Gods to hear them. It seemed the Gods did hear them, for they spent their days in idleness and pleasures of the flesh.

At the uppermost levels were the Overlords, the very top of society. They had the power of life or death, they saw all creatures below them, as things to be used. The best slaves served them, their time was spent dreaming and endless nights of physical pleasure. They were regarded as the children of the Gods.

If they were the children of the Gods, then those who toiled in the Underworld, were the dammed. Deep under the city the power workers lived, they were the lowest of the low, condemned to a dim world of heat and endless toil. The cities power came from geothermal activity, deep inside the planets core. This heat drove the steam units that supplied all the city's power. It was populated mostly by creatures who had broken one of the many laws of the Overlords, or criminals who had been sent to Gorn, as trade goods.

Whatever the reason, it was their final destination, when they died, they were taken to food recycling. Their bodies used one last time, to supply nourishment for the people above. It was a living hell, one that never heard the whispering of the Gods.

The city, was surrounded by a multitude primitive dwellings, made from rock or mud. The Forgotten People lived in them, mostly mutants or those who had escaped the Drop-ships. Here they found a place to survive. They made goods, to trade for Grana or food with the many tribes that came to the city. It was a hard life and there was always the threat of war with another city, or death from heat or cold and many other dangers. There was nowhere else they could go, away from the sight of the beacon, they were at the mercy of the Outlands. They would not last long, unable to navigate, surrounded by beasts and other dangers, they would soon die. Many had tried their luck in the Outlands but none came back to tell their story.

The numerous levels the city, were now open to the air and the sky. If there was any danger, war or the fires during the Burning Time, the levels could be closed. The whole city would slowly lower, one level at a time, until it was one solid mass of stone. When it was closed nothing could penetrate its walls, it was a fortress and those inside were invulnerable.

It was not known who built the pyramids, or why, they were hundreds, maybe even millions of years old, no one knew. They ringed Gorn near the equator, most of them were still intact, each had a different society. They kept to themselves mostly, unless there was war. Travelers who headed into the wastelands or the forests, always kept the beacon or a marker in sight. As one beacon began to sink below the horizon, the beacon on the next pyramid would appear. It was the only way safe way to travel, it was still dangerous but nothing compared to the Nomads and the unknown Outlands.

It is said they were built by an all-powerful race that vanished ages ago. Others said they were built during the First Gathering, as an outpost for the interplanetary Lightships. Most, simply put it down to the will of the Gods, it was not the destiny of mortals to know the minds of the all-powerful.

Whatever the reason, the cities were the only civilized place to trade, it was known to all who came to Gorn. A pyramid gave life, good or bad, it was the only place to go. Not being able to see a beacon meant, you were beyond the sight of the Gods.

High atop the pyramid city, Governor Darken Droganus, sat quietly in his private quarters. He looked down on the people far below, they looked like ants from the high vantage point and to him, they were ants. Ants to be crushed if need be, they were after all, just people, most only fit, to be slaves or worse, all were outcasts.

He was naked, his scaly body had many scars, he was not old by the standard of his species. He was still in his prime but many hard cycles as a slave and a soldier, had taken their toll. He had a metal plate, covering a wound in his skull and inside his arms and legs, several replacement parts. He had greenish skin with the type reptilian scale that marked him as a Sillastine. Cunning and strong, he was a ruthless Governor, feared by most of the city inhabitants.

Although he too had come here from another world, he never thought of himself as an outcast. Like all the others he was an unwanted but in his mind, he was a God and all Gods should think as he did.

Thinking to himself, the Governor scratched the ornate metal plate in his head. _I survived the Drop-ships and the life of a slave and solider_. _My skill in pitting one against the other brought me to power, don't all Gods do the same?_

He smiled softly to himself; _they play with worlds and those living on them, like toys. They could destroy, anything that displeased them, should I not, have the same right? Gods are only beings with great power and worshipers. I have that and more._

In his mind he was a God and he would act like one.

He sat back in his large cushioned chair, looking down, things were proceeding as planned, it was going to take time, months perhaps. Like all plans, it was the detail that made them work, his plan, would make him ruler of not only the Pyramids cities but all of Gorn. All he had to do was wait, time was on his side, it would serve him well.

He motioned to some slaves, standing silently in a corner of the room. They were well trained, knowing not to move or speak, unless told. When they saw their master point to a gold cup, they knew he wanted wine, which they quickly brought it to him. One held the cup while another one poured the beverage, they dared not spill a drop. When the cup was full, it was handed to the Governor. They returned to their station, ready to serve.

He took a sip of Elnoc wine, it was bitter with very, little bouquet, it was the best wine to be found on this world. He had wealth and power but he missed Off-World wines very much. As a wealthy young man, he used to drink the rare vintages of his home world. They were delicious, blended from the finest fruits in the galaxy. His father had been a General in the Trajion Wars, he prided himself on drinking the best vintages.

He remembered as a young man, how he would swill it down by the barrel, drinking deeply until he forgot everything that mattered to a young man.

He remembered how his father had died and his family had been sold into slavery. He was sent to Gorn, never to see his home world again. He had been a Prince, who gleefully devoured the finest food and beverages, now he was grateful for a brew, he would have spit out in disgust back then.

He smiled; _even Gods do not always have everything._

He looked at the large bed in the center of the room, on it, several young men and women of various age and species. They were all naked and sleeping soundly, it had been a long exciting night, they had consumed a great deal of Ice. Ice a powerful, addictive pleasure drug, addicts became Sin-Cravers. They forget everything, living only for physical pleasure, it is an exciting but short life. Ice quickly burns a person out, most end up as mindless creatures, wondering aimlessly in the power station's dark underworld, seeking warmth. Prolonged use of Ice lowers a person's body heat, until they are nothing but cold empty hulks, seeking out heat, wherever they can find it. It did not matter to the Governor, they were young pleasure toys, for him to play with. When he grew tired of them, there were plenty more.

He looked over the endless wastelands that lay beyond his reach. He knew, there were vast green lands, forests, jungles, towering mountains and deep oceans, he knew of the people and treasures that lay just beyond the horizon; _but how to get to it?_

That had been the maddening problem for him and every other Governor of the Talsonar. He had tried many times, to develop a system, whereby his army could penetrate the vast open Outlands, without getting lost. He had tried more than once, sending out soldiers and tracers, they never came back. Maybe the earth just swallowed them up, maybe it was the creatures, living deep within the endless open range. It was more likely, that the Outlanders killed them, how he hated those warrior tribes, if there was anything he wanted more than a good glass of wine, it was to destroy them all.

Who then would bring them the indispensable Grana? _Without the green salt even I would soon perish._

There was no substitute for the life giving mineral, they had tried many times to synthesize the Grana, using numerous minerals and other substances but it never worked. Everyone, who had tried the substitute soon died. They would keep trying but until they succeeded, they needed the salt. There was only one place where it could be mined, the far distant mountains of Koto-Car. The only ones able to travel there and come back alive, were the Nomads.

At least the Nomads needed weapons, it was this and only this, that kept them returning with the precious salt. It had started long ago, when Off-worlders first set foot on Gorn, they found the abandoned stone cities and made them their homes. No one knew who built them. The cities ringed the planet, built so the powerful beacon on the top of each one was visible until the next one could be seen. They were the only permanent structures on the planet's surface, the only place of safety during the Burning Time. Here weapons were developed that were not affected by the Electro Magnetic waves, which rendered all other technologies useless. By the standards of the galaxy, they were primitive but they were also deadly.

If only I knew the secret of traveling the Outlands, I could eliminate the Outlanders and take over all of Gorn.

The Governor lived for that day, it would come soon, he had all the power, this place offered but it was not enough. He would send his armies against all the pyramid cities, one by one they would fall. Soon all of Gorn would come under his rule, after all, the power of Gods do not have limits. They do what they want, nothing stands in their way, he was a God, so there was nothing he could not do.

He lay back in his chair and thought over his intricate plans, he had done this a thousand times, it always made him feel good. It was his Ice, his drug of choice, he smiled and took another sip of the bitter wine.

From the bed, Osenna sat up and looked around the room, she did not remember much of the night before. She did remember taking a large dose of Ice, the rush of pleasure and the heat that built up inside of her. Then a cool wind that seem to fill every fiber of her being and finally feeling a million hands on her body. She smiled, thinking back over the night, it was like dying and being reborn, again and again, each new life brought a newer greater sensation. She did not understand the ways of Gods, or what life was about. Her own pleasure was all that mattered and next time, she would taste the sweet promise of the beckoning Ice.

She was young and did not show any signs, of the devastation to come with her, addiction to Ice. Her eyes were still bright and her skin was flawless, she had the long dark hair of the Outlanders and carried herself with a regal bearing. She had been lucky, born to a slave but chosen at an early age, to be a consort to the Governor. She had the best of everything, she had a life, few on Gorn would ever believe. She was treated like a Queen, her every wish granted, the best of all possible worlds. While it lasted.

She looked over at her master, he was thinking again, that was fine with her. She liked to look at him, he was the most powerful person in the city, you could live or die at his whim. He was not the same species as she but the differences were minor, compared to other races on this world. He was strong and knew how to get things done, before anything could be done, it had to be approved him, his was the highest authority. Sometimes beat her or worse but it was a small price to pay.

_He is Governor and I am his consort,_ _without him where would I go? What would I do? A few beatings now and then, is better than being without him;_ she thought. Looking at him, she could not help a feeling of security, maybe even love? She smiled and felt warm inside but was it love, or just the remnants of last night's orgy?

She got up and walked over to Darken, sitting at his feet, she began to slowly stroke his thick leg, she knew he liked it. She looked up, hoping to see a smile on his face but he did not seem notice her. His eyes were closed as if sleeping, "Are you awake my lord," she asked. There was no reply, so she began to stroke higher up his legs, "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked in a low sultry voice.

The Governor slowly opened his eyes and looked down at her. Seeing her like this, always made him feel good, he liked his toys and loved to play with them. He reached down and gently touched her long dark hair.

"You were quiet indulgent last night, were you not? I don't think, I have ever seen you so greedy," he said with a slight grin; _greed, greed turns people into slaves and I must have slaves._

"I was in a greedy mood, I wanted to make you happy my love," she began to bite his leg playfully; _he likes it when I do this, he will be pleased with me._

He pulled her hair, forcing her to look up at him, "You gratify me, make sure it stays that way." The threat in his voice, she knew well, she had heard it many times, over the years, she knew it was a warning. A warning he only gave once!

"As you wish," there was a slight tremble in her voice; _what would I do, where would I go?_

Hearing her reply made Droganus feel good, he liked to know he was feared; _greed and fear, a good combination in a slave!_

He let her hair go and lay back in his chair.

"It is not easy being a God," he said, "I have to attend to many things, laws need enforcing, smaller Gods need to be taught, right from wrong." _M_ _any smaller Gods, Gods who must be crushed._ He looked at his young toy again, "You do not know what I am talking about do you?"

Osenna shook her head, she did not understand, most of what he ever said, it was not her place and she did not care anyway.

The Governor smiled softly, "That is good, toys do not move themselves, or understand the hand that moves them."

He was about to tell her to go to the bed, when there was a knock at the door. He motioned to one of the slaves to open it, in strode Tamar-Ran. He was dirty and in need of a drink, he bowed low to the Governor.

Darken kept him waiting longer than necessary; _another toy._ He spoke,"Ah my best warrior, what have you to report?"

_He keeps me waiting, he does not think I know why but I do;_ the lion-man straightened up and spoke, "All the cargo from the Drop-ships has been gathered and counted. We have five hundred and thirty one, still alive. Fifty-two wounded, the rest dead. Most of the shipment from Tolarus is intact but we lost two ships in the Outlands." _I_ _t is less than he expected but there was nothing I could do, I wish I had a tankard of cool Marsh-beer._ He waited for a reply.

The Governor looked at his General; _far less than I hoped but he already knows that, should I punish him? Maybe, a few days in the power stations? He is afraid, for now that is enough._

Darken looked at his General and waved his hand, "Very well, have the cargo conditioned and put to work. Make an exact count of the Tolarus' shipment, they were short last time. As for the wounded, kill them and have their bodies sent to food possessing."

The General bowed and started to leave, Darken called out to him.

"Tell Generals Yung and Leeander that I want to see them and yourself, in the council chamber later today, I want to go over the battle plans again." He lay back in his chair and began to stroke Osenna's hair.

"Yes sire," Tamar-Ran bowed and left the room.

Darken looked out at the horizon once more, it was going to be a warm day. He wondered if the Gods ever felt warm or cold? If not, why had they made fire and ice? If he had created the universe, there would not be a winter or summer or seasons. There would be no rains or fires, no burning suns in the skies, no daytime at all, there would only be one endless night, filled with pleasure and countless toys to fill his hands

#  Chapter 8. Rumblings

The Sandjar are a nomadic people, who sustain their lives by gathering food from wherever they find it, they have no qualms about eating carrion or humanoids and they will also eat their own kind if necessary. Aggressive and cruel, they do not appear to be capable of reaching any higher than a Level Two in civilized behavior, on the Cragian scale of intelligence, further study is warranted.

From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

It had been several days, since they left the sacred valley. Arn led them well, he knew the land and where to travel, avoiding poisonous zones and conflict with other Nomads. For a while, there had been an uneasy truce, with the other tribes. They had a counsel and all the great tribes had agreed to, terms that ended the conflict. It had taken the lives of so many good warriors but War was always in the Outlander's minds, they grew up with it. It was in their blood, the sound of battle was like music to their ears. They rushed to meet their enemies, like lovers to an embrace. To die a hero on the field of battle, was the best ending to a Nomad's life. Although it was quiet now, Arn knew, it was only a matter of time, until a tribe broke the peace, then the Outlands would become a battleground once more.

The days were soft and clear, Rock-runners sat quietly in the sunshine. Sun-droppers glided overhead lazily, on a soft wind, blowing from the North. The Almadra rode over their world and it was good, Arn, the King, looked over his domain, he felt at ease. He had come to terms with his father's death, now he was the leader. He did not know what lay ahead, for himself or his people, he would meet it head on. He would live his life as a King and when his time came, he prayed, his ending would be as glorious as his father's.

He looked back over his shoulder, to see the many wagons, supplies carts of his people, they had been on the move for days, now it was time to rest. He knew by smell or taste or instinct that there was an oasis, over the next rise. They would make camp there, then they would feast and drink and tell the tribe's old stories. He looked up at the sky and knew, it was going to be a warm soft night.

Beside him as always, was Agart, he seemed to be riding taller in his saddle, his way of showing respect, to the new King. He had helped greatly over the past few days, giving advice and taking care of the little things, a King was to busy to do himself. Arn knew that without his help, Kingship would be a lot harder.

"A King is thankful," he said, Agart heard him and looked over at his brother.

"A King does what, he has to do, he does not ask for praise or the bending of a knee." _Arn is King but he needs the Gods help, I will help him too._ He looked straight ahead.

"Yes but a King is only as strong as his people."

"Your people will follow you anywhere my lord. You are King but the Gods will guide you." _And I will follow my King._

Arn gave a little chuckle, "You do not need to call me lord, I am still just your brother, even if I wear a crown."

Agart gave a small smile, "I think that crown, may still, be a little too large for you but I am sure, you will grow into it." _I will help you, I will help._

Arn thought of his dead father. _F_ _orgive me father, I killed you but it is our way, forgive me, "_ I never knew how heavy the crown could be. I remember there was a time, when I hated my father, for not being there for us. There was always some matter with the tribe, or a Holy ritual, he had to attend. I can see now, it was Kingship that kept him away from us."

Agart looked up at the sky, "Yes, a crown can be heavy but the Gods will give you the strength to carry it." _T_ _he Gods will guide you and I will follow._

"Do you really do believe in the Gods?" His brother asked.

"Of course I do, without them, we would be nothing more than, wanderers in the dessert." _My bother has doubts about the Gods, I will help him understand._

The King gave him with a puzzled look, "We are wanderers."

"You are wrong my young King, we know where we go."

"Where is that?" Asked Arn.

"Where you lead us," Agart smiled at his brother, "if you don't get lost!" _We_ _can never be lost, Isarie watches over us._

This made both of them laugh, it was not a laugh between a King and his subject but between two brothers who loved each other.

Unknown to them or anyone else, the world of Gorn was changing, for millennia, it had moved through the galaxy, just another planet, on its endless journey, through endless space. Its moons spun uncaring around it, like pearls on a necklace of the Sea People. To the creatures living upon it, all seemed well. For all things, large and the small, there is a time and a purpose. Everything is tied together, space and time, the sea and land, the Nomads and Gorn. Only Isarie and the Gods knew of the plan but in the days ahead, the knowledge of the Gods, would become known to all.

The Almadra stopped at a small oasis, to rest and refill the water wagons. The clear pool of life giving liquid, was surrounded by several Rimar and Thundra beasts. The Nomad's arrival, had scattered the creatures, they knew the Nomads would kill them, then feast on their flesh. It was better to go thirsty then to face certain death.

The Whiptails were meat eaters and their favorite food was Rimar. Dried meat usually satisfied them and was still plentiful but their mounts were happier when fed with a fresh kill. Some, of the hunters, cornered several beasts and killed them, they carried them back to the tribe, fresh meat for the reptiles and themselves.

They made camp as they always did. The tents of the Elders and the Frail-legs in the center, around them the High Priestess and Thungodra, then the rest of the tribe. The warriors were on the outermost ring, the first to face danger, willing to die protecting their kin.

The suns were going down and the Washa fires, were starting to burn brightly. The smell of roasting Rimar meat, filled the air, along with that of fresh baked Kasha bread. It was going to be a peaceful night. Or so they thought.

Seeda was worried about her mother, she had watched her over the past few days, it seemed that she might not come back to them. The old Queen sat and cried, she looked out over the Outlands, as if expecting to see her husband return. The young woman wondered if she was becoming one of the Wailing Women, never to laugh or join in with the tribe again. She was still relatively young, so she was not turning into a Frail-leg or Star Singer. She still watched things and knew when someone were there. It seemed to Seeda, she would never overcome, the pain of her loss.

Seeda sat near the light of the Washa, she put some fresh Rimar meat into a bowl. She had cooked it, the way her mother liked it, not done too much and covered with some fish sauce. She handed it to the Queen, the old woman did not take it, she just stared into the fading horizon. After a short time, Seeda put the bowl on the ornate rug covering the sandy ground.

The Queen's handmaidens, all older women, sat next to her, as did a Touch Tender, a healer of the tribe. She knew all the herbs and potions that healed the body and the prayers to heal the soul. They cared for Egmar, making sure she had everything she needed. They had gone through the same days and nights as their beloved Queen. They knew how it felt, to sleep alone, never to see their lover again. They knew there would come a time when their Queen would return to them. They would wait, they would be there when she left the lands of sorrow, to return to the land of light.

Seeda looked at her mother again, unlike the older women, she was impatient, she wanted things like they used to be. She wanted to hear her mother laugh and sing again, she wanted to hear her soft voice and feel the warmth of her arms about her. It would have to wait, now was not the time, she looked at the bowl again.

"Did I cook the meat too long? I made sure the sauce was fresh," she waited for her mother to answer.

She did not but she half smiled at her daughter, then turned her head away. It was hard for Seeda.

"I never told you before but I am glad you taught me how to cook, how you put up with me, I'll never know." She started to laugh, "Remember the time I put too much Ulon spice in the Hagar soup, I thought you would never stop laughing."

When she spoke about her mother, it felt like a knife was in her stomach. Looking at the once proud and strong Queen, she could not help but think, she would never see that women again. She was about to speak but instead, she got up slowly and walked from the fire's light.

The Whiptails had been attended to, their fill of meat eaten, now they stood nearby, dozing quietly. The Thundra beasts were also quiet, they were herded together, away from the meat eaters. Although they were raised from newborn and were used to being close to the war animals, they were still very uneasy about being near to them. They knew, it would not take much for them, to forget their training and feast on their flesh.

Not far away, Arn sat with Agart, they had eaten and were drinking deeply of well-aged Po and telling each other embarrassing stories from their youth.

Anais as always, was nowhere to be seen, he did not sit with his bothers anymore. He preferred to pitch his tent, as far away from them as possible. Although they would have loved to have their brother's company, it did not dampen their spirits, or the amount of sour wine they consumed.

Agart had just finished telling the same funny story, he had told a million times before, to the bothers, it was just as amusing, as the first time.

"And when I turned, I saw it was not a giant Rimar, only a Burrow-baby holding my foot!" They both burst out in laughter.

"Yes but you still had a tough time killing it, if it had not been for me, you would have ended up in its mating den," Arn commented.

"Perhaps but I've mated with worse and if I remember rightly, it was a rather handsome Burrow-baby," he replied.

This made the King, spit out his brew and begin to cough, Agart had to hit him hard on the back, to stop him choking. Then they both laughed even harder, after a brief time, they calmed down some and sat back on the ground-rug by their fire. Arn looked over at his bother and smiled.

"Those were good times, ages ago, the way you tell a story, always makes it seem like yesterday. You could always make me laugh and father, always said you were the best..." His voice trailed off, as he remembered the events of the last few days, he stopped smiling and looked into his drinking mug.

Father forgive me!

Agart knew what his older brother was going through, he felt the same but it was different, when you were responsible, for your father's death. Nothing could have changed the days past but he still felt sorry for Arn. He took a sip from his mug and looked at his brother, "There was nothing you could have done, it was the will of the Gods, no one can stand before them," he said.

Arn looked at Agart, then at the night sky, he could see the small moon called Eka, "Does Eka do what the Gods say, or is her path her own?" He asked.

Agart looked up at the small moon overhead, "Eka is a small moon but she has brothers and sisters, Eubano, Ashsana, Lowmic, Italus, Rowgal and Fromic, they are all set on a course chosen by the Gods. They cannot change what is to come but they have brothers and sisters traveling with them, they are not alone."

Arn knew his brother believed in the Gods with all his heart, he was a wise man and a good friend. Like the moons of his world, he would have someone to travel with him, together they would be strong. He lifted his drinking mug and saluted his brother, he was about to speak, when he spotted his sister coming towards them, he motioned to Agart.

"I think we are going to have company," he said.

Seeda came into the firelight and stood warming herself for a moment, she was talking to herself. The brothers knew that when she did this, it was better to leave her alone for a time. They knew she would talk to them soon enough and waited patiently. They did not have to wait long.

She suddenly stopped muttering and looked at Arn. "Well, are you just going to sit there, or are you going to offer me a drink?" she said impatiently, "You may be King now but I can remember when you were just a little sand runner."

Arn went to get her a mug of wine, Agart put a hand on his arm to stop him, "I will get the Po, you are King now, it is not your place to take orders." He gave his sister a hard look, "You would be wise to remember that," he got up and went for more wine.

Seeda sat by her brother, they both looked into the Washa fire, "I am sorry," she said softly, "you are King now and it was wrong of me to talk to you in such a way. Forgive me."

Arn looked at her without smiling, "As King I should have you punished, perhaps a day or two, staked out over a Rock-worm nest." There was a long pause as he tried not to smile but then it got the better of him and he laughed out loud, "You were correct in saying that I was a little sand runner."

"Yes you were," she laughed, "you turned into a great man and a strong King though but to me you will always be that little sand runner."

She looked up into the night sky, Arn could see, she was thinking of their mother. He knew that time would heal her wounds but it was difficult for his sister to accept. He decided not to bring up the subject and to think of a happier things to talk about.

"Almec was looking for you earlier, I think he has something for you," he said, then waited for his sister to smile.

Seeda continued to stare into the night sky, Arn spoke again, "Arie was looking for Almec, do you know where his tent is pitched?" He knew this would get a fast reaction from her.

"What? Arie? When did she ask? What did you say?" Hearing that her rival was on the prowl, was just the thing to bring his sister out of her sadness. She jumped to her feet and looked around, "Do not worry about the drink, I have something to do."

She quickly left the fire light and began looking for her love's tent.

She was just vanishing from sight, when Agart returned with a full flagon of Po. He looked around for a moment then saw his sister leaving, "What did you say to Seeda, she looks like she is going hunting?" he asked.

Arn smiled and held up his mug so it could be filled with more wine, "Oh that, well let us just say, I am getting better at being a King," he replied.

Agart did not understand what his brother was talking about, so he smiled and filled his mug to the brim. He sat down near the fire again, "Did I ever tell you about the time I killed two Rimar with one blow?"

Arn had heard this tall tale many times but he was in the mood for laughter, he smiled at his bother and shook his head.

"Well then, it all started when I was out on a hunt..."

The King took a deep draft of his Po and settled back for another good story.

At the other side of the Almadra camp, was Anais' tent, it was easy to spot, it was the only one without a Washa fire or laughter. The youngest brother, just sat inside his shelter drinking alone. He had been uneasy for the last few days, every time he looked at his eldest brother, he saw only the Kingship that ought to be his.

Drinking heavily from his mug, he could not help but hear, the words, Obec had spoken ... _The Gods are not content, Arn is not a leader of the Almadra._ He kept running them over and over in his mind. _The old woman, would not have spoken such words to me, if they did not mean anything_ _but if the Gods didn't want Arn to be King, why did they make him one?_

He never really believed in the Gods anyway, to him they were just fantasies for the weak-minded. Ghost stories to frighten little children and tales to be told around the fire pits; _b_ _ut what if they did exist, what if he was wrong? If the Gods did truly exist, maybe the old Priestess' message was a prophecy._ He shook his head; _the Gods do not exist, you're acting like a fool!_

It would take more to convince him but it was the beginning of a plan, he would talk to the High Priestess again. He would flatter her and ask her to speak of the Gods plans. He knew, like all people young or old, weak or strong, there must be something she wanted. Maybe together they could fulfill a prophecy, one he would love to come true. The death of his brothers and the King's crown for himself.

He smiled and took a very long draft of his well-aged Po, he settled back on his bed and dreamed. He always had the same dream, his brothers and sister were dead, the Almadra were bowing to him and he was laughing, the deep powerful laugh of a King.

Some distance from the Nomad's camp, moving quietly over the sands were the Sandjar wagons. They had been heading to the oasis and could smell the fresh water, not far ahead. They were eager to rest and sort out the valuable goods, they had scavenged from the Drop-ship.

Og was happy, his second wife had come through the birthing, without complications. His young son was strong and quite good looking, by Sandjar standards. He had a nice greenish color and large bright eyes, to help him see in the dark. He was glad, he hadn't killed the Off-World humans. The young woman was a very good wet nurse, her strong young blood, was just the thing to help his little son grow. Someday he would lead the tribe, have many mates and bear many strong children. He looked at his little son and smiled.

Andra was in hell, over the past few days, she was forced, to be the host, to the horrible little creature, now attached to her back. It had been sucking endlessly, of her rich blood and she was near the edge of insanity. All she could think about, was getting the horrible leech baby, off of her and smashing in, its head. She was too weak do so and it would mean certain death, for her and Osh, if she did.

Osh had witnessed the torture, his companion had undergone for the last few days. He did what he could, to ease her misery, he talked to her, when no one was listening and gave her encouragement. She in turn, shared her food with him and even gave him, a few granules of the strange green salt. _Surely this was Grana? So important to this world._ He had read about the mysterious substance but never seen it. It was something of a miracle drug, on other Outer Rim planets, it had great medicinal qualities. Some regarded it as a gift from the Gods. He was sure, Andra would not have survived the blood loss, caused by the life-sucking creature on her back but for the salt.

The Sandjar wagons moved slowly, they reached a crest, where they could look down at the oasis. Og knew, their plans would have to change, his large eyes could see the Nomad's tents, even in the dim light. There was no way a Sandjar caravan, could face even a few Nomads, let alone a full regiment, it would be suicide. Og was thankful, he always approached a watering place from downwind. They would not be detected by the smell of rotting flesh, now they would have to keep traveling. The next oasis was several days or more away but with luck they would be able to make it. They could stop the wagons now, to take a short rest before starting anew.

He signaled for the wagons to stop, the Sandjar started checking their supplies, to make sure everything was secure, for the journey ahead.

When Andra felt the wagon stop, she opened her eyes, she hoped it was a bad dream. The Drop-ship, Sandjar and the maggot thing, clawing into her back. It was no dream! She could feel the tiny teeth, digging into her flesh and the intense pain it caused. She had endured torture as a prisoner of war, she hadn't cried out then but this was different. The slow endless sucking of her blood and the smell of the little monster's body waste, dripping down her back. It was driving her crazy, she had to do something soon, otherwise she would lose her mind.

She looked at Osh, who was watching her, his look told her, he was feeling her pain. She looked around to see if anyone was nearby, they were busy with other matters. She decided to talk to her companion, "I'm going to try to escape, are you coming?"

The old man quickly looked around; _suicide, it would be suicide! "_ You will be killed by the Sandjar or the Outlands, for sure, do not do it."

"I can't take this any longer, better to die now, than live another day like this. I'm going," she said with determination.

From the look in her eyes, Osh could see it was useless to argue. It was her life, her decision, he had to decide if he wanted to stay behind, or go with her. There was a lot to consider, he started to calculate the odds. _What would be their chances in the wasteland, what about food, or water, or the creatures that must surely be there?_

After a few moments, he stopped, this was really not the place for mathematics, it was a matter of instinct. If she left or died, he would be alone, either way, he did not want to end his life like that. As for dying, he had resigned himself to that in the Drop-ship, yet he survived. He was also sure, they would die, when the Sandjar captured them but they lived still. By all his calculations, they should have been dead days ago. Maybe all his figures meant nothing, maybe it was just the will of the Gods, or plain old luck.

He decided not, to stay, they would live or die, together, "What is your plan?" he asked.

Andra didn't have a plan, she just wanted to a run but the question made her think. She decided it would be better, to take some time to figure out, what they intended to do.

Seeda had looked everywhere for Almec, she was still angry that Arie, would get to him first, to start spinning her love-web, like a crystal spider. It was well known, that her rival, was quite taken with the young warrior, she had tried several times, to take him.

_She is a good dancer_ _and quite attractive but her hips are a bit wide. Her hair wasn't very shiny but she does know how to cook well and the warriors say, she would make a good mate and bear strong children_. The more she thought about it, the more she grumbled under her breath and the angrier she became, by the time she found Almec's tent, she was in no mood for talking.

Almec was sitting quietly next to his Washa, enjoying at bit of roast Rimar and the company of a good warrior friend. A rather stout fellow named, Kuno, his face was pleasant with a beard and bright eyes. He was a very good warrior and hunter, from the girth of his belly anyone could tell, he loved to eat. They had brought down the first Rimar today, now they were trying to decide who was the better hunter. Kuno gulped down a piece of roasted meat, followed by a large amount of well-aged Po.

"Yes but if I had not forced the beast in your direction, you would never have made the kill," he said to Almec, with some meat, still in his mouth. This caused him to choke and the young warrior, had to hit him on the back.

"Go easy my hungry friend, its looks like that Rimar, still has a bit of fight in him," Almec said laughing.

His friend spat out the meat and caught his breath, "Yes, I think you're right, maybe we had better kill it all over again," he laughed.

Almec chuckled, then his face turned serious, he stared into the murky depths of his drinking horn, "Tell me my friend, do females weaken your arm?"

Kuno understood what his friend was asking, like everyone in the tribe, he knew Almec was in love with Seeda but who wouldn't be? She was a real beauty and many warriors had tried to get her into their tent but none succeeded. He also knew, what a woman could do to a strong warrior, "Yes," he said, taking another long gulp of his sour drink, "The Goddess Isarie, saw that men were powerful and someday they might challenge the Gods. So she made women, to cloud their minds and warm their hearts." He took another long drink, "As for me, I would rather take a sharp ax, than a sharp toothed women."

Almec knew his friend was trying to make him feel better but he was not thinking of women generally, he was thinking of just one. Kuno poured more Po into his drinking horn and smiled, "Isarie may have made women but men made Po, our gift to us."

Almec nodded his head in approval, "I see you are a great philosopher, as well as a mighty warrior."

His large friend, nodded his head then lifted his horn to Almec, "I will drink to that."

He was about to speak, when Seeda came into the light of the Washa fire. She took one look at her future mate and glared at him, "Where is she?" She said angrily.

Almec looked around in wonderment "where is who?" He asked.

Seeda began to pace up and down, next to the fire. She took out one of the gold daggers at her belt, a sign, she was very upset! Warriors never unsheathe, one of their dragon's teeth, unless they are going to use it. When Kuno saw, she was not in the mood for talking, he got up slowly and wisely moved away, "I think I hear someone calling my name, eat well my friend and do not let your arm be weakened."

Almec watched his friend go, it was better he did, he preferred to be alone with the angry woman. He watched her moving back and forth, like a she-cat on the prowl, he took a few sips of his drink. After a while, when Seeda stopped muttering to herself, he said, "Thirsty?" He held a tankard of sparkling Po towards her.

Seeda stopped pacing about and moved closer to the fire and Almec, she looked at him, then the inviting tankard of wine. She was still very angry with him but she was also very thirsty. In the end her thirst won out, she put the dagger back into her belt, then sat down, next to her future mate and accepted the peace offering.

She took a deep gulp of the sour wine and sat looking into the fire, her anger was subsiding, she relaxed. She did not say anything for a minute or two, then turned to Almec, "Do you really think Arie is a good dancer?" she asked.

The young warrior did not understand why she should ask, for a long time, he had tried to understand, how a woman's mind worked. Maybe it was only for the Gods to know and not him. They were strong and brave and made good warriors, they could withstand the hardships of the Outlands, as well or better, than any male. They were The Chosen of the Gods and keepers of the Holy Writings and Rituals.

He decided to leave it the Gods, he would try, to deal with Seeda, "She knows, the sound of the Mating Drums, well enough," he replied.

This made Seeda smile, it was, well known that Arie had a reputation, for being rather easy to get into a warrior's tent. She was always the first, to start mating dances, when that time of the cycle came. She felt rather silly, about being so jealous, when it came to Almec. He was smarter and knew better, than to jeopardize their relationship, with a night of pleasure with her rival. She decided to drop the whole thing and enjoy the fire and the wine.

"She does have, rather wide hips," she added, they both laughed and clinked their tankards in agreement.

Suddenly, they froze like statues, something was not right, they were not sure what but their Outlander's instinct had been awakened. The rest of the Almadra felt it too, the young and the old, something was coming, something big!

Sitting quietly around the fires, the Frail-legs looked up at the night sky, for days and nights, they had not spoken or sang songs to the stars. The Touch-tenders knew, something was different with them but no one knew what. The Frail-legs seemed to move as one, smiling, they slowly lifted their withered arms, then they whispered words no one understood.

"The Gods will arise," is all they said.

The ground started to shake, at first, a slow rumbling, then it started to grow stronger. The Whiptails woke and began pulling frantically at their ties. The Thundra beasts made grunting sounds and move together, as if they were being attacked. Small Rock-runners darted for safety.

Arn and Agart, dropped their wine and stood, the King shouted one word, "Land-quake!"

The earth began to move, like it had been struck by a Gods hammer. Tents collapsed and Washas fell to the ground, sending sparks and fire everywhere, warriors grabbed their weapons and the children cried out.

Arn shouted orders at his people, "warriors to arms, gather the old together, protect the young!"

As the ground continued to shake, the Nomads obeyed.

The Sandjar were in a panic, Og tried to keep order but it was useless. The green creatures ran about screaming, giving conflicting orders to family members, who were not listening. The women cried out and the Elders, hid their heads in their hands.

This was the chance Andra had been waiting for, plan or no plan, there would not be a better time to escape. With the tribe in a panic, they could run for it. The little blood sucker, clawing into her back, started to scream in a high pitched voice. Andra turned to the old man, "It's now or never," she cried.

Osh looked at the panic, around them, he decided, the odds were on their side, he nodded his large head.

Their hands were still tied but their feet were free, with a sudden bust of strength, they both got up and ran for their lives.

Og had been busy trying to restore order, the Land-quake was still moving the ground. He would have to wait until it stopped, to become the leader again. He glanced towards his young son, just in time to see, the Off-World woman and the old man, running over the sand. With a loud cry, he picked up a bone club and ran after them.

With the ground still moving under their feet, Andra and Osh, raced away from the Sandjar, as fast as they could. The green baby, seemed to sense he was being taken from his family, he dug his sharp claws in, clinging on with all his might, he started to bite with his razor teeth.

Andra felt the pain in her back but it did not stop her try for freedom, her adrenaline was pumping and nothing, was going to stop her being free. She looked back, she saw Osh not far behind, she also saw the Sandjar father, heading right for them.

Og could see his baby and Andra ahead. He was small but his large flat feet, made running over the soft sand, much easier, than it was for the humans. He would soon catch her and when he did, he would kill her. She had outlived her usefulness anyway, she would make a fine meal for the tribe. Uttering wild cries, he started to gain on his prey.

The Land-quake was subsiding, the Whiptails were calming down and the Thundra beasts, ceased bellowing. The warriors had protected the young and old, now things were returning to normal.

Seeda and Almec, had done what they could to restore order. Seeda had helped several tribe members, escape the fires and saved one young girl, from being trampled by an out of control Whiptail. Almec at her side, had pushed her out-of-the-way, when a Tundra beast, came out of the dark in a rage. They stood beside Egmar and her Handmaidens, the Queen was unhurt. The camp started to quieten down, they looked at each other and smiled, they had done well.

Anais, had stayed hidden in his tent, the whole time, he feared for his life and only his life. As others, were praying to Isarie for deliverance of the tribe, he was shaking with fear, begging the Gods to save only him.

Arn had acted like a King, cool, and calm, he had been a rock to his people. The warriors stayed at their posts, waiting for further commands. The ground no longer shook and the night seemed quiet once more. Agart was at his brother's side throughout the shaking, ready to defend his people or do as his King ordered. When he realized it was over, he turned to his brother and smiled.

Calmly he asked,"The ground had an itch, now what were we talking about?"

Arn was about to comment, when he heard someone crying out, in the moonlight, he saw a young woman and an old man, heading straight towards him.

Andra had seen the light of the fires, she decided, anything was preferable to being held captive by the Sandjar. With hands tied, she ran as best she could, yelling as she approached the oasis.

Not far behind, Og was gaining fast, he could see the Nomad's fires too and knew, he must reach his son soon. The Sandjar and the Nomads, were old enemies, the Almadra looked upon the little green people, as parasites, scavengers, to be killed if they got in your way. The Sandjar hated the Nomads, because of their strength and for not leaving any scraps, for them. Og ran with renewed strength.

Andra was about to give up, she gasped for breath and her heart was pounding like an Iron workers hammer. The little monster on her back, had stopped crying but still held on to her flesh, with all his might. She could feel his rasping tongue, digging into her muscles, making the blood flow down her back. As she came over a rise, her legs gave out, she fell to the ground.

Osh made it to her side, he tried to lift her up but she was too weak. He considered leaving her there and making his escape. He carefully inspected her half-closed eyes and knew he could not abandon her, they had come a long way together and would end together.

"It's alright, I am here," he said quietly, then he waited.

He heard movement nearby and expected death but when he looked up, he didn't see a green Sandjar but a tall young man.

Arn took one look at the young woman and the green thing on her back. Balling his large fist, he struck, a hard blow to the baby's head, it went flying from her back, hitting the sand hard, it lay still. Andra was free of the creature, she wanted to say something but she passed out before words came.

A moment later, they were surrounded by a group of well-armed Nomads. The warriors seeing their King, charge into the night unarmed, had immediately followed him. They circled him, glaring out into the darkness, holding their war-axes, ready to defend him against anything.

Osh was not sure, what was going to happen but he felt, these men were not going to kill them. He stood up and held out his hand, "I am Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion but you can call me Osh," he said with a slight air of pride.

Arn looked at him for a moment, then held out his hand, "I am Arn, King of the Almadra," he said proudly. He looked at the unconscious woman and the deep wounds on her back, "Sandjar?"

"Yes," the old man replied.

"This female is your mate?" The King asked.

The old man smiled and shook his large head, "No, she is a friend."

Arn reached down and picked Andra up, she half opened her eyes, to look into the face of her savior, she had enough strength to utter one word, "Thanks," then she closed her eyes.

Arn signaled to his warriors, return to camp, they went back to the oasis, with their King.

From a distance, unseen by the Nomads, Og watched them leave. He had seen the blow to his baby's head and saw him lying in the sand nearby. Although by the galaxy's standards, the Sandjar were a primitive species, they were not without feelings. As he looked at the lifeless body of his young son, he felt great sorrow. As a father, he loved his child, he would wait until they were gone, then retrieve the body and bury it a properly.

It was not to be, as the Nomads moved off, Osh was stopped by the wail of a small child. He went over, to where the little Sandjar lay, he looked down at the small green infant. There was a cut on his head, where Arn had struck him but he was still alive.

Questions ran through the old man's mind. _Do I leave him or take him? Yes, he is a savage little monster to be sure but he is still just a baby...can I leave him to die._ He looked around in the dim moonlight, to see if Og was nearby, he saw nothing; _m_ _aybe he is there, maybe not, if I leave him, he would surely die._

He could not bring himself, to walk away, he still had some mercy in him, he decided to pick up the baby and take him along.

From a sand dune, Og watched his son being taken away, he wanted to run after him but to face a company of Nomads, would mean death, to him and his baby. He crouched behind the sand dune, continuing to watch, until the Nomads and his son, were gone. Slowly he walked back to his people, he vowed someday, somehow he would have his revenge.

#  Chapter 9. Shadows and Light

All the lands of Gorn are yours to rule.

Travel them well and give thanks to the Gods.

But the stone cities are the cities of the dead.

Do not live in their shadows.

From the Book of Isarie.

The pyramid city of the Talsonar, was unaffected by the Land-quake, its sheer size, Itarian steel and stone construction, made it impervious to the violent rumblings of the previous night. The inhabitants, were still very frightened and spent an uneasy night, waiting for the next shaking of their city. It did not come, the quake's epicenter originated deep in the Outlands, there were no pyramids there. So with the sunrise, the Talsonar emerged, inspecting the damage, then got back to their lives again.

The smaller stone and mud dwellings around the city, did not fare so well, many of them were damaged or destroyed but they could be rebuilt quickly and in a few days, it would look like nothing had happened.

As for the Overlords and the High-breeders, their lives were unaffected, they knew their home had stood for thousands of cycles, it would stand for thousands more. If a few people in the lower levels died, it did not matter, things would go on as before. The power station under the city was still running and the food and wine was ready for their morning meal, everything was as it should be.

In the large counsel room, Governor Darken sat at the long conference table. He looked over the intricate maps and papers, before him. The Land-quake did not alter his plans and his thoughts were focused on the matter before him. He had just finished, listening to a rather long winded speech, by a lower level bureaucrat. It was about the damage and casualties, caused by the quake, he was getting very bored, he raised his hand suddenly, the talking stopped abruptly.

"Yes, yes, that is all very well but I do not think, a few cracked walls or broken bones, should be a matter for this counsel. Please, take care of it yourself, when you're done bring me a detailed report," he grumbled.

The man bowed low, "Very well my lord."

Without saying another word, Darken watched the man bow once more, then leave the room quickly.

Darken turned to his two best Generals, Yung and Leeander, both were very capable and had worked their way up through the ranks. Leeander was the smarter of the two but not as ambitious, he would be a soldier all his life. On the other hand, Yung had the look of a man who wanted more, this could be dangerous, a man who wants more, is always probing for weaknesses, to use to his advantage. Darken knew, Yung would scheme and manipulate those around him, for his own personal ends. In the future, he would have to keep, a very keen eye on Yung. The Governor pointed to a map on the table, "Now tell me, what has been done, about setting markers in the western regions?"

General Yung checked the map, "I sent three companies of men, they reported the markers have disappeared. This may be natural forces or sabotage, we cannot be certain what caused it _." Any fool knows it was the Outlanders but let him think me a fool, someday I will have power._

The Governor knew perfectly well what had happened, "Nomads you mean, every time we try to mark an area, they destroy it, if we leave men on guard, they disappear." _Yung is playing the fool again, he does it very well, watch him._

Leeander knew the Governor was right, they simply did not have enough men, to guard the markers and the city. It was a useless plan anyway, over the centuries other Governors had tried the very same plan, they all failed. He did not want to bring that, to the attention of Darken. He tried to reassure his superior, "Perhaps we could try again, fortify the markers more heavily," he said. _If we had enough men and materials we might still have the markers._

"Fortify them?" Darken asked, "More steel, more materials, more men. No, it is useless to keep trying the same thing, we need to find another way." _A_ _lways the military mind, more is always right but not this time._

Yung knew what he was driving at, "Nomads? We have tried, we offer them anything but they always refuse to give us any information, the ones we capture and torture, die long before telling us anything." _The nomads are strong, we need more men._

General Leeander could not help but to comment, "Even if they agree, they die within one cycle."

That was also true, away from the Outlands and their people, they began to decay. After one cycle of the planet, their bodies aged, soon they were nothing more than useless burned out hulks. No amount of Grana, or any of the healers drugs or herbs, could stop it.

The Governor turned away from the table, he signaled to a waiting slave, to bring him some wine. "You are right, it must be something in their genetics that lets them roam freely, something inside them, something we do not have." _T_ _he nomads have a power, a power I want!_

The Generals knew the stories about the Nomads, that they were endowed by the Gods, with a directional sense, a natural power not possessed by outsiders. They dissected several of them but found nothing. Only unusually strong bodies and nothing else, they even tried to breed female Nomads with Talsonar but they only got mutants, neither strong nor intelligent and they soon died. Whatever it was, it could not be duplicated.

Darken thought on this for a moment or two, "Is the breeding of the Yangmar, proceeding as planned?" he asked Yung

General Yung nodded, "Yes, Governor, their genetics seem to be adapting well, their offspring are developing, strong and healthy. I will make sure, we have a full company of fast runners." "What about the Trofars?" Darken asked.

"They are weak minded but strong, they will pull, whatever you put behind them." The General looked at the Governor, "With the mobile weapons, they will make an army, the likes of which no one has seen." _An_ _army I will lead, an army that will make me powerful._

Darken smiled, "Very good, continue as planned, make sure the Yangmar are trained sufficiently, I do not what them running in fear, like their kind normally do, I want as many legions as you can raise."

Yung shook his head, "No matter how well they are trained, they will never be match for the Outlanders, it would take ten Yangmar to bring down one Nomad."

Darken looked at him, smiling; _h_ _e questions my authority, I must watch him. "_ Then make sure we have twenty Yangmar for every Nomad warrior."

Yung tried to reassure Darken, he would be ready when the time came but inside he knew better. _Twenty to one, a hundred, a thousand and where will we find them. How can a blind army, find a sighted enemy?_ He managed a small smile, "I estimate their warriors to be no more than one hundred thousand, based on their combined strength, if they ever join forces against us."

Darken hid a small chuckle, "Do not worry, they won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

Darken could see that Yung was trying to gain information. He knew better than to disclose his plan; _h_ _e needs watching. "_ Just make sure our army is ready, when the time comes, the Nomads will not join together, that is all you need to know."

Leeander did not want to be upstaged by his rival and he stepped forward. "My legions are well trained and ready to fight now, give the order and we will march," he said proudly; _I will lead them, I will have power!_

Darken smiled at him and took a drink of his wine, "Yes I know but an army without a leader is weak and a leader without a plan is weaker. You will follow my orders, wait until the Yangmar are fully developed, with them and your men, our army will be invincible, we will sweep thorough the Outlands, like a fire storm."

"An army lost in the Outlands will conquer nothing," Yung suddenly blurted out, he felt a chill run up his spine, having contradicted the Governor. _F_ _ool! Your time will come!_

Darken only smiled at him, "I do not intend to let those arrogant lizard riders, make a fool out of me, I have waited too long and sacrificed too much."

He suddenly threw his drinking cup at the table, hitting it hard, sprays of red wine went all over the map laying there. The stain soaked into the drawing, turning all the lands crimson.

The two Generals did not move or say anything, they could see, Darken's mood had turned foul. They waited, hoping his rage, would not be directed at them. They had seen many of their peers, executed for displeasing the Governor. They stood like statues, to everyone's relief, his anger vanished as quickly as it came. He walked over to the table and stared at the map.

"Red, red like blood," he smiled, "it is such a lovely color is it not? I believe it's the God's favorite color." He looked at his two Generals, "Train your men, gather the supplies and stock the weapons, the Gods and I, share a love for red."

The Gods? I am a God! He slowly turned and left the room.

Darken walked down the marble hallway, he entertained himself, by looking at the many, stone busts, lining the walls, dozens of them, all of past Governors. Some had died of natural causes, some had been killed, either in wars, or by an assassin's hand. Being eliminated, by an ambitious senator or overlord, was rather common. He himself had foiled many plots against his life and killed two assassins, in his very own bed. It was part of being a God and deep down, he rather enjoyed it. If one day of life, was exactly the same as the next, how dull it would be, becoming a God.

Walking to his quarters, he suddenly felt uneasy, there was someone near, perhaps he would have to fight for his life once more. He stopped and reached for the golden dagger, he always carried, then he waited.

Out of the darkness of a column, a figure appeared, he was tall and wrapped in a dark cloak, it covered him from head to foot. You could only see a portion of his face, it was scarred and decayed, the rest of his body almost certainly, looked the same. The dark robed man moved closer, he spoke one word.

"Darken."

The Governor suddenly felt afraid, a feeling he rarely experienced. Then he realized who it was."You!" he said, "I was not expecting you," the Governor took his hand off the hilt of his dagger; _show no fear, you are a God, a God!_

"Yes I know," replied the Darkman, "I do not like to announce, my coming and going."

Darken looked up and down the hallway, it was empty. How he got past the guards and all the way, up to this level was a mystery. He motioned the dark figure, to a corner near a large bust, then he spoke in a low voice.

"My armies are growing, they will be ready soon," he whispered.

"How soon?" The shadow man asked.

"After the Burning Time, if all goes well," he replied; _s_ _how no fear!_

The Burning Time was still far off, then the rains would come, it was a long time but the Darkman knew, it was as fast as things could be done. "Very well, work fast but make sure, your soldiers are well trained and strong, the Nomads do not die easily."

"Just make sure the Outlanders, remain enemies to each other, an army fighting amongst itself, is not an army." The Governor moved closer to the robed man, he could smell, the faint odor of rotting flesh. He held back his urge to turn away; _show no fear! "_ Are you sure, you can control the Nomads?"

"They are not as strong as they think, a Whiptail, is controlled by a bit in its mouth. The Nomads, are controlled by the reins of their laws, pull on those laws and they will go where I point them, it only takes a strong hand."

The Governor could see, this was no weak minded fool, like all the others, "My army will be ready, make sure your guides will also be ready."

The Darkman made a soft murmuring sound, "They will show you the way," he said, "Do we have an agreement?" He held out his hand.

Darken looked at his fingers, the skin was all but eaten away, the bones protruded through the scabby flesh. The hand was still held out, waiting.

Show no fear!

The Darkman leaned close to the Governor, "I have heard that your people pledge loyalty, with a hand shake." Darken slowly reached out, he took the man's hand, it felt like he was shaking hands, with a dead man. The robed figure tightened his grip, he suddenly realized, that his hand was immensely strong, a vice like grip that made him wince in pain.

Show no fear!

The Darkman let go of his hand, "You see, I do know how to control the reins," he said, turning to leave.

The Governor saw him start to walk away, he called out after him, "If this is some kind of trick, I will find you and when I do, I will have your heart on my plate."

The Shadow-man stopped and turned back, "And where will you look?" He walked away, slowly, down the hallway.

Darken stood watching him walk away, his hand hurt and he was furious that a rotting corpse, could have gotten the better of him. He would have liked to order his guards to seize him and take him to the torture chambers. His better judgment took control. If the Darkman died, then all his plans would crumble, it was better to wait.

He watched the strange man, vanish down the hallway, then he turned to the stone bust of the last Governor, beside him. He remembered the day he killed him, he cut him deep and watched, slowly pulling his entrails out. That was the day, he took over control of the Talsonar, he had waited years for the moment. He knew he could wait one more cycle, to take over, all of Gorn. He smiled and suddenly felt very well, in fact he felt like playing with his toys.

He headed for his bedchamber, his mind filled with perverted images, tinted red.

The Outland oasis, the Nomad's home for several days, was quiet. The damage from the Land-quake and fires, was repaired and the Touch-tenders had cared for the injured. Only a few Trofar, had run off but they would be rounded up soon and brought back to camp. The Whiptails had been fed well and the warriors, were making ready for the next leg of their journey. The suns were high and the tribe was enjoying a mid-morning meal.

The warriors sat together, making comments on the days past and the days ahead. They cleaned their armor and sharpened their weapons. They knew the Sandjar were about but they did not fear them, as much as they feared other Nomads. The Oasis was a vital link in their travels, it would be a prize to other Outlanders. Even with the truce, there was always the threat of an attack and if it did not come from the Nomads, there were plenty of other dangers.

Andra had been unconscious, for three days and nights, blood loss, had weakened her but she would live. Her cuts and the deep wound on her back, caused by the Sandjar baby, were cleaned and dressed. Her apparel was removed and her body washed, she now lay naked, sleeping on a soft mattress, of Onyx bird feathers.

Seeda sat next to her, when she was brought to camp, she was placed in the Princess' tent. A woman was not permitted into the King's tent, unless she was his concubine or wife. At the King's command, she would be cared for, by his sister, until she was well. Seeda did not want the extra burden, of nursing an Off-Worlder, she already had her hands full, with her mother. The Queen's Handmaidens, could look after Egmar, so for the time being, Seeda would obey her older brother's request.

As she poured warm Hagar soup into a wooden bowl, she suddenly heard the young woman moaning. Looking at her, she knew she was dreaming and from the look on the woman's face, it was not a happy one.

In Andra's sleeping mind, images flashed, she saw a landscaped of open plains and in the distance, she could see a strange dark mountain. Above it, was a sky filled with lightning and thunder. The imaged changed, she saw herself standing, surrounded by thousands of dead bodies, they were bloody and their faces looked up at her, in terror. She stood still, as the bodies started to rise from the ground, followed by shaking, it grew more intense, until she thought it would burst her heart. She saw the dark mountain, slowly rising into the air, she heard a voice, a voice filled with quiet love.

"The Gods will arise," it said, then the world around her, exploded in fire.

Andra sat bolt upright and let out a scream.

Andra's vision started to clear and she focused on Seeda, who was watching the young woman, she smiled, holding out the bowl of warm soup.

"You better eat this, if you want to heal those wounds," she said.

Andra was not sure what was happening, the last thing she remembered, was running over the sands, then a tall man standing next to her, then nothing. She reached over her shoulder, expecting to find the Sandjar baby still attached to her back. When she found she was at last free of the little parasite, she knew things could only get better. She reached out slowly and took the warm soup.

She smelt it, then quickly took a large gulp of the thick broth. She may have had better meals but right now, it was the most wonderful thing, she had ever tasted. She took several more mouthfuls and then smiled, "Thank you, it's wonderful," she said, holding the bowl out for more, "I'd like some more if I could?"

Seeda always liked it, when people complimented her cooking, it was almost as good, as when she was told, how well she wielded a warrior's ax. She poured more warm soup into the bowl and handed it back to the young woman.

"Go easy on the Hagar soup, you will need to get used to real food again, after spending time with the Sandjar. They're mostly carrion eaters but I'm sure you already know that. So tell me, how did a Half-Soul like yourself, like being a blood mother?"

Andra looked at the Princess, "What do you mean Half-Soul?"

Seeda began cutting a loaf of fresh Kasha bread, "A Half-Soul, you know, an Off-Worlder, someone who is not The Chosen of the Gods, it is not your fault." She handed some bread to the young woman, "I'm sure the Sandjar baby did not care one way or the other, you are lucky my brother found you in time." _W_ _hy did my brother bring such a weak thing home? Her hair is too short and her legs to skinny._

Andra took the fresh bread and put a small piece into her mouth, "Your brother found me?" she asked.

"Yes and the laws of the tribe say, anything that is brought out of the wastelands, is their property, so I guess you belong to Arn now."

When Andra heard this, she stopped eating, she threw the bread across the tent and gave Seeda a hard look, "Listen, I don't belong to anyone, understand? You can tell your brother to take me back right now, I'd rather take my chances in the dessert, than be somebody's property."

Seeing the young woman angry, made Seeda feel a lot friendlier towards her; _this young woman has courage, perhaps she is strong. Perhaps we can be friends._

She had always believed, all Off-World females were weak and they walked with their heads down. Seeing the sudden fire in Andra's eyes, changed her mind right away. She knew, they would be good friends, even if she was not one of the God's Chosen, "I think you should tell him yourself, Kings prefer to hear news from the source, rather than the messenger."

Andra was about to ask, what she meant by "King," when the flap to the tent opened, in walked Arn.

Andra had been to many worlds and seen many men. Being a strong, healthy female, she had several devoted lovers, she considered herself, a good judge of the species. She had never been struck, by the sight of a man like this one, until now. His eyes were dark and piercing, long hair, pulled back and fixed with a leather thong. He stood ramrod straight and his shoulder were broad and strong. _A_ _girl could get lost in those shoulder;_ she thought. Andra was going to say something but somehow forgot, as for being naked, it seemed right!

Arn was also taken by the young woman. Last night, in the dim light, he had not really seen her, back at the camp, she was taken away immediately, for her wounds to be tended. Now, she was awake, the light from the open flap, streamed into the tent and onto her naked body, he could to see her very well. She was not as tall, or strongly built as the Almadra women, her hair was cut far too short and she did not have body tattoos, so attractive to Outlanders. There were some scars but they were not heavy or deep. Nomads were used to their mates carrying scars. There was something about her that said, she was not a Half-Soul, or a weak kneed city-dweller. This was a woman any man, or King, would be happy to have as his mate.

Seeda could see, her bother was staring hard at the young woman, She decided to say something, before he turned into a statue, "Well are you coming in, or are you going to let the warriors, see your property naked?"

Andra suddenly felt, naked, she grabbed a small blanket near to her and covered herself. Arn smiled and tried to sound like a King, "Um yes, well I came to see how she is," he stammered, then he righted himself, "will she survive?"

"She will live to see the day," Seeda replied, "shall I have her brought to your tent?"

Arn knew, it was his sister's way of teasing him but before he could say anything, Andra spoke up, "I'm not going to any tent, with anyone. If you try I'll...," she held up the wooden spoon she'd used to eat the soup.

The King had to smile, seeing the young woman and her weapon, either she was very brave, or very foolish. "I would never fight a woman with a spoon," he said, turning to his sister. "Make sure she is cared for and dress her."

He left the tent, Seeda could not stop herself laughing at her brother, he might be King but to her, he would always be a little Rock-runner. She spoke to the young woman, "It looks like my brother is glad he brought you into camp." _My_ _brother likes this Half-Soul, can a King, mate with a Half-Soul?_

"That was your brother?" Andra asked, with a look of disbelief; _t_ _he Nomads are a handsome race, their men are very strong._

"Yes, well one of them anyway," she looked closer at the young woman. _She wants to mate with my brother, I can see it in her eyes, a King does not mate with a Half-Soul! "_ He is a good man and our King and Kings do not consort with Half-Souls," she said.

This was meant as a threat but Andra was not listening, maybe it was the loss of blood, or the events of the past few days, whatever it was she suddenly felt weak. She lay back on the soft mattress and closed her eyes. She had a strange dream, she was swimming in a soft warm lake, a man was watching her, a tall man with broad shoulders.

Not too far from Seeda's tent, near the clear water of the oasis, Osh sat quietly, eating a bowl of food. During the past few days, he had eaten his fill of Rimar meat, Kasha bread and drunk wine. The Madrigal, had proven they were not the savages, he was meant to believe. True they were by no means a civilized group, by the standards of the galaxy, they were still very primitive. They had however, treated him with kindness and given him food and shelter, by doing so, he was now indebted to them.

The strange spots on their bodies, had vanished now, the green salt they had been given, seemed to be the cure. The old man saw that the precious mineral, was carried in special carts, well guarded by large warriors. Once he tried to get a sample for analysis, he stopped, when a war-ax was pointed in his direction.

So for now, he watched the Nomads intently, there were very few first hand accounts, of the life of the Nomads. No scholar had ever spent time with them in the Outlands. Any information about them, came from trader's stories, or the few, who managed to escape the World of Gorn. Their testimony could hardly be considered scientific evidence. So the old man felt very enthusiastic, he would be the first true recorder, of the everyday life of an Outlander.

He wished he had a Datacom import connection, then all he needed to do, was Mind-Say his information, to be instantly filed and categorized. Looked around, he knew there was little chance of finding a workable computer.

He smiled and took a sip of Po, he found it very, sour but it was the only strong drink they had. Still, it was better than plain water and each day, it seemed to taste better. He took another sip, then looked at the sleeping Sandjar baby.

It was quiet now, that was good, the little creature only woke when the twin suns went down. Then it cried for food throughout the night, falling asleep again at Sun-birth. He was regretting his decision to rescue the baby, maybe he could hand it over to someone else, once he got it back to the Nomad's camp? Then he remembered what he had been told, "Anything brought out of the desert, belongs to the person who brought it out."

He was stuck, he could not bring himself to kill it, no matter what the Nomads told him to do. He was at his wits end though, constant lack of sleep and having to spoon Rimar blood into the child's toothy mouth. He took another draft of his Po and settled back to relax, thankful for this tiny break from fatherhood.

On the other side of the oasis, they were repairing the damaged carts and filling water jugs. The Frail-legs were sitting quietly as always and seemed content. They did not speak of the events of the previous night and no one had heard the words they spoke. Even if they had, no one would have understood them, it was their secret.

Anais was not pleased as always, his tent had been damaged and he was forced to spend the last few nights, in his brother Agart's shelter. He hated it, not because of the sparse decorations in the tent, or that his mattress was not very soft. It was the constant yammering of his older brother, it made his life even more miserable. He had to listen to endless stories of their childhood, how he had been the brunt of many tricks and how small he was, compared to the other young warriors. To Agart, everything seemed to be a joke, after the first night, it was too much for him and he took every opportunity to be alone.

He walked alone through the camp, there were few warriors, who cared to speak to him. When they did, it was about things that mattered very little. As for the Elders, they showed him respect but he could tell, it was a formality, they were not really interested in him. They were all tiny creatures anyway, after all he was a Prince and they were his subjects.

He began to think about Obec's words.

"The Gods are not content?" he muttered to himself.

He knew, she was telling him something he wanted to hear, as he stood near the water at the oasis' edge. He felt somebody nearby, always uneasy, he turned to see a young woman, dressed in a scarlet robe, looking at him.

He saw her face and the red tattoo marking her forehead, this was Soffca, one of the High Priestess' Handmaidens. She had a soft clear face and bright eyes. Anais knew her from his childhood, before she was chosen, to be a keeper of the Holy writings, then hidden away from the tribe. Since then, she was not allowed to speak, dedicating herself to the holy rituals. Seeing her again, brought back forgotten memories.

He remembered how they had played as children, even playing fools jokes on his brothers, he even kissed her once. It was an innocent kiss of course but it was one of the few times, he felt anything other than hatred for his tribe. Any warmth he ever had for another human being, was for this young woman.

Soffca looked at him for a moment, then slowly walked towards him, when they were a few feet apart, she stopped. Anais was not prepared for what happened next.

"Come," she said.

It was the first time the young Prince, had heard her speak in a very long time.

She turned and began to walk away, without thinking, Anais followed her. He did not know where they were going or why. Something made him feel this was an invitation he dare not refuse.

He followed her as she walked slowly towards the High Priestess' wagon. As they approached, he saw the black armored Thungodra, standing guard as always, challenging anyone who came near. When they saw Soffca, they lowered their weapons and bowed their heads. She passed by without looking at them, she made her way to a large tent that housed the Holy Woman and her Handmaidens.

The ornate tent was very large, decorated withe intricate designs, marking it as a place of worship. The tent poles, were made from the huge leg bones, of a Hagar Beast. It was large enough to hold, the movable shine used for rituals and sacrifices. Two large Thungodra drew back the tent flaps, as Soffca and Anais reached the entrance, they went inside.

Inside it smelled of incense and perfume, a large copper brazier was burning in the middle of the room. There was a carved altar stone, used by all the High Priestesses since the beginning of time. Its sandstone surface stained a deep reddish color, the blood of countless animals, sacrificed to the Gods. There were many statues of the Gods, held sacred by the tribe. Anais, had been inside the High Priestess' guarded tent, a only few times but never alone. This was a great honor for him but also a matter of some concern.

His mind began to race with all manner of thoughts. _W_ _hat was this all about? Was this a trap? If I suddenly disappear, who would question Obec? No one! She could have him killed, or worse tortured, who would know?_ He suddenly felt very afraid; _perhaps it is better to turn around and go back the way I came._

Before he could decide, the Holy Woman came into view, she was dressed in a long white robe and wore a tall headdress. It seemed rather out-of-place to Anais; _who would see her anyway? P_ _ut it all down to vanity, nothing more._

Obec walked up to him, then looking at Soffca, she said. "Bring fresh Po and some ripe Balbar fruit." The Handmaiden went for the refreshments, then the old woman motioned for her guest to sit.

Anais saw a carved chair on a large colorful rug, near the brazier and sat down, Obec sat down on a similar but much larger chair near to him. There was an uneasy moment of silence, then she spoke.

"You are a wise man Anais, the Gods are pleased with you," she said, with a slight smile. _Through you,_ _The Gods will work, you will be their hammer!_

He always liked to hear good things, said about him but he was wise enough, to know that flattery was a form of manipulation. He was now sure that torture or death, was not on the crafty old woman's mind. She wanted something, he felt more at ease and settled back into his chair. "Give the Gods my regards, when you speak with them next, if they're not too busy," he smiled a little; _she wants something from me. That's why she summoned me._

"Do not mock the Gods too much my Prince and never mock me," her voice turning from warm to cold.

Anais felt a chill run down his spine; _I could disappear! "_ I did not mean any disrespect to you, I was just..."

"Talking?" She said.

The old woman smiled, it seemed out-of-place on her wrinkled skin, her sharp features were more inclined to a frown, "Tell me, was it hard to keep up with your brothers? Seeing them grow strong and pleasing your father so much."

"I kept pace," Anais did not like thinking about his childhood; _m_ _y father is dead now, dead and gone, there is no Afterlife!_

"It must have been very trying, seeing them gaining so much attention. Especially, since you were so much smarter than they," said the old woman.

_She is playing games with me, she wants something, "_ Is that why you invited me here, to talk about my childhood?" He asked.

Obec picked up a small icon from a low table next to her, "Do you know, which God this is?"

Anais looked at the small figurine, its head was a sand dragon, "All Gods look alike to me," he smiled mockingly; _silly woman, there are no Gods._

"This is the God Horcon, the God of Destiny, he knows the future, he decides who is to live and who is to die." She handed it to the Prince, "Take him, he may show you, things to come."

He took the small idol and scrutinized it; _there are no Gods._ "Tell me Horcon, what will the weather be like tomorrow?" he laughed mockingly.

Obec did not laugh. She pointed a thin finger at him, "He hears you, as do I, do you see only tomorrow? What about the day after, or the day after that? Do you want to know your future young Prince?" _I know your future, you will be the hammer and I will hold you in my hand._

Anais put the small statue down, "My future is my own, I do not need any God, to mold it for me." _There are no Gods and there is no Afterlife._

The old women sat back in her chair, "I know what lies before you, you want to be King, you want to rule. You want to see your brother's, bow down before you, the Gods can make that happen, I can make that happen."

She is talking treason! Will she go against the King? What does she want from me? He suddenly felt cold, if anyone but the most powerful woman in the tribe, had said those words, he would have laughed. The Keeper of the Faith, the Sayer of the Holy Writings, he leaned close to her, "How?" His eyes were suddenly alive.

Before Obec could answer, Soffca returned with the wine and fruit. She put the silver tray down on the floor, then knelt down to pour two goblets of Po. She handed one to the High Priestess and the other to Anais. She cut the sweet Balbar fruit into small portions, making them easier to eat.

"I will be plain with you," the old woman said, taking a sip of the Po, "we cannot see the future with the eyes of Isarie, only she, knows the paths laid out before us. If we are humble and open our hearts and minds to her, we come to understand our role, to guide those Kings, who cannot see her wisdom, those who may lead us astray."

Anais looked at the old woman; _t_ _his is not a plan, this is mind riddle, this is not a Holy Woman, this is just another unhappy creature, I can deal with this woman. I can use her._ He leaned closer and said softly, "You want to get rid of Arn and take control of the tribe yourself?" He took a deep gulp of the sour wine. If he was correct, the next words out of the old woman's mouth, would either confirm his beliefs or see them crumble.

There was another tense moment, the High Priestess took a small bite of the Balbar fruit, then chewed it slowly. _He thinks he knows me, he thinks he can use me, good, let him believe that for now._ She too, spoke in a low voice, "As I said, you are a wise man, now I am wondering, you are a brave one also? Kings do not give up their crowns easily, sometimes they must be forced."

Anais took a bite of the fruit, it was very sweet, he liked the taste of Balbar. He loved the taste of revenge even more, he had waited years for a chance like this. He always felt, it was only a matter of time, before an opportunity arose and he would seize it, now was the time. With the power of the Gods behind him and his own greed, there was nothing to stand in their way. "Kings can lose their crowns in many ways," he said, "a dagger in the darkness, or in the fires of mistrust. A King without his people is not a King, he is just a wanderer of the wastelands."

The old woman smiled, she knew, this young man, would live up to everything she hoped for. He was greedy, vain and had no love for his brother, or the will of the Gods. She only felt contempt for him but she had learned not to show her true feelings, she smiled at him, then bit into another piece of fruit.

"The Gods were right when they told me about you, you are a wise and brave man," she remarked. She looked down at Soffca, waiting quietly for her mistress' command, "Soffca my dear, would you take Anais, to rest in your quarters, he seems tired."

Without question, the young Handmaiden got up and took him by the hand, Anais did not resist, he followed her into the Holy Shrine's hidden chambers. As they disappeared from view, the old women went to the stone alter, in the middle of the tent. She took a gold cup and poured what appeared to be blood onto the stone. Slowly, it ran down the sides, mingling with the other red stains. Obec looked at the stone intently, she spoke in a voice only she and the Gods could hear.

"Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor," it was the old language, only spoken by the High Priestess to the Gods, it meant, "Out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise." She bowed her head saying nothing more.

#  Chapter 10. The Hunt

May my Whiptail never stumble.

May my aim be true.

May my ax strike deep.

May I live another day.

Prayer of the Hunters.

A few more uneventful days, had passed at the oasis. The Nomads were well rested, all necessary repairs to the wagons finished. Supply jugs, were filled to the brim, with clear fresh water. The fruit of many Balbar trees had been collected and loaves of Kasha bread baked. They were ready to continue their endless journey, only their dwindling supply of meat needed to be replenished.

The Spike-backs carried the weapons, they were vegetarians able to fill their huge bellies, with the plentiful supply of green plants near the oasis. Small animals kept by the Nomads as pets, or for sacrifice, ate a variety of foods, mostly roots or other small creatures. They were let free for the time being and could find their own food.

Satisfying the enormous appetites of the Whiptails, was another matter. Each of the huge ravenous beasts, could consume a very large amount of flesh daily. If they were not allowed to hunt on their own, it was the Nomad's responsibility to supply them with meat. There was nothing more dangerous, than a hungry Whiptail, though raised from newborn calves and understanding many instructions, they were never truly tame. Sometimes, a warrior was killed or maimed, by his angry mount. They were treated with respect and their needs met, that meant a hunt for meat!

Outriders had spotted a large herd of Rimar, not too far from camp. Migratory animals, they were on their way, to the green pasture lands in the North. There would be hundreds of the huge rhino like creatures, the hunting would be good! They could refill their wagons and let the Whiptails feed until their bellies were full. Rimar hide was used for many things and their long nose horns, had medicinal properties. The Almadra like all warriors, prided themselves, on how well they could hunt. It would be an exciting time.

The Nomads hunted from their saddles, it would be easy to kill the Rimar with the Long-Range weapons on the Spike-backs. A few well-placed explosive shells and the hunt would be over. That was not the way of the Outlanders, a warrior hunted in the old way. Face to face with the creatures, they used their own hands to kill. Any other way, would be shameful, unworthy of remembrance or a story. So the camp was buzzing with activity as the warriors made ready.

As Karus and Micos began to rise, the sound of the hunters and the roaring Whiptails, woke Andra. She opened her eyes and got up from her bed, now fully rested, she was eager to leave the confining tent, her home for the past few days.

Seeda was good company and she had learned a lot from her, there were many customs and rituals she would have to be mindful of, to avoid becoming Outcast. She must never take food or drink to a warrior, if she did, they would be mated. Although no one was sure, if the law applied to an Off-World female, no tribe had ever allowed one into there midst before.

Andra would have to wear a woman's long flowing robes, she was not a warrior and therefore not permitted to wear the ornate armor or carry a heavy war-ax. She was permitted the twin daggers, called the Dragons-teeth, on her belt. She had always been good with a knife and during the Trajion Wars, it had saved her life many times. Her hair was too short, to be styled in the traditional ways of the Almadra and she would have to deal with the scornful looks, until it grew longer.

One thing she did not want was facial tattoos, worn by all the tribe's adult females. They were small with bright colors but she was not ready just yet, to have her face permanently marked. Beside, she did not intend to stay with the Outlanders, for the rest of her days. They were far too primitive for her liking, she was used to a more exciting life. Her plan was to find Osh, together they would take their leave but for now she would have to accept things as they were.

Andra dressed quickly in her new clothing and was about to leave the tent, when Seeda came in. She was wearing close fitting body armor and looked strong and capable, she took one look at Andra and started to laugh. "You are going out like that?" she asked, shaking her head; _this Half-Soul does not know how to wear a robe!_

"Why not?" Andra looked down at herself, she did not have a full length mirror, only a very small copper plate but she thought she looked fine.

"It is your robe, you are wearing it back to front," Seeda laughed.

Andra looked down at her robe, "Is it? Well, I'm not use to wearing this type of woman's clothing." _I'm a soldier, not a belly cushion._ She started removing the unfamiliar clothing.

Seeda came over and pulled the garment off, then turned it around, "It was a simple mistake for a Half-Soul. If you had worn the robe like that, it would signal, you wanted to mate, now be careful. I traded two shell necklaces for it," she helped Andra adjust it, then stood back and took another look, "There, that's better, you look like a decent Moonbud now," she began to laugh again.

"Moonbud, what is a Moonbud?" Andra asked; _I can't see myself but I don't look like a flower._

Seeda looked at her with a smile, "A Moonbud, you know, a sweet smelling plant that blooms in the night air, it means you have never been touched, you are a maiden." She handed over the twin daggers for her belt.

_A maiden?_ Andra thought about it for a moment or two, then began to smile, suddenly realizing what the Nomad woman meant, "Oh you mean a virgin? Well thanks for the compliment but it's been a long time since I was one of those. As a matter of fact, it's been almost...." she stopped talking, maybe this was a good time to start her life over again and put her romantic adventures to rest.

She decided to change the subject, she took the knives and put them into her wide belt. She noticed a long gold trinket, hanging from a small chain around Seeda's neck, "That's a very interesting medallion," she said.

The warrior women looked down at the ornament, it was about a six inches long and had a broad flat head, "Oh that, it's my Journey Nail."

Andra looked at it admiringly, "It's very beautiful, can I have one?"

The Princess laughed, "You will have to earn one." _T_ _he woman might be strong but she will never earn a nail._ She made a few adjustments to Andra's outfit, added a long shell-necklace, then stood back, "It's a good fit, now remember what I told you Half-Soul and you will do well."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Andra said.

"That is what you are! We call all Off-Worlders, Half-Souls," Seeda replied.

"That's as maybe but I am not a Half-Soul, I am a soldier and a woman, just like you." Andra looked her in the eye.

Seeda knew, she was not like her but it didn't really matter, what she called her; _this woman has courage, I like her. "_ Very well, because you are young and toothless, I will call you Moonbud, now come along."

She turned to leave the tent, then she stopped and looked at the Selcarian again, "Oh and stay away from a woman named Arie." They went outside.

The bright light of the morning, bathed the oasis in a warm golden light, the warriors were adjusting saddles and sharpening axes. The Whiptails could sense they were going hunting, they pawed the sand in anticipation. The hunters were joking or making wagers, on who would kill the biggest Rimar, or the one with the longest nose horn. Andra watched as one young male, playfully pushed a female warrior, he got a hard punch in the face for his troubles!

Andra followed Seeda, as she went towards a group of armor clad men, who were talking. She saw that one of them was Arn, her rescuer, he seemed even taller than before. She did not remember his arms, being quiet so muscular, she decided she was acting like a schoolgirl again and turned her eyes away.

As the morning suns glistened off his horned helmet, Arn noticed them approach. Wearing the long robes and now clean and ornamented, He too thought Andra was not like he remembered. He thought she looked quite attractive, even if her hair was too short.

Agart was standing next to his brother, he had been against bringing the outsiders, into camp. He never liked or trusted anyone, who was not one of them. It was clearly written in the Holy Books, Isarie had chosen them as her people, he did not see any reason to bring Off-Worlders, into their tribe. The laws of the Almadra, were also clear about bringing things out of the wastelands, this was his brother's property, he would not say anything more.

"Well brother," Seeda said, "I have washed and tended your property, now I bring it to you."

Hearing herself, called property again, made Andra really angry, "I'm no one's property!" she screamed, "if anyone lays a finger on me, I'll cut it off," she drew one of the Dragons-teeth from her belt.

Arn and the other warriors just looked at her, they were impressed by her courage but they could also see, her temper was overriding her judgment. A small dagger, would be of little use against an armor clad Almadra. They could not help but smile and chuckle a little.

Arn laughed under his breath; _this woman has courage, she might make a good warrior but what to do with her? "_ What is your name woman?" He asked.

He knew her name perfectly well but it was important to act like a King, in front of his people.

"My name? I am Lieutenant Andra Oseira, First Infantry Division, Omega 5," she said proudly.

"You are a warrior?" The King asked.

"Yes," she replied, "My world was Selcarie, if that's any business of yours."

Agart did not like the woman disrespecting his King; _this woman is a Half-Soul, she should not be here!_

Seeda however, smiled and stood closer to the woman, in case of trouble; _I like this Half-Soul, she stands up to my brother._

Agart looked hard at the woman, "Watch your tongue woman, Arn is our King, not speak to him like that."

"I'll talk as I please!" Andra pulled out the other gold dagger and set her legs firmly, she was ready to back up her words with action if necessary.

There was a tense moment, until Arn spoke. "Well, I can see, you might have some fighting blood in you," he looked at his sister, "Watch her and show her our ways, maybe someday, she will be a true warrior."

He motioned for her to leave with the woman, Seeda was about to argue but Agart gave her a look and she knew it would be useless to continue. She took Andra by the arm, muttering angrily under her breath, she led her away.

"Do you know how to ride?" she asked. Andra did not understand the question and gave her a puzzled look, "Ride?"

Arn watched her go, she had courage, he knew this was no ordinary Off-World female, this was someone the Gods smiled upon.

Anais did not hunt, even if he did, there was nothing that could have pulled him from the warm bed he was laying in. He sighed and stretched his arms, suddenly remembering where he was. He sat up and looked around, in the dim morning light that filtering through the opening in the large tent. He saw a small wooden shrine, with a carved statue of the Goddess Isarie on it. There were several votive candles and incense was burning, he knew he was still in the High Priestess' tent.

Kneeling before the shrine was Soffca, she was naked, Anais could see the attractive tattoos imprinted upon her shoulder. Her long dark hair was loose and flowed down her smooth back to touch the floor. She was whispering a prayer and seemed lost in her own world.

Anais had spent the night with her, a night he would never forget! He knew, Handmaidens were trained from childhood, to carry out the many, Holy Rituals, demanded by Obec and the Gods. He never knew they were skilled in lovemaking! How they knew what to do, was a mystery to the young Prince. They were supposed, to be virgins, after last night, he knew this was not the case. Virgin or not, it was the best night he had ever spent with a woman.

As he looked at her, he realized that not all his life was unhappiness, he still hated his bothers and his people but he did find a some warmth in Soffca's arms. He wondered if she felt the same way.

"Come back to bed," he said, she did not seem to hear. He knew she didn't speak much that was perfectly fine with him. He never felt comfortable, talking to the tribe's females, "are you coming?" He asked again.

The young woman raised her hands upwards and spoke in a loud clear voice.

"Talmec rasue etaris Isarie."

Soffca stopped praying, she stood up and slowly turned towards him. She looked at the young man, then slowly walked to the bed and laid down. Anais smiled at her, then took her into his arms, she was warm and inviting. He spent the rest of the day in her arms and slept a warm sleep, for once, one without nightmares

The warriors were mounted and eager to hunt, Arn checked his weapons then looked over at his brother beside him. Their Whiptails pawed the ground and pulled at the reins, he shouted to the hunters, "A tankard of well-aged Po, to the warrior who makes the first kill."

The warriors lifted their axes and shouted their approval, the King dug his long iron spurs into his Whiptail's sides and the hunt began.

The riders and their beasts raced from the camp, with the tribe's cheers in their ears. The Elders and children, watched them go, then began to make ready the cooking pots, in anticipation for their return. There were still plenty of warriors left to protect them and the Thungodra, never left the High Priestess unguarded. They watched as the hunters disappeared over the sand dunes, only a column of dust marked their path.

Andra had never ridden a Whiptail before. She knew how to ride a Horca, the four legged animal, used for farming on her home world. It was a mild mannered creature and did not have large dagger-like teeth.

Seeda had told her it was easy, all she had to do, was hold the reins tightly and squeeze hard with her legs. It was proving to be far more difficult. The Whiptails were strong creatures, their massive hind legs, could carry a rider quickly, over almost any terrain. Their forearms had three fingers, two, ended with razor sharp claws. The middle digit, had a long scythe like claw that could rip and tear through thick scale and flesh. There were larger and more dangerous beasts on Gorn but none suited the Nomads better.

Beside her, Seeda rode easily on her beast, she laughed at the Off-World female's discomfort. Even the smallest children in the tribe, could ride better than this female. Seeda's brother, had told her to teach Andra, the ways of the tribe, including riding a Whiptail. If she fell, she could always walk back to camp, if she got killed hunting Rimar, then it was the will of the Gods and not her fault. Either way it would make a wonderful story for the campfires.

Seeda laughed, then she heard a familiar voice. It was Almec, riding on her other side.

"Do you have a new sister?" He shouted. Seeda looked at him, he pointed to Andra with his ax, "She rides better than you. _" I lie, no one rides a well as her, she is beautiful._

Seeda knew he was trying to raise her anger, she turned her nose up at him. Looking back at Andra, she called out, "Do not pull so hard on the reins, the beast knows where he is going and why!"

Andra loosened her grip some on the reins and let the creature have its head, then she relaxed in the saddle, she was getting used to the Whiptail. She had, ridden creatures on different worlds and after a short time, she began to enjoy herself. The power and speed of the animal, was immense, with its two powerful hind legs, it traversed the soft sand and rocky ground with ease. She soon got used to its stride and smiled, as she felt the cool morning wind on her face.

Arn knew the ways of the Rimar well, they were grazing not far ahead. They would approach them from down wind, then pick out the best in the herd to kill. It was not easy to bring down a fully-grown armored Rimar, their thick hide and scales made them almost invulnerable. It would only take one slash of their long nose horn, to bring down a rider and his mount. There was only one way to kill them, ride up beside them, then with a well timed blow from a sharp ax. When the large flap on its head was raised, bring it down just behind its horns, cutting the spinal cord to end its life. A moment too soon or late and the ax would bounce of the animals plating. If the creature turned, or a hunter was thrown, they would be trampled by it, or the others in the herd.

The King and his brother, were the first to spot the huge pack. Coming up over a small hill, they saw the horizon filled with hundreds of creatures. They did not stop, lifting their axes, they gave out loudly, the war cry of the Almadra.

Andra was not sure what to do. When she saw the enormous herd and the other riders heading for them, as fast as their Whiptails could go. She knew it was too late to turn back. She used her strong legs, to hold on tightly, hoping she would somehow survive.

The King was the first to the Rimar, Arn quickly picked out an adult and headed straight for it, ax held high. Agart was right beside him, if his brother failed, he would be there to try his luck. The other hunters quickly separated, each one, cutting a beast out from the herd, then riding fast into position to make the kill.

Andra kept close to Seeda, this was her first hunt and she decided the best way to survive, was to stick close to this capable young woman. She watched her move in close to one of the huge lumbering creatures, lifting her heavy ax, she waited for the right moment, then brought it down with all her might. The ax bit deep into the Rimar's neck just behind the thick neck plate. The creature let out one long roar, then fell to the ground like a stone. Seeda had made the day's first kill, she lifted her head and gave out a wild victory cry.

Almec was pleased that Seeda had won the rights of the first kill. He would make sure he made the second. He moved close to another racing beast and prepared to strike, at the last moment, his Whiptail lost its footing, the blow went wide. It bounced off the Rimar's thick hide, it turned away, racing off as fast as it could.

"Artock!" Almec shouted this obscenity, then he looked over at Seeda, she just smiled at him, then began to look for another kill.

Andra was caught in the middle of the Rimar herd, she was weaponless and wouldn't know how to use an ax anyway. It did not deter her from trying to be of use. She moved her Whiptail in close and shouted at the creature, hoping to turn it into the hunter's path. The armored beast did not respond going its own way, Andra wished she had a pulse rifle, or a fracture grenade, they would put a quick end to the monster.

Arn picked out another large beast, he motioned for his brother to follow, Agart nodded in approval, their sharp spurs dug deep and they moved quickly to their objective.

Andra saw the King and his brother near to her, she was still a bit angry at him and decided, the time was right, to show him, she could take care of herself. She pulled the reins hard, the mount headed right at the two warriors.

Arn and Agart, had positioned themselves perfectly on either side of the Rimar, if one missed, the other would be sure to succeed. They moved closer and closer, then held up their axes, ready to strike with all their might. The Rimar suddenly swung about, its long horn, embedded itself in the chest of Arn's Whiptail. The creature let out a long death roar, then fell to the ground. The King was thrown off, he landed heavily in the sand, not far from his now dead mount.

Arn got to his feet with a spinning head, he looked up to see, several out of control Rimar, heading straight for him, there was no escape. He was sure to be trampled or impaled, on the long nose horns, rather than cower on the ground, he stood up tall and proud, if this was his end, then he would meet it like a King.

Agart saw his brother was in trouble but he was too far away to attempt a rescue. He was sure, this was the last time, he would see his brother alive. If it was the will of the Gods, there was nothing he could do.

As Arn stood watching his death draw near, he saw the Off-World female, heading right for him. She was unsteadily in the saddle but that did not matter to the King, here was a chance to live, as she came closer, she held out a hand to him. Arn grasped her arm and held it tightly, Andra pulled with all her strength. Her arm, was nearly pulled from its socket and she was sure, she would be in pain later. She was determined to save the King from certain death. Arn swung up and onto the back of the Whiptail, just as the Rimar bore down on them, he held on tightly, his arm around Andra's waist, together they escaped the roaring beasts.

Seeda's view, was obstructed by the cloud of dust, from the stampede. The last thing she saw, was her brother's Whiptail, falling to the ground and Arn flying through the air. She looked desperately for any sign that he was still alive, as the dust began to settle, she saw Andra riding towards her. She smiled when she spotted her brother, alive and well.

As the herd slowly vanished over the sand dunes, the hunters gathered together. They had killed many Rimar, there would be enough meat for weeks and better yet, there had been no Nomad deaths. Only a few broken bones and some cuts and bruises but what hunter did not have them? It would be a story to tell to their children.

Arn held tightly to Andra's waist, her warm body felt good and he was reluctant to let go. He saw the other warriors coming near, so he got down from Andra's mount. Looking at her, he said, "You ride a Whiptail like a warrior." _She rides well and has courage, this is not a weak Half-Soul._

"Thank you, it was my first time," she said, then slid from the beast, to stand next to the King, "Well, now that I've saved your life, am I still your property?"

Arn knew the laws of his tribe all too well, if you saved a warrior's life, they were in your debt. Andra had indeed saved his life, so in return, he owed her, he decided, he no longer owned her.

"You are free," he said.

Andra smiled, she thought he was going to argue with her but since he didn't, it made her like him all the more.

Agart came over quickly, to make sure his brother was unhurt, when he saw he had no broken bones, he smiled at his King, "I saw your mount go down and I was sure it was your end _." The Gods watch over you, you are loved by Isarie._

Arn laughed, then motioned to Andra, "The tribe has a new warrior, she saved my life and I think she should have a new name."

"A new name?" Agart asked, "She is an outsider and no outsider, has been given a Nomad name, it is not our way." _Do not go against the Gods, do not go against the laws of our tribe!_

Arn just laughed and looked at his brother, "Our way, is what we do now, by what name should she be known?"

Before Andra could say a word, Seeda spoke up loudly, "Moonbud, I say she shall be known as Moonbud, what do you say?"

The words made the King laugh once more and the other warriors smiled broadly. "Then Moonbud it shall be," he looked at Andra, "from this day on, you shall be called, the flower that blooms under the night sky, you are Moonbud."

As the hunters raised their weapons and called out her name over and over again, Andra shook her head but did not say a word.

Agart looked at his brother; _d_ _o not go against the Gods, they will punish you and I cannot help._ No one heard his mind, they only heard the warriors crying out.

"Moonbud! Moonbud! Moonbud!"

#  Chapter 11. Laughter in the Night

Flower of night, petals of white.

Jewel of beauty under moon lit sky.

Touch not the stem for you shall die.

Law of the Moonbud.

The night sky was clear and the moons of Gorn, seemed closer than they had ever been before. The Nomads celebrated under the twinkling stars and the Washa fires burned brightly. The hunt had been successful, the sound of drums and laughter, filled the night air, as everyone, the young and the old, danced and sang under the heavens.

Everywhere, the Outlanders celebrated, they told stories of past hunts and adventures. The children listened wide eyed and wished they were grown, so they could show how brave they were. They chased each, other pretending they were great hunters and the Elders smiled at them. They knew it would not be long, before they took their place in the tribe, making the Almadra even stronger.

The King sat with the warriors, drinking heavily of Po and eating more than his fill of succulent Rimar meat. Agart sat beside him and recounted the day's events, "I think it is the first time, I ever saw a King fall off his Whiptail," he commented, "but then, you were never much of a rider."

The warriors laughed at the King, loudly, it was not a sign of disrespect, for this was a celebration, it was time for good humored fun, even if it was at their leader's expense.

Arn took a deep gulp of his wine, then turned to his brother, "As I remember, you had to be tied onto your saddle as a boy." Agart smiled back, "that was because I was so eager to join the hunt."

Again the warriors laughed loudly, Arn looked over at his sister, she had been drinking even more Po then usual and was feeling very euphoric. Almec was with her, making sure, her cup was kept full of the sour wine. The King lifted his drink to her, "Here is to Seeda, the first to bring down a Rimar. A brave warrior and great hunter, may she live long and bare many strong children." _H_ _er children will be strong and their children will be even stronger._

The warriors held up their drinking horns and spoke as one, "Seeda, warrior and hunter."

They drank deeply, a tipsy Seeda, smiled and stood up on rocky legs, she looked at her brother and the other warriors, through the dim veil of Po, "To Arn, a King among men and a brother to me." She lifted her cup and drank what remained, spilling some of it over her face and down her ample chest.

Almec stood up and took her by the arm, saying, "All good warriors know when to finish their fight." He helped her to sit down beside him.

She smiled at him and gave him a kiss. "If I am to have many children, I will need the help of a strong warrior," she laughed. "One that can stay in the saddle all night, if need be." She gave him a very passionate kiss. Almec looked a little embarrassed and had to push the drunken Seeda away. He turned to the others, "I hope the Gods will grant me strength," he laughed; _w_ _e will be mated and you will bear my children._

The warriors laughed again and the King made another toast, "A drink to strong warriors." Lifting their cups the warriors drank deeply.

Andra was sitting with the warriors, she felt a little out-of-place at first but after a time, the warmth of the nomads and the strong Po, made her feel right at home. When she was a soldier, she had laughed and joked with her comrades in much the same way. It seemed that the universe, was not so big as she thought; _soldiers are the same, no matter where you go,_ _these warriors are strong and brave. Without them, what awaits me? I'll stay but Moonbud? That's no name for a soldier of the Selcarie._

Arn had noticed Andra all night, he was not sure, why he liked her, she was too small and her hair was too short and she was a Half-Soul. That and many other reasons, made her totally unacceptable, as a mate for a King. The tribe would never stand for it, ideas like that had to be driven out of his head, it was not the will of the Gods, it was not their way.

As he looked at her, his head was filled with many ideas; _s_ _he did prove herself to be strong and brave in the hunt and she is learning the tribe's ways._ The more he thought about it, the more his head spun, he made up his mind, not to think about it anymore. Let the Gods worry about it.

Arn stood up and moved closer to the Washa fire, he looked at his warriors, "Today we named a new member of the tribe, she has proven herself strong and brave and I have given her the name Moonbud. Spread the word to all the Almadra's enemies, we have a new warrior, may she live long and bare many strong children."

The warriors repeated the King's words, Andra looked at Arn then stood up, she walked over to the fire and stood next to him, she smiled. "Thank you but I'd rather not be called Moonbud, I'm not a flower." _I did love flowers once, my home, was surrounded by them._

The warriors started to laugh and Arn looked hard at her, "It is a good name for you," he said.

Andra shook her head, "I'm not a little plant it's a silly name."

The King smiled again, "The Moonbud flower, grows under the night sky, its smell is sweet but it has sharp thorns that will kill a man, if he comes too close." Then he took one of the Dragon's Teeth from her belt and held it up for all to see, "You have sharp thorns too, it is a good sign." _Sharp thorns and beauty, a good mate for a King._

Andra smiled; _they weren't making fun of me they were honoring me!_ She took the dagger back from Arn and put it into her belt, she said, "It's a good name, I guess."

Arn handed her his drinking cup; _a good mate for a King? It is not our way!_

Andra took the cup; _Moonbud, its bad name really,_ she took a drink.

The warriors held up their Po, then as one, they recited the Law of the Moonbud.

Flower of night, petals of white.

Jewel of beauty, under moon lit sky.

Touch not the stem, for you shall die.

They shouted out her name over and over again and laughed long and hard.

Arn heard the warrior's words; _if I touch her, will the Gods punish me with death?_ It was something, he thought, never to ask himself but there it was.

The sound of the warriors, carried over the oasis and into the High Priestess' tent, she was deep into her evening prayers and resented hearing the name of the Half-Soul, being shouting. Obec stopped and turned to a naked Soffca, kneeling beside her.

"valcoush, valcoush, sacrilege, sacrilege, its goes against the will of the Gods, to give a tribal name to an Off-Worlder, the Gods will punish those responsible _." If the Gods will not, I shall!._

The old woman got off her knees, walking over to an ornate chair, she sat down. She looked at the statue of the first God, Isarie, its golden surface, shone brightly in the dim ritual fire that blazed on the, altar stone. Around the statue hung mist of incense, slowly burning in silver braziers. There were many small animals, lying dead at the foot of the God, the Holy Woman had offered them, along with plates of delicious food and sweet-smelling flowers. They had offered up the correct prayers and followed all the rituals precisely, to ensure the continued good will of the Gods.

This, did not bring solace to the High Priestess' cold heart _. T_ _he Gods see all, the paths of the Almadra can be seen clearly,_ _W_ _e are The Chosen of Isarie, faith in her, is the only way to salvation, she speaks to me and I speak to the tribe!_ She listened to the laughter again; _why can they not see? Karn is dead, Karn is dead! For_ a moment or two, she let the image of the dead King fill her mind; _s_ _o long ago and now he is dead. S_ he drove the offending images from her thoughts; _now his son is King and Arn is clearly not a leader for the Almadra. He is too certain of his own judgment and not the will of the Gods. He has corrupted the ways of the tribe, by bringing outsiders into their midst and now he names a new warrior, not a Nomad but a weak Half-Soul. How long will I have to tolerate these insults to myself and Isarie? No, it is not something that will stand. The God's will awaken and new times will come._

"The Gods are not content," she muttered to herself, the same words she had spoken to Anais. _The poor fool, is sleeping soundly in the chambers of my Handmaiden, how easily he has been corrupted,_ _a few nights of pleasure and he forgets everything. He should be cast out and forgotten, for what he has done but I still need him. His time will come soon enough, then the Gods will have their way with him;_ she thought.

She looked at Soffca and motioned for her, to bring her drink, the young woman, immediately brought her a golden cup, she filled it with aged Po. The old woman drank slowly, savoring its taste, then spoke to the Handmaiden, "Make sure the young Prince remains enraptured, he is a fool but he can be an instrument of the Gods."

The young woman nodded, bowed low and left the old woman, she returned to Anais' bed.

Obec sat, staring at the statues of the Holy Gods, outside, she could hear the merriment of the tribe and it made her angry. She stood up and went to the statue of Isarie, as the High Priestess looked at the golden God, she seemed to hear someone, calling her name, it was like a whispering ghost.

A Sand Drifter? One of the wandering spirits of the dead, were they sent by an angry God to take her away and make her soul wander in the wastelands forever?

The old woman suddenly felt a chill in the warm night air, she got to her knees and held her arms out to the sky. "Hear me oh mighty one, it is I your servant, let me hear your words, so that I will be able to do your will."

She waited and her soul listened, nothing came, slowly she lowered her withered limbs and looked down at the ground.

Isarie does not hear me!

She started to weep, they were the tears of a lover, who has found no love, "Forgive me great Goddess, you will speak when I am worthy," she said softly.

She lifted her tired head and once more, listened to the mocking laughter of the Nomad women, outside her tent. They were happy and would lay with their husbands tonight. They would feel the warm embrace of a man's arms around them, they would make love and fall asleep, holding each other close.

Obec would spend the night alone and in prayer; _Karn is dead, Isarie does not hear me!_ The old women began to cry again, only the immobile statues of the Gods, would count her tears.

Osh did not join in the festivities, he had been too busy caring for his Sandjar son, it seemed that night time, was his favorite part of the day. He had been eating everything that he could find and was learning fast. The old man still kept him away from the other members of the tribe, it was for his own safety. The Nomads, considered the little green infant, a dangerous scavenger and they thought he should be killed. Or at least, cast him out. More than once, he had to rescue the little creature from other children, who were tormenting him. They called him a scavenger and worse, they threw stones, then ran away laughing. Now, he kept a close eye on him and that meant not partaking of the dancing and fun.

He sat, looking at the small child before him, in the short time he had been caring for him, he had grown considerably, he could walk quite well and even make a few simple words. For the most part, he just grunted and ate, the old man also found that the infant was male, it was quite easy to see. He knew Sandjar males, had rather unusual genitalia. There was a bony plate flap that covered their loins, guarding them against injury. That was good, he had thought of the little creature more, as an adopted son, than a daughter.

As the warrior's festival drums sounded all around them, he handed the boy a piece of raw Rimar meat. Sandjar preferred to eat their food uncooked, they consumed mostly flesh but would also consume fruit, or Kasha bread if there was nothing else. The baby took the morsel and started chewing greedily.

The old man picked up a flap of Rimar skin, it was the soft patch from under the creature's neck. When cleaned and dried, it made a passable paper for writing upon. He used the juice from sand beetles, as ink, although it did smell rather bad.

"You seem to be advancing well," Osh said as he looked him over, "Your bone structure is firm and your hearing and eyesight, seem to be at an acceptable level. I would say you have evolved into a fine example of your species."

The old man scribbled onto the Rimar skin.

The child stop chewing and looked at his adopted father, he tilted his head and made a soft mewing sound.

The old man put his writing down and smiled at him, "Yes I am talking to you, I know your intelligence level is substandard but I hope you can understand, at least a little of what I say."

Again the baby Sandjar made a sound, then he stopped eating and waddled over to the old man, he held out his thin greenish arms and looked at Osh.

Osh did not know what to do; _was this some sort of Sandjar communication, was he asking for something? Maybe he is sick, or injured?_ He quickly looked the child over and found no wounds or signs of sickness; _why is he holding his arms out? "_ I am sorry, I do not understand, could you be more specific?" He asked, he scratched his large head, "You are not injured or sick and you have plenty to eat, what do you want?"

The Sandjar child came closer to him, again holding his arms out, suddenly the old man understood, he wanted to be picked up. At first, he laughed at having forgotten such a simple thing. He looked around, to make sure no one was watching, he reached out and picked up the green creature, then carefully sat him upon his lap. He looked into the baby Sandjar's yellowish eyes.

"I am sure, the odds of you having any feelings for me, are very low but I want you to know, it would not be altogether upsetting, if you did."

The child started to make a gurgling sound, even with his strange face and rows of sharp teeth, it was easy to see, he was laughing. It was an innocent laugh, a laugh that would have pleased the Gods but was only heard by the old man.

"I really wish, your communications were more precise, simple grunting and body movements, are not an efficient means of relaying information."

Osh knew then, this was no longer a scientific experiment, it had gone far beyond that. If only his colleagues, back on his home-world, could see him now. He had been the recipient of many awards, for his data processing, in geology, history, biology and more. Now he was an outcast, on an outcast world.

Is there really such a thing as luck, or is it just a joke of the Gods?

All that did not matter, right now, he was a father with his child. Let the stars laugh at him, despite of his better judgment, he started to laugh too. He was not sure how the Sandjar expressed joy but he thought he saw the little green child smiling.

"Well it looks like I shall have to give you a name," he said, looking at the child, "Let me think. You're a carnivorous biped life-form of the Endo-Nomarus species, so I think, I shall call you Endo, yes, from now on, you shall be named Endo."

The child looked at his new father and began making a soft mewing sound, the old man took this as a sign, that the name was acceptable.

"Then it is settled, now, if you are wondering just what an Endo-Nomarus species is, I shall enlighten you, it really is a fascinating subject. You see, there are Twenty-Seven known species of Nomarus, in the Outer Rim Worlds, of those, you would be categorized as a type three. That is, a carnivorous scavenger, with low level interactive communication and...."

Little Endo, did not understand a word, of what the old man was saying but he did like the sound of his voice. He sat quietly in his father's warm lap and listened, making more mewing sounds. The old man did not know but it was indeed, the way Sandjar laughed.

Arn had left the warrior's fire and was walking in the desolate sand dunes, not far from camp. Andra had watched him go and without anyone seeing, she followed him. She really did not know why, half way from the oasis, she almost turned back.

_I'm too old, to be acting like a schoolgirl with a heart weight on some boy, I should go back to my tent and start acting like a grown woman;_ she thought. _S_ he started back, then she noticed the King was carrying something, in his left hand. In his right hand, he held his heavy ax, warriors never seemed to go without. Watching him leaving the camp, aroused her curiosity.

The sounds of the celebration, were fading into the night, Andra saw Arn stop, he stood by a group of large rocks, atop a dune and looked up at the night sky. As Andra grew closer, she could hear him talking in a low voice. She did not understand, exactly what he was saying but the way he was speaking, seemed to indicate that they had a lot of meaning.

As she drew near, she stopped behind a boulder, not making a sound, she saw what he had been carrying. It was a small gold vessel, in the shape of a child, Arn lifted it up to the stars, she heard him speak, "The Salt of the Earth."

Reverently, he poured the vessel's contents onto the sand. Andra saw Grana crystals, fall like shimmering water, onto the ground, the King put the empty vessel into his belt. There was a moment of silence, then he spoke again, this time it was loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Are all Off-World females, as curious as you?" He turned and looked right at Andra, even though she tried to hide behind the rock.

She knew it was pointless, trying to conceal herself any longer and she moved into plain view. She stood there, looking sheepish for a moment, then she walked slowly over to Arn and looked at him.

"What were you doing?" she asked; _just like a schoolgirl!_

Maybe it was not the best way to address a King but Andra had never been good at protocol, it had got her into trouble in the past. She always thought it was a waste of time, she liked to get to the point. She stood silently waiting for a reply.

Arn knew, if Agart had been here, he would be very upset, at the woman for asking the King his business. He wasn't. It seemed a simple matter, just to remind the woman to whom she was talking.

"I was, remembering someone, who is gone now," he said, he looked up at the moons overhead, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, I have a brother but I haven't seen him since the war. He was..." her voice trailed off when she remembered her brother; _m_ _y brother, you stayed behind, while I went to fight, now you are dead. "_ I don't like to talk about him."

Arn pointed to a small moon overhead, "We call that small moon Eka, the other moons are its brothers and sisters, together they travel the skies and sing songs to each other." _Yes, the moons, they are the family of the sky._

"Was that what you were doing, singing to the moons?" she asked.

The King looked out over the distant sand dunes, he spoke in a low voice, "No, I was, remembering a lost brother, I was praying to the Gods to care for him, the Grana was an offering to them." _M_ _y brother, the brother I never knew._

"Your brother was killed?" she asked; _i_ _s my brother alive? No, he died long ago._

Arn shook his head, "No, he was my womb brother but he was chosen, to be with the Gods, while I was chosen, to be with my tribe."

Andra did not understand what he was saying but from the look on his face, it was a subject, Arn did not like to talk about. She decided to change the subject, "Driving a wagon, is a lot easier than riding a Whiptail, I don't know how you can sit in a saddle, all day long."

The King had to laugh, "A Nomad is born to ride the lands of Gorn, I was given my first Whiptail at an early age. I had barely seen two cycles, before I was riding beside my father." _My father, forgive me._ "He was a great leader and a good King;" _f_ _orgive me!_

Andra sat down on a low rock, she adjusted her robe, she was used to it now and liked the way, the moonlight made the colors look richer.

"I never knew my father," she said bluntly, "he died when I was very young but I found out later, he'd gone off with another woman. I tried finding him once but I guess he didn't want to be found, so I just let it go. It was alright anyway, my mother took good care of us." _I wish, I had known my father, would he have loved me?_

Arn came over and sat down beside her, as he did, her heart beat faster.

_Schoolgirl! Stop it!_ _You're a grown woman, "_ Where are we going?" she asked.

"We are not going anywhere, it is a warm night and I think we should stay here," he answered. _You are a King and she is a Half-Soul, never forget it._

Andra had to laugh, "No, I mean where are you taking the tribe?"

Arn also laughed, "Oh, we are going to the City of the Talsonar, there we will trade for weapons and goods."

"Are these Talsonar like you?" she asked, "No, they are like you," he replied.

"What do you mean like me?" Andra asked.

"They are Half-Souls, they are not The Chosen of the Gods, they come to take our lands and destroy all Outlanders."

Suddenly both of them, felt a wall come down between them, it was true, that Arn was a Nomad and Andra was an Off-Worlder. Nothing could change that, for a moment, neither one of them spoke, finally the King broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Does your arm still hurt?" he asked.

Andra rubbed the arm, she had used to lift Arn during the hunt, it was still very sore, "Yes but I will be fine in a few days."

The King laid his ax against a rock and stood up. He began looking around at the heavy boulders near to them, he overturned them, one by one, until he found what he was looking for. Under one rock, were several large, almost transparent worms. They were about as long as a forearm and as big around, as middle finger. Arn picked one up and brought it over to Andra.

Andra was curious, about what he was going to do, with the huge worm, he sat next to her, "What are you going to do with that?" she asked.

Arn suddenly squeezed the wiggling creature in his hand, then he smeared the clear body fluid onto Andra's arm.

"The bite of a Rock-worm is poisonous but their body fluid, can stop pain and speed up healing," he said. He rubbed Andra's arm vigorously; _she has a strong arm, she would bear strong children._

Andra had to bite her lip, she really hated the idea of having the worm's insides, all over her arm. She suddenly felt her arm, starting to warm, it was a pleasant feeling and after a moment or two, the pain went away. She moved her shoulder, around and around, it felt like it was never injured.

"It worked," she smiled, "I guess worms are not so bad and they're a lot better than spiders."

The King gave her a strange look, "You do not like spiders?"

Andra shook her head, "I hate them, once when I was a little girl, I fell into a ground spider hole, they swarmed all over me, horrible. My mother heard my screams and came out to rescue me, I never want to see another spider again."

The King turned his head away; _the lurkers in the darkness, she does not know._

Andra rubbed her arm again and gave a little laugh, "You're going to make a good husband for some lucky woman." _Schoolgirl, stop it!_

The two warriors sat looking at each other for a moment, then Arn got up suddenly, "There are many dangers in the sands, I should take you back, to the safety of the camp now," he said.

She looked around at the soft sand and the glimmering moonlight, playing over its rolling surface, there was nothing to fear here, "I'd like to stay here a while, if you don't mind." _G_ _rown woman!_

The King glanced around at the sand for a moment, "Very well."

Andra looked at the young King; _he has scars but he's still very handsome and his tattoos are not really ugly. "_ Did it hurt, when your faced was marked?"

Arn unconsciously raised a hand to his face, "Marked?' No, I was just a child when they put the marks of Kingship on me," he looked at Andra, "I see no rings on your ears, do you have a mate?"

_Is he asking me if I have a husband?_ "No, I don't have a mate. I was too busy to find one, besides, you can't raise a family, when your world is at war."

The King thought that over for a moment, "The Almadra are always at war but we still bring young into our tribe."

Andra suddenly felt very uneasy, all this talk of children, she changed the subject. She reached down to pick up the heavy ax, lying next to them but as she was about to, Arn grabbed her hand.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I was just going to see how heavy your weapon was."

The King picked up his ax and put it to his other side, away from Andra, "You must never touch another warriors tooth, it's not done, it would bring disaster on those who did."

"A tooth?" she asked, "You call your ax a tooth?"

The King smiled at her, "Yes, it is the tooth of Isarie, you must never touch it."

She held up her hands, "I didn't know, I'm sorry, I guess I still have a lot to learn about your ways."

"That will take a lifetime, are you going to be staying with us for a lifetime _?" Stay with us, stay with me._

Andra, felt a small electric spark shoot down her back, she did not know why but the idea of spending a lifetime with the Madrigal, did not seem that far fetched. She was going to say something clever but before she could, Arn's body suddenly tensed.

His voice was soft but filled with a warning, "Do not move."

Andra didn't move, long years of training as a soldier, had taught her to follow orders. She scanned the sands for any sign of danger but saw nothing, "What is it?"

Before he could answer, the sand beneath their feet began to shift, they both tried to grab the rock but it was too late. As the sand parted, a long dark, scaled head, shot up and looked at them, it was about a meter in length, with large yellow eyes. It opened its mouth, displaying a set of long razor sharp teeth, with a loud hissing sound, it struck!

Arn only had a second to think, he could reach for his weapon and let the creature have the woman, or push her away and hope his speed would save him. Without any further thought, he struck out with his arm and Andra went flying.

A snake like monster, rose out of the sand, it had a long body and several, thick, webbed arms, used to push it through the soft sand. It was covered in glistening black scales and when it opened its massive jaws, a long purple tongue darted in an out, smelling the air.

Arn's movements were like lightning, he jumped to one side, as the creature's teeth raked his shoulder. Blood began to flow but his speed saved his life. He jumped to his feet and tried to find his ax, before he could, the creature was upon him. It hissed and spat, its long neck coiled back, for a death strike. The King knew, he would need the Gods on his side, to elude the monster's gripping teeth. He tensed every muscle in his body, ready to react, with jaws wide open, the creature's yellow eyes focused upon him. Then it struck!

Arn moved in a blur of speed, he managed to clamp his arm around the beast's neck, squeezing with all his strength. The creature's tail whipped the sand and its body twisted from side to side. The Nomad was lifted high into the air and then driven hard onto the sand, it would have broken any other humanoid's back but Arn survived. The wind was knocked out of him but he still held the sand monster's neck, in a death grip, he squeezed with his last ounce of strength. The veins on his neck stood out and he ground his teeth in rage, the Nomad's eyes blazed with fury, with a loud snapping sound, the creature's neck broke.

The scaly body, twitched for a moment or two, then went limp. Arn held on for a while, then let the neck fall to the ground. He stood, taking in deep gasps of the night air, he looked over to see Andra, standing next to him, holding his war-ax.

She saw that the snake thing was dead. She was well aware, she was holding the weapon, she had been told, never to touch. She looked at the King, "Sorry, I just thought...."

Breathless, the King pointed towards her, he tried to speak but the words would not come, Andra just looked at him.

"Yes I know, I didn't want to touch it but I had to, now I can see you don't need my help." She was about to drop the weapon, when she heard a sound beside her. As she turned, another huge snake head, rose swiftly out of the sand, its yellow reptilian eyes, fixed on her, its dripping jaws, wide open.

Without thinking, Andra swung the heavy ax, cutting the creature's head off. Greenish blood, sprayed over her, the creature's head hit the ground and rolled to a stop. In its death throes, the jaws continued to open and close, for a time, then it was still. Andra felt the sticky liquid running down her face.

Arn had regained his breath, slowly he walked over to Andra, "Moric-Kan, Sand Dragons, they always hunt in pairs."

Andra was not interested in Sand Dragons, she was covered in foul smelling blood and she had broken another of the Almadra's rules. She slowly handed the weapon back to the King, "Here, I think this is yours."

He took the ax and looked at it, "By our law, you should be punished but you saved our lives. I think that is more important, than a defiled ax." He began heading back to camp, "Come, you deserve a full tankard of our finest Po, for your bravery."

A drink sounded very good but at the moment, she would rather have a nice warm bath. As they walked back to camp, Andra suddenly started to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" the King asked.

"Well I may be covered in Sand Dragon blood but I'll feel much better in the morning, Seeda's head won't!"

It was true, the King began to laugh, "Yes, I think I would rather face another dragon, than my sister, when the suns rise."

There was more laughter, in all the Worlds of the Outer Rim, there was no better laughter than an Outlander's.

#  Chapter 12. The Stone City

The dwelling of the Talsonar is tremendous, in sheer size it must outrank even the structures of the Youngonrie and it is certainly far older. Its pyramid shape appears to be constructed from a combination of Itarian steel and indigenous stone, there is a beacon affixed to its highest point and the light shines both day and night. The people who built it, are unknown but they must have had an intelligence, to rival that of any known civilization in the Outer Rim.

From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

Many days and nights had past, since they had left the oasis, for the most part, their travels had been uneventful. They did come across a few lone Nomads, Waste-wanders as they were known, they were the Outcasts of their tribe. They had broken some law, or left on their own accord but whatever the reason, they were now alone. They had no home and no family, they could be dangerous but they would hardly attack a full column of the Almadra. The Nomads did not speak of them and when Osh asked for more information, he was told to mind to his own affairs. They passed them by and continued the quest, they were now leaving the sands of the desert and heading into the greener flat plains of the pyramid cities.

Andra was now fully recovered and learning the ways of the Nomads. She had made several friends in the tribe but most of the Elders did not trust her, even though the King had made her a warrior and given her a name in the tribe. They still looked upon her, as just another Off-World intruder, who had come to take more of their land and spoil what was left. The younger men and women, were a bit kinder and she felt she was making headway with them. They seemed to look at her, with a more open mind and liked seeing her, trying to learn their traditions and laws. Many times, she would become an object of ridicule and laughter, for failing to light the Washa fires properly, or getting too close to an angry Whiptail.

She was also a disaster at cooking, even the simple task of baking Kasha bread, ended in a black, foul smelling lump. She decided to give up baking and concentrate on becoming a warrior. She had still not made up her mind, about leaving the tribe and returning to some kind of civilization but for now, she decided to make the best of things.

Seeda was her mentor, she had learned a lot over the past days and was now able to ride a Whiptail, as well as most of the warriors. She even tried the heavy war-ax, the weapon of the Almadra. Try as she may, she was never a match for any of the tribe. On the other hand, she was their superior, when it came to using the Dragons-teeth. Hand to hand combat, was her specialty when she was a soldier and during the war, she had killed many enemies, even though, they were twice her size. She was fast and cunning, soon she was being called warrior and that made her feel very happy.

Osh had been caring for the infant Sandjar, as best he could, when Andra first saw Endo again, she wanted to smash in his skull. The old man stopped her and it caused a rift between them. They had spoken very little since then and Osh rode in a separate wagon, he had been given. As for the young Sandjar, it had grown rapidly in size and intelligence, it was now equal, to any of the young boys in the tribe and could communicate fairly well.

The old man, had tried to teach the creature his language with some success but it was mostly by body gestures and expressions, that he understood the Sandjar. He also noticed, he looked somewhat different to the scavengers he remembered, his skin was rather pale, instead of the dark green color of his species and his temperament was gentler. Perhaps it was his upbringing and the kindness shown to him, by Osh, or maybe it was the human blood, he had consumed as a baby. Either way, the old Callaxion studied him closely.

As the days passed, he looked upon the strange child, more like a son than a scientific experiment. He was sure he did not love the creature but then, what were the feelings he had in his heart?

As for Anais, he was spending his evenings in the High Priestess' tent. Arn and the Elders of the Tribe, thought this was a good thing. Perhaps he was studying the Holy writings and praying to the Gods? They hoped his new found spiritualism, would soften his demeanor and make him more satisfied with his life.

What they did not know, was that he was spending his nights, in the arms of one of the Handmaidens of the Gods. Soffca had proven herself a wonderful lover, her gentle touch and quiet ways, were like a drug to the young Prince. She would dance for him and prepare his food, listen intently to his dark dreams and plans for the future. She would not speak as they lay together and Anais, would pour out his wounded heart to her. He would tell her things, he had told no other, how he hated his brothers and how he longed for power and revenge. Through the dark hours of the night, he would whisper to her of his longings and she would look at him and smile contently. She would touch his face and look at him with soft caring eyes, to him, she was the perfect companion. He knew that violating a Handmaiden of the Gods, was a mortal sin but he did not care.

Isarie would punish him for his transgressions but it did not matter. He did not believe in the Gods and even if they did exist, cared not. Let the Gods do what they may, he would do as he wanted. The Afterlife was a long way off, for now, his nights were warm and peaceful, feeling the arms of his lover gratified him.

Obec spent her days and nights in prayer. The always watchful Thungodra, could hear her chanting, they noticed that many small Outland creatures were taken for sacrifice. Once or twice, screams were heard from the Holy Wagon but no one dared to ask, what was happening or why. The ways of the Gods, were not for mere mortals to understand, so the Nomads let it pass.

When not teaching Andra, Seeda had been spending time with her mother, Egmar was slowly coming out of her sadness. Little by little, she had been talking and doing more of the things, she did before the loss of her King and husband. In the last few days, she had even been heard singing, the ancient songs of the tribe. Sometimes, she would suddenly cry, or look off into space, as if waiting for somebody but those times were few. Seeda knew, she had not lost her mother, there would be more warm days ahead.

The Almadra passed through the Lowlander's country, they were people, who did not live in the pyramid cities, they made their homes in the flat lands. They were a mixed breed, known mostly for their very unattractive women. They lived by the rivers, in mud huts, eking out a living as farmers and fishermen. They built rather crude fortifications, against the dangers of Gorn and were mostly left alone, by the Talsonar. They had little to offer, they made very bad slaves and were difficult to control. They lived quietly and when the Burning Time came, they retreated into their underground tunnels, to hide and wait, until they could emerge once again, to continue their mundane lives.

The Nomads, were heading for the home of the city dwellers, it was not far away now. There they could trade the wagon loads of precious Grana Salt, for supplies and other goods they needed. It had to be done, the weapons they needed could only be obtained from the Talsonar. Trading for goods, had now become a large part of their lives.

Before the coming of the Off-World people, they had lived a much different existence but that was long ago, none of the Elders had lived in those times, now it was only legend. They had heard their parent's stories and read the Holy Scriptures.

Once, they had been the sole inhabitants of Gorn, they hunted and lived peaceful lives. Then the Off-Worlders came and with them, came many strange new things and different traditions. They worshiped bizarre Gods and fought wars in the stars, they made slaves of other creatures and played in sinful ways. If it had been up to the Elders, they would never come near a pyramid city again. There was nothing that could be done, they needed them, without the heavy guns and Disruptors, they would become weak and be destroyed by their enemies. So the Elders prayed to all-powerful Isarie for guidance, while the young grew excited, at the thought of seeing the Forbidden City. Like all young people, they were intrigued by the mysterious tales, they had heard about the mystical stone city. Their strange ways and rituals and like all forbidden things, it only made their interest greater.

As the Almadra moved through the Flatland's, they saw the many crashed Drop-ships and other derelict spacecraft that littered the rolling landscape.

What was once a lush and beautiful place, was now little more than a junkyard, the twisted hulks of abandoned Lightships, lay everywhere. Some of them were deliberately crashed, others were caught in the Electro Magnetic pulses and were unable to take off again. It was lucky, that the star drives had been shut down before they crashed, or shortly thereafter. There were interplanetary ships on Gorn, with their powerful engines still giving off radiation, those places were the poison zones and nothing lived there, for long! They were given a wide berth by the Nomads and were now, lands for the dammed or forgotten.

The Nomad's wagons, rolled easily on the hard ground of the Flatland's, there were green plants here, they also passed vile swamp lands. These areas gave off a very unpleasant smell but were useful to the Talsonar, because a brown moss grew here and they used it to make Marsh-beer.

Some old Lightships, had been overgrown by vegetation, now homes to many of Gorn's strange creatures, they were also the homes of the cities outcasts. People who were thrown out of the city, for breaking some law or another, or for displeasing the Governor. They hid in the broken remains, trying to survive as best they could, hunting and killing any animals that were about. They were not the large Outland monsters that the Nomads feared but rather domestic animals that had escaped, or were let free by the Talsonar. The outcasts, would kill any lone traveler, who ventured too close to their homes but they never attacked a column of Outlanders and were harmless to the Nomads. The warriors still kept a keen eye out for trouble and held their axes tightly.

As usual, Arn rode at the head of his people, he could see the flashing beacon of the Talsonar City. The tremendous height of the structure, sent the light out for many miles and even for anyone without the Sixth Sense of Direction, it was impossible to miss the beacon.

Arn was pleased, he had brought his people safely to their goal, he looked at Agart riding beside him, "We will make camp on the outskirts of the city tonight, make sure the Grana wagons are well protected. If anyone falls asleep on duty, tell them the King will have their heads." At that moment, he sounded just like his father.

Agart nodded his head in approval, "I will see to it myself, your highness," he smiled at his older brother, "It looks like, you did not get us lost, after all." _T_ _he Gods smile on my brother, he is a good King._

Arn had to laugh a little, maybe he was acting a bit too high and mighty but seeing his brother smile at him, brought him down to earth again. "If I did, I am sure you would have set me on the right path." _Agart is my right hand, without him I would be a weak King._

Not far behind them, rode Seeda and Almec, now that her mother was better and Andra no longer needed care, she was free to resume her old life. The feel of the Whiptail under her and the soft warm air on her face, made her feel alive once more.

She had everything she ever wanted now, she was a strong warrior, respected by the tribe. The Mating Time would soon come and she would choose of the best warriors, to be her life companion, everyone knew it would be Almec. He was strong and brave and would make a good husband, the young Princess, was not sure but as far as her people were concerned, her life was set before her.

_I will bear strong children and fight for the tribe if needed;_ she thought. _I will grow old and become a respected Elder of the tribe. Then I will become a Frail-leg and spend my last days as an uncaring Star-singer._ Her Whiptail made a loud grunt; _is there nothing more? No other life than the life of a Nomad? Are there no worlds beyond ours?_ Another grunt, Seeda looked out over the landscape; _is there nothing more?_

Almec gazed at his future mate, he dreamed of their lives ahead, to him, it would be the best life, there could, possibly be. He had loved her, since they were children and often dreamed of the day, when he would take her as his wife. They would mate and their children, would someday become great leaders in the tribe, maybe even Kings. He looked up at the twin suns above and felt their warm rays on his body, Isarie must be pleased with him and he was pleased with himself.

He turned to look back at Seeda, "I think, I will trade for a new robe, for you, one with bright colors and gold trim." Seeda was not listening, she was too busy thinking of other things, Almec spoke louder, "Do you like the color red?" he asked; _r_ _ed would look good on her and maybe a pair of mated rings for her ears?_

His future mate, suddenly stopped daydreaming and looked over at him, "What? No, I am not hungry." She returned to her contemplation; _n_ _o other worlds?_

Almec could hear her muttering, he decided that the choice of robe color, would have to wait.

The Talsonar knew that the Nomads were coming, the scouts had reported their intrusion into the Lowlands, some time ago. It always meant a flurry of activity around the city, as they made ready for trading and the arrival of the Grana. The supply of the precious salt, was running low and there had even been reports of sickness breaking out. Of course the slaves and the underground dwellers, were the first to suffer but they were not that important. If the High-breeders were affected, then no effort was too small, to assure their safety.

Tamar-Ran and his men, sat waiting in one of the city's many exit tunnels, it was dim and smelled of sand, sweat, and mildew. There were about two hundred of his best soldiers, he was certain they could keep order, in case the Nomads wanted a fight. He knew they could not defeat them but they could keep them busy, long enough for the army to assemble and the city's weapons activated. As the Lion-man sat, he drank deeply of Marsh-beer, it was going to be a long day and he wanted to make certain that his thirst was quenched, before it started.

Darken had already spoken to Tamar-Ran and his orders were clear, give the Nomads what they want but make sure to we get the wagons of Grana. The commander knew, when Darken gave an order, you did not fail, he did not want to end up in the dark caverns of the power station, or in the arena, as food for the Sager Cats. He remembered his days as a gladiator and did not want to return to that life, so the Lion-man turned to his men.

"When the Outlanders arrive, I want them watched, I do not want any trouble but make sure they behave themselves. Above all else, the Grana must be ours, do I make myself clear?"

The company of Hal-Jafar, shouted out their understanding, then waited. They were the peace keepers of the pyramid city and were all seasoned soldiers, of Off-World Wars. They had come to Gorn, to escape capture or being put on trial for War crimes. They were a mixed company, there were Trisasions, Bolbecs, Eleions and many more but all of them, were loyal to their commander, Tamar-Ran. He had proven he could lead them well and did not hesitate in battlefield decisions, they would remain loyal to him and the Governor, as long as their needs were met. They mostly consisted of strong drink, food and females, for a soldier there was little else that mattered.

The commander smiled at his men, "Very good and if all goes well, I will see to it that we shall have some special fun, when the job is done." _Y_ _es, a large cup of Marsh-beer and a warm female._

The men let out a cheer, they knew what he had in mind. They would have a night with the Sin-Cravers, individuals who had become addicted to Ice and now spent their time in endless orgies, caring for little else.

Tamar-Ran gave the signal, for one of the heavy city doors, to be opened. There was a loud grinding sound, as the immense siege door, slowly opened, the bright light of day flooded into the dim interior. The commander gave the order to move and the Hal-Jafar marched into the bright sunlight.

The Almadra were approaching the stone city, they drew closer together and the warriors took up their positions around the tribe. They checked their weapons and made sure their armor was tight. The Frail-legs withdrew into their wagons and the children were put safely behind their parents. The watchful Thungodra, circled the Holy Wagon and pulled down their helmet guards, in case of a sudden attack. The Spike-backs with the Long-Range weapons, were also made ready.

Kuno was the leader of the Spikeback warriors, it was his responsibility, to make sure they were kept ready and in good order, in case they were needed. They had loaded the canons with explosive rounds, the powerful Disruptors had been charged up. If the King gave the order, they would not hesitate to fire.

As Arn saw the city dwellers running away from them, he could not help but smile, he had no hatred for them but no love either. They were not of his kind and never would be, he did not want to be their friend and knew it was better to be feared than ignored. As he watched them take shelter inside their mud-baked dwellings, he sat straighter in his saddle, he would act like a King and give them something to fear.

When he thought they were close enough to the massive city, Arn gave the signal to halt. The long column of Nomads came to an abrupt stop and then they waited.

The King looked around, the area was clear of city dwellers, there was a water well, not far off and good hard ground, it was safe. He turned to Agart, "Give the order to make camp and then we shall contact the Talsonar, it is not far to the city."

Agart got down from his Whiptail and then came over to his brother, "I think it would be better to let them come to us, a King does not go to a Governor." _M_ _y brother has brought us safely to the city and I helped him, the Gods are pleased._

Arn realized, he still had a lot to learn about being a King, "Yes you're right," he said, "Have the Grana wagons brought up and the Elders made comfortable. I think it would be best, if you negotiate our needs with the Off-Worlders."

"As you command my King," he smiled broadly at his older brother; _I will help._ Then he went off, to make sure all was well in the Nomad camp.

Andra had been driving Egmar's wagon, when she first saw the pyramid city, even though they were many miles away. She thought it was huge but seeing it up close, made her feel, there were no words to describe it. She had seen many great cities and fortresses, in her soldier's life, the giant dome structures on Drymac and the battle fortress of the Yougonrie. None compared to the sheer size of the stone city.

She could just make out the beacon, on top of the structure, it was so high, that low clouds, were obscuring some of its light. The many levels, now open to the outside, made her think, there was a whole world inside. The outside surface was pitted and scarred and it told her, it was fantastically old. Whoever or whatever built this, must have been Gods in their own right.

She looked out over the horizon, in the haze, she could just make, out the tops of the Three Sisters, a group of high peaks that pointed in the direction of the next Pyramid City. Using them as reference, it was possible to travel to the next great structure but it was rarely used, for the creatures inhabiting that place, were said, to be demons.

Egmar had also seen the city, she was sitting quietly behind Andra, with her, were several Touch-tenders. The Queen, was still watched closely by her Handmaidens and all her needs cared for. The Queen had not spoken much to the Off-Worlder. She was not sure about her yet, she knew that Arn, had taken an interest in her and it did not please her. A King of the Madrigal, should keep to his own kind, there was nothing to be gained, by getting close to this Half-Soul. If Karn was still alive, he would quickly put a stop to all this familiarity, with Off-Worlders. Now Arn was King, it was not her place, to give him ultimatums, so she sat quietly and prayed to the Gods for deliverance.

When the signal was given to make camp, Andra pulled back on the reins and the Trofar came to a sudden stop. She got down from the wagon and stood looking at the immense city. She heard as a loud blast come from the structure, she knew it must be a signal, the Outlanders had arrived. At that moment, Seeda came riding up and got off her mount, she tied the beast to the wagon, then came over to Andra, as she stood staring at the city.

"They say the Gods themselves, built the pyramid cities," she said, "this one is the home of the Talsonar. They say they eat their young and spend their lives in orgies of drugs and pleasure," then she smiled, "What would a Moonbud know of such things?" Seeda liked teasing Andra about her name, she did not mean any harm but she liked to see the look on her face, when she called her a little flower.

Andra gave her a look, "I'd be careful of this flower, it has sharp thorns," then she put her hand on one of the Dragons-teeth at her belt.

Seeda had to chuckle some, then she slapped her adopted sister hard, on the back, "Spoken like a true warrior." _She is learning our ways quickly._

Once the Nomads had made camp, the city people, slowly came out of hiding, they were always mindful of the Outlanders. They knew their quick tempers and were not sure what might happen but when they saw their tents going up and the Whiptails secured, they were eager to start trading.

To the people of the city, they were both devils and saints, without the Grana they brought, they would soon perish and they also brought many wonderful things to trade. Ivory tusks from the giant Thundra beasts, Rimar horns, Sagar Cat furs, hides of Hagar Bears and Burrow-babies. The feathers of the Onyx Bird, medicinal herbs and potions, shells and dried fish from the Sea People and much, much more. For their goods, the Talsonar would give them what they wanted, fine robes and weaving, Marsh-beer and pottery, jewelry, and rugs. The wagons they used for traveling and dozens of other items that the Nomads treasured.

There was one thing, no one ever spoke of and that was Ice. The pleasure drug was forbidden to the Nomads and was never permitted near their camp. If an Almadra was found with the substance, he or she was cast out. One of the most powerful Nomad tribes, the Argonie, had been destroyed by Ice. They had traded for the drug and soon found themselves addicted to it. They no longer hunted or traveled the Outlands, they gave up their wandering ways, to live near the pyramid cities, spending their days and nights in phantom dreams of delight. Now they were forgotten and the other tribes, only spoke their names in whispers. To be a Sin-Craver, was the darkest fate of any Nomad, you lived the rest of your life alone and when you died, your soul would never find the Greenland's and Golden Hall of the Afterlife.

It did not take the Nomads long, to make their camp and settle in. The King posted guards around the camp and gave orders that all warriors should be ready in case of trouble. It was always a matter of concern, when any Outlander came into the pyramid city. They were not allowed into the city itself, unless the Governor gave them permission. They were free to trade and wander outside as they wished but having a Nomad warrior inside was taking a great risk.

The Nomads had to leave their war-axes behind, it was a hard for them to do. Many of them refused to do so and remained behind in camp, rather than give up their weapons. The Nomads could carry their dragon's teeth and wear their armor. It was a compromise that most of them could live with, although it went against their nature.

As the warm night fell, the traders opened their shops, ready to see what the Almadra had brought. There was a vast number of things to choose from, if you were looking to trade. Textiles for making robes and coverings, jewelry of gold and silver and precious stones, pottery for cooking and carrying wine and water, carved statues and offerings to the Gods. There were games of chance and finely worked instruments, to play music, drums and flutes, things the Nomads loved to own. There were shops with cooking utensils and exotic herbs to make soups and improve the taste of Rimar meat.

In the torchlight, the ever-present Sin-Cravers, would stand outside their dirty huts and show their bodies. A Nomad, only used to members of his own tribe, found it quite pleasurable, to spend an evening with city dwellers. It was not just the males of the tribe, who liked variety, the female warriors, could also be found lusting over a man from the pyramids.

The Nomads were not above the pleasures of the flesh. The leaders of the different tribes, had forbidden the use of the pyramid cities many drugs but it could not stop a warrior who wanted them. They could be found in dark dens around the city, where many were more than eager to trade their wares, for the valuable goods of the Outlanders. So as the moons of Gorn rolled slowly overhead, the Bazaar of the Talsonar, was alive with people.

Seeda was eager to explore all that the city had to offer. The last time she had been here, was over a cycle ago and she had been injured, so she was not, able to see, everything she had heard about. This time, she vowed to take in all the wonders and delights, of the Talsonar. Almec as always, was by her side, he wanted to buy her a new robe and maybe a finely worked gold necklace. He was carrying a very large Rimar horn, over his shoulder, it should fetch a good price. Seeda stopped to look some trinkets, a man was selling.

She picked up a set of nicely made gold earrings, then looked at the man, sitting behind the counter, "I will trade you a set of Sager Cat teeth for these." The merchant was a big man, with a matted beard and small piggish eyes, there was no hair on his large head and he was missing an ear. The other ear, had a heavy gold ring hanging from it, with a long tooth attached. The man shook his head, "I have all the Sagar teeth I need," he pointed to the tooth hanging from his ear, "I will trade you for a large Robox root, if you have one."

Everyone knew, Robox root was very hard to find and was worth far more, than a set of Sagar teeth. The root was used as an aphrodisiac and to grow hair, from the looks of the jeweler, he was in need of both, very badly.

"I will trade you half a root," she replied. The bald man rubbed his head, at the spot where his ear was missing, thinking it over for a moment, "Done," he said, then held out his thick hand for payment. Seeda reached into her worn trading pouch and took out a large Robox root, she broke it in two and handed half to the market seller, she took the earrings and started to walk away.

Almec looked at her, "You have many gold earrings already, you did not need more." _I_ _f only they were mated rings!_

Seeda just smiled at him, "You can never, have too many earrings, besides it was my trade, not yours."

The young warrior, did not want to get into another argument, with his future mate, he kept quiet. He felt, it was not the way of a Nomad but when the heart speaks, a warrior forgets everything. They walked past several trading stalls but they were not looking for cooking pots or charms, Almec spotted a large stall, selling fine robes.

"Look," he said, "there, is a clothes merchant, I can trade for a new robe, for you."

Seeda seemed preoccupied but went anyway, when they got to the stall, they found it filled with wonderfully made, robes of all kinds and colors. Garments of this quality, were not possessed by every Nomad. Male warriors, often traded for these rich garments, in hopes of impressing a female, at mating time.

As Seeda looked over the robes, Almec started to trade for his horn, he was driving a hard bargain with the wary robe merchant. The seller was an Oleian, they were well known for their intricate textiles and their shrewd haggling but they finally settled on a trade, which they were both happy with. The young warrior smiled, as he handed over his Rimar horn, "Then it is agreed, your best robe and seven lengths of fine cloth, for my horn." _Seeda will be pleased when she sees the robe, it is a good trade and I have the robe I wanted._

It was not the best of trades, the robe seller took the horn, then looked hard at the warrior, "And would you and your mate, care to add a little fire to your nights?" He smiled, as he made the remark. Almec was happy for the man to take them for mated but his smile turn to a frown, as the merchant took a small pouch out of his wide belt and poured the contents into his pale hand.

The warrior saw small crystals, they looked like Grana but they were a reddish color, he knew instantly, this was the pleasure drug called Ice. Almec, immediately began moving away from the merchant... _Ice! The man is offering me forbidden Ice! "_ That is forbidden, I will take my robe and go," he said. He was angry that the merchant, offered him such a thing, if the Elders of the Tribe had caught him with the crystals, he would be made an Outcast and that was something, he never wanted to be.

As he started to leave, he saw that Seeda talking to the merchant, she had overheard the robe seller and wanted to see the crystals for herself. As she looked at the reddish, ice like fragments, she remembered all the dark stories, about what the pleasure drug did. As a child, she overheard her mother, telling of the Argonie and how the forbidden drug destroyed them. She knew the Argonie were a weak people and it had been the will of the Gods and not the Ice, that put an end to the tribe.

"What is your trade offer for the crystals?" she asked.

Almec was horrified, hearing Seeda asking for a trade, he came over to her quickly and took her by the arm. "Let us leave this place, your trade, is forbidden by the Elders," he whispered, lest any other Nomads, hear and tell the King of his sister's actions.

Seeda pulled her arm away and looked hard at the young man, "Do you always do what the Elders tell you to do?" Then she turned back to the merchant, "I will trade you half a Robox root for the crystals," then she waited.

The merchant knew it was a fair price, he also knew that if a Nomad was willing to go against the laws of her tribe, she would be willing to offer much more. "I will trade you half the crystals for your root and two shell necklaces."

_He is cheating me but I want the crystals._ She took out a shell necklace from her trading pouch, "Half a root and one necklace," she said firmly.

The robe merchant thought it over for a moment, it was a good price. He decided to take the offer, before the warrior changed her mind, "Done," he said, putting half of the crystals into Seeda's hand, she in turn gave him the necklace and half a root.

Seeda put the crystals into her pouch and turned to Almec, "Now we can leave." _I_ _t is forbidden but I wanted the crystals._

The two Nomads turned and walked away with their purchases. The robe seller smiled and laughed a little, he knew they would be back and the next time, he would ask for more, he knew the Ice started a fire that could never be quenched.

Arn had agreed to meet with Tamar-Ran, to hammer out a trade for the Grana Salt. He decided to greet the Governor's envoy with all the pomp and splendor, the Almadra could muster. He had the large meeting tent set up and laid the floor with their finest rugs and furnishings. Fresh Rimar meat was cooked, along with their best soups and fruit, a new cask of Po was opened and the ceremonial drinking horns were made ready.

Arn, Agart and several of the best warriors, waited inside the tent for the leader of the Hal-Jafar to arrive, even Anais was there. He did not really want to be but it was the King's order, so he had no choice. He sat in a dark corner of the tent and drank silently, in the meantime, the others were sharing stories and drinking tales, as usual Agart, was retelling a story that always made everyone laugh.

"When I looked again, Arn was still sitting on the Blaze-ant nest, telling me he felt nothing but then he always had a very tough backside."

The King shook his head, "That is because I could stay in a saddle, while you never could."

Agart was just about to question that, when a guard announced the arrival of the Talsonar. The King put his drinking horn down and waited for the tent flap to open.

When it did, Tamar-Ran and several of his Hal-Jafar, entered. They waited for a moment or two, then their leader looked at Arn. "So you are the new King of the Almadra," he said, with a broad smile; _t_ _his King is a child, the Almadra are growing weak._ "You seem very young, to be a leader of warriors."

Arn stood up and came over to the Lion-man, he leaned forward and sniffed him; _h_ _e is testing me, he thinks the Almadra are weak._ "And you smell like a dead Sager Cat!"

Tamar-Ran held out his hand to the new King, "Agreed," he said; _t_ _his King has courage._ He took Arn's hand and then began to shake it, Tamar-Ran began to squeeze hard. He liked doing this, when he met someone new, the Captain's grip, was well known, as one of the strongest of the Talsonar and had broken many a fist. As he squeezed, he realized that the King was squeezing back, even harder. Something, Ran had never felt before, they stood for some time, each testing the other for weakness.

Then Arn smiled, "Agreed," then with one final application of pressure that made the Lion-man wince, he let go of the Captain's hand. Tamar-Ran was not used to being beaten in this hand game and made a growling sound, deep in his throat; _this child is strong!_ _The Almadra are not weak;_ he thought.

There was a tense moment, when the Nomads and the Talsonar both, put their hands on their weapons, it would only take a word from either, the King or the commander and the tent would become a blood bath. Tamar-Ran suddenly smiled, "Well said," he slapped the King on his broad shoulder, "You will make a good King, your grip is strong, now let us see who can cheat the best at trading."

Arn could see, this was a man who did not like to waste time, "Then let us begin, would you like something to drink?" he asked.

The commander smiled and looked around the room, "Do you have any Marsh-beer?"

#  Chapter 13. Fire and Ice

Sing the songs with marching feet, hear the sounds of war drums beat.

Live your days and worry not, laugh at death and wars well fought.

Selcarie marching song.

Andra had been told to remain behind in camp for now. As usual, she had no intention of doing so. She had been in far more dangerous cities and this one seemed no worse. So, even though she had given her word to Arn, that she would stay in camp, she was just waiting until she was alone. Then, she would see what the traders of the Talsonar, had to offer.

Unlike the warriors, Andra had no armor to wear, she decided to dress in one of Seeda's colorful robes. After all, Seeda had many nice garments, she was sure, she would not miss one. So she picked one out with a hood, to cover her face, in case she came across a Nomad, who might recognize her. She also took her Dragons-teeth, by now, she had worn the twin daggers so often, she felt naked without them. She had nothing to trade but that wasn't her purpose anyway. She did not want to be told, she could or could not, go where she wanted, besides, she would be back before anyone noticed. She took one last look at herself, in a small reflection plate, she pulled up the hood and left.

Outside the night air was warm and the moon's overhead, gave out a silvery light that shone off the immense surface of the pyramid city, making it seem more of a magical place, than a city of danger. The beacon on top of the city, blinked on and off, like a great burning eye in the night sky. Its beam illuminated the trader's stalls, in flashes of warmth, then it disappeared until the next flash. Andra quickly checked, if any of the guards were about, she saw two Nomads coming towards her, one very tall, the other shorter. They were carrying trading pouches and seemed eager to begin the night's activities. As they came closer, Andra ducked behind a water wagon, as they passed, she could hear them talking.

"I have a large Sun-dropper claw, it should make a good trade for a new saddle," the tall one said.

"I heard that one claw is no longer enough for a saddle, you will need at least three claws," the shorter of the two replied.

"Then I will have to persuade the tanner that one claw will be enough," he fingered the large dagger at his belt.

They walked past the wagon without seeing Andra, when they were gone, she moved quietly away, towards the beckoning torches of the Talsonar traders.

Osh had been looking forward to seeing the Pyramid City up close but taking care of Endo, was a full-time job. Just this day, he had caught him teasing one of the Whiptails, if had not rescued him quickly, he would have ended up in the beast's belly. He decided, he needed a little rest, before leaving camp, so he put the Sandjar to bed, then lay down for a nap.

When he opened his eyes again it was night. The old man got up from his bed slowly and looked around the small tent, he was expecting to see Endo in the sand pit, he had dug for him. It was his favorite sleeping place but there was no sign of the young Sandjar."Endo?" he called out; _where is that boy? Under the blankets or in the storage vessels again? "_ Endo, where are you hiding?" he asked again. No answer.

A bit concerned now, he quickly searched the small tent, there was nothing. Now, he was certain Endo was gone, for a moment, he thought the Nomads, had at last made good on their threat, to kill the Sandjar. There had been no sound of a struggle, so it seemed, Endo had simply left their quarters on his own. Quickly, the old man drew on his robe and left to find his son.

The dark alleyways of the Talsonar traders, were not good places to be. There were too many ways for the life of an unwary traveler to be taken. Around any corner, an assassin or thief, could be lurking. It did not matter if you were wealthy or poor, they would kill you for the clothes on your back, or a simple gold ring on your finger. Most city dwellers stayed well clear of the dingy avenues and left them to the denizens of the night.

Andra had been walking those streets for some time now. She had seen the trader's stalls but found nothing of interest. She did not care for trinkets and cooking pots and she had no use for them. After a short time she became bored and decided to see, what the dark alleyways had to offer.

She had been in worse streets during the war, she had to fight in many such places, seeking out, sniper attack droids. After a battle, she found comfort in the darkness, as she tried to forget, how many of her comrades had died. As she walked, she began to sing her regiment's old songs and walk with the swagger she had, before the Selcarie defeat.

Seeda and Almec, were leaving the trading stalls and returning to camp, they had not spoken, since purchasing the Ice crystals. Almec knew, Seeda was headstrong and reckless sometimes but this was not a childish prank on an elder, or laughing during Holy rituals. This was breaking one of the tribe's strongest laws, it they were caught, they would pay a heavy price.

The young warrior finally broke the silence, "What will you do with the crystals?" _They should be buried deep in the earth and we should ask Isarie to forgive us!_

Seeda looked at him and smiled, "What do you think?"

"You should throw them into the sand now, the Gods will punish you if you do not," he said solemnly.

Seeda suddenly stopped and turned to him, her dark eyes filled with fire, "Do the Gods make the laws, or are they the fears of Frail-legs?" She looked up at the night sky, "There are other worlds, other ways, I do not want to live the same life, as those who have gone before. I want to see if there is more and if that means breaking our laws, or standing before the Gods, I will!" _I speak against the Gods, do they hear me?_

Almec shook his head, "Surely, Isarie will know what you have done and she will be angry."

"Isarie lives in the stars, we live here, why must we always live in the shadow of the Gods. Is there no life that is just ours and ours alone?" Seeda waited for an answer but none came, "Go if you wish, I will understand _." If he goes, I will be alone. I do not want him to go._

Almec looked hard at her, knowing he should turn and go, it was the right thing to do, a warrior who stands against the Gods will soon be crushed. He looked into her eyes and watched the warm night air, blow through her golden hair, his feet would not move. He heard voices in his mind, telling him to leave her and return to the ways of the Almadra. There was another voice, above all the others, it had a sweet song, it rose up from his heart, a voice he could not ignore, "I will stay," he said softly; _Isarie forgive me._

Seeda smiled, leaning over she gave him a long warm kiss, "Then come with me and let us see, what the Talsonar's forbidden fruit has to offer _." I am not alone._

They walked slowly into the night, Almec did not know, if the Gods were watching them or not but it did not matter, when love calls, a warrior cannot refuse the challenge.

Osh had looked everywhere for Endo, he was not at the food wagons and there was no sign of him at the water casks. He was reluctant to ask, if anyone had seen him. Osh was in enough trouble with the Nomads, for taking in the Sandjar. If they knew he was running free, there would be more hatred, so he decided to look for him alone. It did not take long to confirm, Endo was not in camp. Osh looked at the torches on the trading stalls, their flickering lights, would be an enticement, the Sandjar would find irresistible. Osh gave a soft sigh and started walking towards the city of stone.

High above the trading stalls, Darken laid on his bed, he was alone except for Oseena. She lay naked and deep in the warm dreams that fill the minds of the uncaring. The Governor on the other hand, was wide-awake. Like all God-men, he had grown tired of the Sin-Cravers and has sent them away. His mind was filled with plan after plan, a vast design of balance and counterbalance, one he always found so enjoyable. It was not the joy of holding treasure in his hands, what he loved so much, was surviving the mazes, his enemies set before him. Now, ruled by his hand, it was his turn, to make the chessmen move. He laughed a little, thinking of how clever he had been, how he managed to rise up from the lower depths, to become, Ruler of the Talsonar. To him it was rather easy, just find out, what those above want and give it to them, they in turn, would begin to trust you, then betrayed them.

Suddenly, he got up from his soft bed and went to the large viewing window, looking down at the Nomad's camp. The beacon, on top of the pyramid, flashed on and off, it gave him glimpses of the Outlands people far below. He could see their Washa fires and their wagons joined in a defensive circle.

He sat down at in a large ornate chair, covered in thick Hagar Bear fur. Next to the chair, was a small table, with a board for playing Mind War. It was a form of chess, of which Darken was very fond. As a young ruling class boy, he had played for hours on end and became very proficient. He reached over and picked up one of the small ivory figures, he looked at it carefully. It was the Man-God, the most powerful figure in the game, all the other pieces, were subject to the moves of the Man-God. As he looked at it, he closed his eyes, maybe it was the drink from last night's orgy, or maybe, his mind playing tricks on him but he seemed to hear his father voice, calling his name.

"Throsh!" It was a name his father called him. In his home world's language, it meant someone of little value. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, he expected to find nothing but in the corner of the room, standing in the shadows, was his father. He looked at the tall figure, dressed in a fine red robe, his scaly face, stern and motionless, eyes cold and deep.

Darken clutched the figurine and stared at the apparition, "You're dead," he said quietly; _my father is dead, killed by an assassin, this is a trick!_ He held the Man-God tighter in his hand, "You are dead and gone, you have no power over me!" _A trick!_

The figure looked back at him, "I am dead but yet I live."

While Darken tried to make sense of what he saw and heard; _a_ _trick, a projection, a trick._

The figure spoke again, "The Gods will arise!"

The Governor closed his eyes; _my father is dead, a phantom of the mind._ He opened them again, the apparition was gone. He stayed still for a long time, letting his father's words run through his mind. _The Gods will arise? What do I care for the Gods, I am one! Words without meaning._ He looked down at his hand, there was blood dripping from it, as he opened his fist, he saw the Man-God figurine, had cut deeply into his palm. He held up the ivory carving and smiled, "Let the Gods come, I will be here to greet them," he said softly; _n_ _o one can fool a God!_

He put the game piece back into its place, he lay back in his chair; _d_ _o God's dream? I dream, therefore so do the Gods!_ He was soon asleep.

Andra had been walking in the dark streets for some time, she had been stopped once, by a very drunken Talsonar, who asked if she would go to his hut with him. He was willing to offer her two shell necklaces and a cup of his best wine. It was a good offer to a Sin-Craver but the Andra turned him down.

Now and then, she came across one or more of the tribe's warriors but she hid her face and passed them by unnoticed. She walked by several seedy gambling dens and riotous drinking taverns.

She could hear the sounds of revelry and drunken laughter, echoing through the warm night air. She did not feel in the mood for merriment just yet. She was thinking of her home world, one she would most likely, never see again. _Even if I did manage to get off this planet, there was little reason to go back._ _T_ _he war was over, lost! My world would be a burnt out cinder, everyone I knew, gone;_ she thought.

She tried to hold onto the slim possibility, that some of her people, might have survived, it was a dream with little promise. Even if there were survivors, they would most likely end up as slaves, or in prison camps or exiled. It was better to let the past go and look to the future; _what future was there here? I am not a Nomad no matter what name they give me. This is not my home and it will never be my home._

The more she thought about it, the more depressed she became, her brave marching songs, soon turned to dirges for the dead. She bowed her head, no longer hearing anything but the sadness of her heart. She kept walking not caring where she was going, all the while, thinking of her dead home world and all the people she could no longer see.

Andra turned a dark corner and came face to face with two Hal-Jafar soldiers, before she could stop, she bumped into one of them. He was a fat Talsasion, with a deep scar across his face. Before she could walk away, he grabbed her by the arm.

"Watch where you are going," he grumbled, "Didn't know we are Hal-Jafar? We will kill you and eat your heart."

Andra pulled her arm away and looked at the fat man, "It looks like you've been eating far too many hearts lately." She spoke without thinking, she was not a soldier on leave anymore and this was not, just another run in with the Peacekeepers.

The other Hal-Jafar was a Bolbec, they were known for their large appetites and cruelty. This one, had one good eye and his nose had been partially cut off. He moved close to her, pulling back her hood, he saw she was not a city dweller, "Who are you Outlander?" He grabbed her arm again, Andra had never liked being manhandled and she was in no mood for diplomacy. Before she could stop herself, she struck the fat Bolbec in the face hard, "I'm a soldier of the Selcarie!" she screamed.

The Bolbec staggered, then went down like a stone. The other Hal-Jafar, reached for his weapon, Andra moved back and pulled out her Dragons-teeth, "You will be sent to the power stations for this!" he screamed. With a heavy mace in his thick hand, he came at her.

In an instant the fight was on, the soldier was strong but Andra was fast. She moved aside from a blow that would have smashed her skull to pulp, she moved in close, driving one of the daggers, into the Talsasion's protruding belly.

He gave out a long groan but did not go down, he turned around and struck again, the blow missed Andra's head by a fraction. It gave her enough time, to swing up onto the fat man's back. It was difficult because of the long robe she was wearing but she managed to wrap her long legs around the man's waist, then she drove her other dagger deep into his thick neck.

The Hal-Jafar, went down, like he'd been struck by a Nomad's war-ax, Andra pushed the heavy body away and stood up. The other soldier was starting to revive, the sound of the fight was drawing others to the alleyway. She decided to retreat, leaving her daggers behind, quickly she walked away.

Inside the King's meeting tent, the trading had gone well. Agart had been the main negotiator and Arn was glad, his brother was much smarter and better at trading than he. Agart had driven a hard bargain, the Nomads had gotten practically everything they wanted. Tamar-Ran was also very pleased, Darkens first order, was to secure the Grana and that he had done. It was going to cost them a bit more but it was still an acceptable trade. Now they were ready to seal the bargain.

"Then it is agreed, you will have three new Disruptors and one new field cannon, with ammunition. There will also be twelve full wagons of supplies. In exchange, we will get the wagons of Grana." The Lion-man held out his hairy hand to the King; _i_ _t is a fair trade, these Nomads know their worth._

Arn turned to his brother, "Have the wagons taken to the city, as soon as we have the weapons," then he took Tamar-Ran's hand, "We have a trade!" _A_ _fair-trade._

The Nomads and Talsonar in the tent, erupted into cheers, it had been a long negotiation but now it was over and time to celebrate.

Ran looked at Arn, "You are a young King but you know how to trade, now I think it is time we enjoyed ourselves, over a tall tankard of beer."

"Bring more beer and meat," the King shouted, "Tell the Elders, our stay here is done." _It was a fair trade, the tribe will be satisfied._

The King and Tamar-Ran, lay back on the soft pillows lying on the woven rug, inside the tent. The Nomads and the Talsonar soldiers, were more relaxed, now the trade was settled. Their work was over and like all warriors, they began to laugh and tell stories of their deeds and battles.

There was one person in the tent, who was not happy, Anais sat in a corner, brooding over his beer and wishing he was back in Soffca's tent. He did not care about trading or much else, now he'd found some peace in the Handmaiden's arms. He was about to slip away quietly, when Agart came over to him.

He was pleased with himself, because the trading had gone so well and was smiling broadly, "So my little brother, I hear you have been speaking with the Gods, tell me what they say to you?"

"Nothing you would like to hear," he replied sourly; _leave me alone my brother._

"Come now brother, the Gods speak only the truth and the truth is always good to hear."

Anais just looked at his older sibling; _g_ _o back to your King and leave me alone!_ He spoke without emotion, "They say, Arn is not a King of the Almadra!"

When Agart heard those words, his smile disappeared and he clenched his teeth hard, "If you were not my brother and a Prince of the Madrigal, I would break your neck here and now! Never let me hear you speak those words again!"

Anais got up and looked at his angry brother, he made a half smile but anyone could see, he meant what he said, "Forgive me my brother, I have drunk too much Marsh-beer and my head is not my own."

He turned and left the tent, Agart watched him go; _h_ _e has drunk too much beer, yes, he has drunk too much._ He took a long drink from his cup and said nothing more.

Seeda and Almec had walked some distance from Nomad's camp, they wanted to be alone, they found an old trading ship hull, half buried in the sand and overgrown with vegetation. They drove away a few, sleeping Burrow-babies and a nest of Night-fliers, then found a safe spot to sit.

Seeda looked around to make sure they were alone. She took out her trading pouch and the red Ice crystals. She held one of them up and looked at it in the moonlight, "How can such a small thing bring so much pleasure?"

"You should destroy it before it destroys you." Almec put his hand on her shoulder, "There are many pleasures the Gods give to us, we do not need a crystal to find them." _I will give you pleasure, you need only ask._

Seeda kept looking at the crystal in her hand, it seemed to almost glow with a soft light, "Isarie gave us Grana, the crystal of life, perhaps this crystal, will show us what life holds?" _Other Worlds? I want to see those worlds._

The young warrior looked at Seeda and spoke softly, "Our lives are enough for me, we have the land and the air and the ways of our tribe. Let us return to those ways and leave all else behind, remember the stories of the Sin-Cravers and how they lost their souls to the darkness."

"Those are tales to frighten children," she said, shaking her head, "Are we children or are we warriors?" Almec thought it over for a moment or two, "We are children of the Gods, we must follow in their footsteps." _Isarie leads the way and we must follow, I must save her._

Seeda understood what he was saying but she could not bring herself to throw the forbidden Ice away. She looked up, through a rip in the rotting hulk of the ship, she could see clearly, the face of the small moon, Eka. "Eka follows her brothers and sisters through the heavens, would she do so if she had a choice?" She looked at the red crystal again, "We are free and must make our own choices." Other Worlds! She put the Ice into her mouth and swallowed.

Almec closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to Isarie, "Forgive us for we do not hear your words and do not see your face, we travel without your light, in lands filled with darkness." _I must travel with her, forgive me Isarie._ He reached over and took one small crystal, then put it into his mouth, he waited.

At first Seeda felt nothing, she was sure the robe merchant had cheated her. She was about to get up, intending go back to his trading stall, then make him pay for his dishonesty, when she felt a sudden warmth inside her.

It was like she had just finished a bowl of warm Hagar soup, a pleasant feeling, it seemed to drive all fear or envy or discussion, out of her mind. If this was all Ice had to offer, it was very little, a good cup of Po, would do the same thing.

Seeda looked at Almec, there was laughter in her voice, "I think I made a bad trade but then again, it was not a very good Robox root."

They both started to laugh.

Almec also felt the warmth, it was not what he thought would happen; _m_ _aybe Seeda was right? Maybe all the stories of red crystals, were just tales to frighten children_? "I think I shall go with you and make sure he returns your necklaces," he laughed.

They both laughed again. Warmth!

It filled their stomachs then their lungs, it was like breathing in the warm air of the Salgar dunes, it moved up their spines and into their limbs, they had never felt such warmth before. It seemed like a creature of fire, was growing inside them, taking over their bodies and awakening feelings, the warriors never knew were there.

Seeda looked up at the moon, Eka again and when she did, she saw it like never before, every crater, every small shadow, seemed to fill her eyes with wonder and joy. She could feel the tiny moon, moving through the heavens, singing a song that none but the Gods could hear.

The song seemed to her, the sweetest, she ever heard, then as she looked down at her own hands, she saw every line, every tiny texture that marked her skin. She opened and closed her fingers slowly, it seemed, she was holding the universe in the palm of her hand. She looked at Almec, sitting beside her, she was filled with a desire, she never knew existed. He seemed to fill her, with a lust that beat in her heart and in her head, until she thought she would surely die, if she did not possess every inch of him.

More warmth!

Almec also felt the lust, he knew he loved Seeda but this was beyond love, beyond anything he'd ever felt before. He saw her face like never before, her dark eyes were no longer eyes, they were windows into her soul, a gateway, he longed to enter and once inside, he would never leave again.

She reached over and touched his hand, when she did, an electric pulse raced up her arm and made her gasp. It was like putting your hand into fire but not being burned. She seemed to hear his soul, whispering to her, it told her of endless nights, locked together in an embrace that would hold the galaxy in their arms. She listened to his soul calling her, like time calls to eternity, a call that whispered of all life and all death, she listened with every fiber of her being and she answered back.

She leaned over and took him into her arms, then her world became a place of complete joy and fulfillment, there was nothing else in the universe now, only two bodies that became one. Other Worlds.

At that moment, Almec did not care about the Gods or the Laws of the Madrigal. All he cared about, was the warm lips of his one true love and the soft words she uttered, calling him to her arms.

Overhead, the moons of Gorn, moved silently through the heavens. They did not feel, or think, or understand the ways of those tiny creatures, who lived out their lives on the planet below. Hate and love, was something only the Gods understood.

Osh had looked everywhere for Endo, he knew nothing of tracking. Although a Sandjar's feet are very distinctive, he would never find him by following his footprints. Also, there were thousands of people moving back and forth, in the pyramid city, so there would be nothing to follow. He was in one of the many narrow streets, near the trading stalls, he decided to sit for a moment, to think things over.

He wished he'd brought his writing ink and some softened Rimar skins, to make calculations but he'd left them back at the camp. He picked up a stick lying nearby and began making rough graphs in the sand, it did not take him long, to come up with some basic facts. He estimated the speed of a young Sandjar, then crossed referenced it, with the amount of space he would have to cover, to ensure a successful outcome to his search. He put in a rough guess, at how many people were in or near the Pyramid City and finally, the length of time it would take, to check every possible hiding place, that Endo might find.

When all his calculations were complete, he sat back to check his results, he dropped the stick. By his reckoning, he would have to spend far more years, than he had left, to find his son. He got up slowly and was about to return to his wagon, when he heard someone cry out, "Sandjar!" Quickly, he followed the cries, forgetting the odds against him.

Egmar had been sitting quietly inside her tent, looking at items in an ornate box, it was the ancestor chest, kept by all Almadra. The Outlanders always traveled with these chests, they were a most cherished item. This one, was delicately carved from dark wood and inlaid with ivory and gold, a box fit for a Queen.

The Queen had taken some small artifacts, out of the box, she spread them over a colorful prayer rug. She picked up each one, remembering where she had acquired it. There was an ivory hairpin, with a large blue stone set with gold, it was the first gift, Karn had given to her. She remembered, he traded a very large Rimar horn for the pin, it was a bad trade. The horn was worth far more, than an ivory pin, even with a gold setting. She had seen the pin and Karn knew she wanted it. He swallowed his pride and gave the merchant what he asked.

She picked up a small tooth, it was the first tooth, her eldest son had lost as a child. How he cried when she pulled it out, he soon forgot his pain, when she sung him a cradle song, he liked.

Next she held up a small hand carved stone, in the shape of a woman, the Goddess Isarie. Agart had fashioned the idol, from a piece of green rock crystal. It had taken him a very long time, because of the mineral's hardness but he did it. He gave it to her, on the day of rebirth. She placed the figure on the rug and took out another object.

This one was a clay, trouble vessel, the Nomads placed their worries into the clay pot, then offered it to the Gods, with a prayer for guidance and mercy. She had given it to Anais as a young warrior, Egmar had always known, his soul was wandering in darkness. He never used the pot, so the Queen kept it for him, in case he ever needed it.

Last came a small wooden ax, it belonged to Seeda, her father had carved it for her and she played with it as a little girl, pretending she was a great warrior of the Almadra. Egmar remembered how proud she was, when she first mounted a Whiptail and rode beside her father and brothers. She was truly a child of Isarie and a daughter to be thankful for.

The Queen placed the items before her, then closed her eyes, as she did, she seemed to hear voices, far away voices, calling out in pain and sorrow, she could not understand the words, only the sadness in their cries.

She opened her eyes quickly and looked around her tent, there was nothing there, only the soft glow from burning torches and the echoes of memories.

In the Holy Tent, Obec was reading the words of Isarie, she looked down at the heavy book. She felt the tooled Rimar skin covers and ran her hands over the golden insignia on its cover. She had read it a thousand times and would read it a thousand more, she knew every word by heart and the pages of the book, seemed as familiar as her own face. As she read the words, she knew, the Gods would reward her devotion in the next life and it always gave her pleasure, to speak the words of her creator.

She looked down at the worn pages of the great book and spoke to herself in soft measured words. "The chosen of the Gods, will know that life comes from below, it rises up and is drawn to the heavens, as water is drawn from the soil. To all things I give you power but the paths of the Gods, are known only to them."

The old woman closed her eyes and let the words sink into her mind; _the paths of the Gods are known only to them and to me._

She heard a voice, "Do the Gods hear your words?"

Turning round, she saw a tall man dressed in a dark robe, his face could hardly be seen in the tent's dim light but it was scarred and his eyes seemed to glow with a dark fire. He stood in the shadows, looking at her, like a demon from the Pit.

"I have been expecting you," she said calmly,

The tall man laughed under his breath, "Have you? Do the Gods tell you what they say, to others than The Chosen? Perhaps they tell you lies and you tell them truths."

The old woman was in no mood for a religious debate. She got up off her knees and sat down in her chair, then looked at her guest, "Have you spoken to Darken?"

The Darkman stepped forward, "Yes, he is making ready his army," he said softly, "but it will be some time, before it is strong enough."

"How long?" she asked.

"After the Burning Time," he answered.

_After the Burning Time?_ _T_ _he Gods move slowly but they move;_ she thought.

The dark robed man, turned to look at the surrounding statues, "Do you really believe in these myths and legends?"

Obec stood up and came over to him, "The Gods do not like to be mocked, they will punish you." _If the Gods do not, then I will!_

The Darkman slowly pulled back his cloak, exposing his face to the High Priestess, "They already have."

The old woman could hardly look at the man's face, it was horrific. The skin was eaten away and in places, the bone of his skull, could be seen. His teeth were sharp and stained, his nose was all but gone. The most frightening thing about him, was his eyes, they were dark lifeless eyes, the eyes of a dead man. There was no hint of a soul behind them, it was like looking into a dark cave, where an evil monster lived.

Obec turned away from him and walked to the golden God, "The ways of the Gods are strange to you but in time you will know their mind." _As I do._

The Darkman started to laugh, an evil laugh, without any sign of pleasure, "Do not speak to me of Gods, they mean little to me and I mean nothing to them. I know what lies in your heart old women, so do not talk to me of impudent deities. I make my life and travel my own path."

He came closer to her and took a small carved figurine from his robes, he handed it to the High Priestess, "A present for your Queen, when the time is right, she will give you what you want _." Someday she will give me what I want._

The old woman looked at the ivory carving, a child's toy, a plaything mothers gave to their children; _why would he give this to me? "_ What has this to do with Egmar?" she asked.

Again the Darkman laughed, "If the Gods speak to you, ask them," he turned to leave, "You will not see me again, until after the Burning Time, make sure everything is ready." He pulled the black robe up over his head again and with a flourish, vanished into the shadows.

The High Priestess, stood looking at the small toy, outside she could hear the laughter of the Almadra but to her, it felt like a cold hand touching her heart.

#  Chapter 14. A Hard Choice

He who kills a soldier of the Talsonar shall have their body striped of all flesh and their bones ground to dust, their name shall be forbidden and their offspring shall be slaves for all time.

The Laws of the Talsonar.

The suns of Gorn had not yet risen, when the city's attack siren, began to blare.

The Talsonar had found the dead Hal-Jafar soldier's body and the Nomad daggers. It was a simple conclusion, one of the Outlanders was responsible. The reserve guards were quickly called out and they began searching the trading stalls for a young woman, who they were sure, had committed the crime.

There had also been a report of a Sandjar near the city, they were not permitted inside the city. The scavengers were nothing but trouble, they were responsible for taking several females, who were never seen again. So, any rumors about the green creatures in the vicinity, was viewed with hatred.

In the King's meeting tent, they had been eating and drinking, most of the night. Now, they laid back on soft cushions, playing a game of Chance-cards. Arn was a good player but the Lion-man proved to be better. The King had to hand over, a goodly amount of Sagar teeth in lost wagers. Tamar-Ran knew he had been lucky and did not press the matter, all in all, it had been a most pleasant night, for both of them. When they heard the sound of the alarm, the merriment came to an abrupt halt.

Tamar-Ran lowered his goblet and turned towards his guards, "Gather the men, we are under attack!" He turned back to Arn, who had already put down his winning hand, to take up his war-ax, "If this is a trick of the Madrigal, I will have your head!"

The King held up his weapon and faced the Lion-man, "If any of my tribe are harmed, I will have yours too!"

The Hal-Jafar Captain growled and signaled to his men and he quickly left the tent.

Agart across to his brother, he spoke in a low voice, so no one could not hear, "I will give the order to ready the Disruptors." Arn nodded his head in approval, then watched as his brother left. He turned to the warriors, who were waiting his orders, "Gather your weapons, make ready for battle!" The warriors let out a cheer, they did not know what lay ahead but they were ready to fight and die if need be.

Andra had managed to get away from the traders. She heard the warning signals and hid inside a darkened doorway as several Hal-Jafar soldiers, marched quickly by. When she thought the alleyway was clear, she left quickly and returned to camp.

She was almost caught several times but her training in the Selcarie army, had taught her how to evade capture and how to conceal herself. After some close encounters, she sighted the Almadra fires ahead. As Andra moved towards them, she saw, the camp was a mass of activity.

The battle cry had gone out and the Nomads prepared for war, the warriors saddled their Whiptails and gripped their war-axes in readiness. The Spike-backs with the Long-Range weapons on their backs, were quickly maneuvered into position, to give a clear shot at the pyramid city. The Long-Range cannons, would do little real damaged to the giant structure but with the city unprepared, there would be many Talsonar casualties.

Kuno shouted orders to his men, making sure, every man was at his post, "Wait for the order to fire! Make sure you hit what you aim for, I do not want to see any ammunition wasted." Then he held up his weapon, he smiled to himself, "Live or die, we meet our fate."

The Elders had seen this many times, war was a familiar sight to them and they knew what to do. They put the children into pits, hastily dug into the ground, then covered them with the thick armored plates of dead Rimar. It would give them some protection if the enemy began a bombardment. Then they took up weapons and went to their stations, they knew that the old could die, just as well as the young and Nomads did not meet death on their knees. So as the Almadra war horns sounded in the night, all the tribe members, made ready for war.

The Thungodra circled the High Priestess' tent, they would kill anyone who came near, even a member of their own tribe. They were trained to consider anyone outside of the High Priestess' circle, an enemy. To the last man, they would defend to the death.

Inside the Holy Tent, Obec prayed, in her long life, she had seen many wars and many deaths. She also believed, Isarie watched over them and only the unbelievers would die and The Chosen would live. Nearby, her Handmaidens chanted devotions to the war Gods and lifted silver incense burners to the heavens.

"Itor promastas Isarie, protect us from harm!" they chanted, "We are your children and we serve your will."

In another section of the tent, Anais hid under his covers, he did not think about the Gods or the fate of the Almadra. He just held tightly onto Soffca and shook like a Rock-runner on a cold night.

Arn had put on his battle armor and was standing on a wagon, trying to get a clear view of the trader's stalls. He stood like a bronze War-God, showing no sign of fear. All who looked at him, felt strength, all fear was driven from their hearts.

_I will protect my people,_ _I will be a strong King and my father will look down on me and be satisfied;_ Arn thought.

The twin suns were about to break over the horizon and they would give enough light, to attack if need be. He still had no idea, what the threat was but he would defend his tribe with his last breath.

After hearing the trade for the Grana was successful, Darken had fallen asleep. The city's warning signals suddenly woke him. He summoned his guards and shouting at his bedroom slaves, to summon his Generals.

"Where are they!" he screamed, as he cleared his head. He drank from a cup of wine sitting near his bed, "I want Yung and Leeander, here, now!" He threw the empty cup at a cowering slave, who wasn't moving fast enough, for his liking.

Oseena did not dare to speak or move, she lay shaking and naked, on the bed, hoping her master, would not vent his anger on her. She watched as he roared and bellowed, until he finally left the room, still screaming for his frightened Commanders.

Seeda and Almec, did not hear the sound of the signal horns, they were sleeping, like weary children, in their mother's arms. The fire from their lovemaking, was now quenched and they dreamed the dreams of the stars.

Andra had managed to get back to camp, she made her way through the mass of excited warriors, to find Arn, who was about to mount his Whiptail. She knew, she was the cause of all this chaos, she killed the Talsonar soldiers, so she would take responsibility for her actions.

She put her hand on the King's shoulder and he turned with a look of surprise on his face. She gazed at him with frightened eyes, then shook her head, "You must stop this now!"

Arn did not understand why she would say such a thing, "What are you talking about?"

"It was me, I did it, you have to stop this now."

He still did not understand her but the look in her eyes, told him, she was serious. "The signal horns have sounded, we are under attack." _I will defend my tribe, I will be a strong leader!_

"No you're not, it's not an attack, it's was me, I killed the Talsonar soldiers," she said, "You've got to call off your warriors, don't start a war, over something that was my fault."

At that moment Agart came up to his brother, he was a little out of breath, "All the weapons are ready and the warriors await for your word." _I_ _f war comes, I will stand with my brother, I will help him._

The King looked at his brother, then at Andra, he did not understand, why she was saying what she did. Looking into her face, he knew, she was telling the truth. Although all his instincts were saying, he should fight, Andra's eyes told him to wait.

"Tell the warriors, to lay their axes on the ground, we will not fight," the King said quietly; _is Andra lying, am I a strong King?_

Agart looked like he had been struck by lightning, he knew his brother, he would not, turn down a fight, "We are under attack, the Gods will smile on us." _T_ _he Half-Soul, she is taking my place!_

Arn gazed steadily into Andra eyes. "Obey your King, we will not fight." _A_ _m I a strong King?_

For a moment, Agart did comprehend his brother's words, then he bowed his head, "I will tell the warriors, to lay down their weapons." _T_ _he Half-Soul is taking my place at his side, I will not let that happen!_ He left.

Andra waited until he was gone, then turned to the King, "I will explain what happened to the Talsonar and take what comes."

Arn put his hand on her shoulder, "You are a warrior of the Almadra, we stand together." _A_ _King stands with his people._

They both walked towards the city of stone, Arn holding his head high, like any true leader of the Nomads. As the sun rose higher into the sky, the Governor of the Talsonar emerged from the Pyramid City, to meet the Almadra leader.

The people of the city, did not often see their Governor, he spent most of his time, high above them, to most he seemed like a God. They might catch a brief glimpse of him at the arena, watching the gladiators fight and sometimes cheering, as games of life or death, played out before him. Sometimes, he would appear at senate meetings to announce a new law, or to order a new tax. To see him this close, was an event few remembered.

This was no ordinary event, there was a war to prevent and wagon loads of Grana to secure. Darken knew, he could not leave it in the hands of some official or diplomat, he must do this personally.

There was much quarreling but after a time, his Generals agreed to a meeting of the two sides, they would talk, halfway between the Nomad's camp and the stone city.

There they would meet, under a sun covering and begin the negotiations. Each side would bring twenty of their best soldiers and leave the rest behind. The Nomads were not permitted to ride their Whiptails and the Talsonar were not to bring any of their Runners. The city's Long-Range weapons, would still be trained on the Outlanders camp. At the first sign of trouble, they would blast it out of existence but if they did, the precious salt would be gone forever. The Nomads knew this also, if there was any betrayal, they would destroy the Grana wagons themselves, then die, taking with them, as many Talsonar as they could.

So at a prearranged time, the two sides marched towards each other, both hoping for the best but prepared for the worse.

Arn led his strongest warriors, the Almadra wore their best armor and carried their heavy shields, used to enhance their appearance, not for use in battle. They carried war-axes and maces, to defend their King and die at his side if necessary. Beside him was Agart and next to him walked Andra. To many of the warriors it was an insult, that an Off-Worlder, should be given such an honor. If there was any trouble, she would only get in the way of the fighting. However, the King had spoken and Andra would march with them.

Two warriors were nowhere to be seen, Seeda and Almec, had not returned to camp. It was suspected, they had been killed by the Talsonar. If that was the case, any peace treaty it would be impossible. Arn would never rest, until those responsible for his sister's death were punished. He would order his warriors to fight to the death and the Almadra would be no more.

Osh had not returned either, although it was not an issue to the Madrigal, it was a concern to Andra. She did not mind the Sandjar being missing but she wanted to see her friend again.

Governor Darken was also very concerned, not over the death of a Hal-Jafar, they like all good soldiers, were destined to die anyway. If a full-scale war broke out now, it would spoil his future plans. The Almadra would perish soon enough, as would all the Outlanders but this was not the time or place for their ending. He was anxious to see the tribe's new King, he was said, to be too young and to hot tempered, to be a good leader. He would see for himself and like all good games of Mind War, first he would probe for weakness and then attack.

The Governor's two most powerful Generals were with him. Leeander and Yung had been instructed, not to order their men into battle, unless Darken gave the command. As Yung marched beside his commander, he could not help but think, how wonderful it would be, if Darken was suddenly killed. He could seize power and take the city for himself. He glanced over at his rival Leeander, he could be a threat but if he would not bow to him, he would be eliminated too.

Leeander's thoughts, were only about defending the city and making sure the Grana was theirs, he was sure, Yung would never be so foolish, as to start a war now. They both knew, attacking one tribe, meant war with all, of the others. If that came to pass, the Nomads need only stop the shipments of the precious salt and soon all would be destroyed.

As the twin suns reached their zenith, the two sides met under the sun canopy, they sat down to try to avoid a battle.

Darken looked at the young King; _This young pup, thinks he can make demands of a God? I will let him strut a bit, I can wait._ The Governor was the first to speak, "You are very young to be a King."

He could see the Almadra leader's thick arm muscles tighten, Arn looked at the metal plate in the Governor's head, "And do all Governors of the Talsonar, only possess half a head?" he said loudly.

There was a tense moment, the warriors and the Hal-Jafar, reached for their weapons. The Governor saw, what he was looking for, this man will fight if necessary but he held his anger. He could reason with him; _Ran was right, this young King has courage_. He managed a little smile, "Only the good ones! We are not here, to talk about our adventures though, we are here, because one of your warriors, killed one of my men."

Before Arn could answer, Andra came forward, holding her head high, she spoke in a loud clear voice, "I killed the soldier, I'm the one responsible."

The Governor looked stunned; _a female, took down one of the mighty Hal-Jafar and such a small one at that, "_ Am I to believe that this... this female, could kill one of the Hal-Jafar?" He looked around at his men, who started to chuckle at such an outlandish story.

"Why not? He deserved it," Andra continued, "he was nothing but a fat, foul smelling..."

Before Andra could get herself into further trouble, the King broke in, "This woman is a warrior of the Almadra and being so, is under my command. If she is guilty of killing a Talsonar, then she will pay the price. Do you have any proof of her crime?"

Darken signaled to one of his aids. The man came forward and put a bundle on the floor, then he unwrapped it, everyone could see, two blood stained daggers. From the markings on the hilts and the thickness of the blades, they were the Dragons-teeth of the Almadra.

Arn knew, it would only take three shell necklaces and a small Rimar horn, for anyone to trade for a set of daggers. As for the blood, it could be from anyone but it would be useless to argue. Looking into Andra's eyes, he knew she had killed the soldier and she would have to be punished.

He looked at Andra, then at the Governor, "What do you want?" he asked coldly.

Leeander came forward, he was in no mood for negotiations. One of his men had been killed and the law was clear, "Whoever kills a Hal-Jafar, shall have their flesh torn from their bones!" he said, with an air of authority.

Andra did not relish the idea, of her body being torn limb from limb but she was a soldier. Like all soldiers, she had taken an oath to die if necessary. She stood proudly to attention, showing none of the fear inside her, "I killed the man and will suffer the consequences." _My comrades are dead and it was my fault, I should be punished._

Arn took her arm and pulled her back, "I am King of the Madrigal and I will decide what the punishment will be."

"That is not the law," the General screamed out, "Nomads do not tell the Talsonar, what will be done with a murderer. We have the right to take her life and if any Outlander stands in our way we will..."

Darken suddenly raised his hand, "Enough!"

The General suddenly stopped talking and moved back, Darken waited for a moment, to let things cool down. He spoke in a soft voice, as he looked at Arn, "The death of one soldier, is not much, when you compare it, to the deaths of those in a war but our laws are clear. Your warrior has killed and there must be a price to pay."

The Governor closed his eyes to think things over; _this pup is brave yes but he has feelings for the woman, he is another toy, I will move him._ He opened his eyes again and looked straight at the King, "I say a wagon of Grana and there will be no war."

A loud gasp arose from everyone in the room, one full wagon of the green salt, was worth far more, than a thousand Hal-Jafar. It was clearly a test, to see how far he could push the new King. Harsh as the punishment would be for the woman, it was better that one warrior should die, than give up the wagon of Grana.

Arn looked over at his brother, Agart knew, his King was asking his advice on the offer. _The Half-Soul is not The Chosen of Isarie, she must pay;_ he shook his head.

Arn understood what his brother was saying, as a King, he had to make sacrifices, the ways of his tribe were also clear. A warrior took his punishment and asked for nothing more. A wagon of Grana, was worth the lives of many warriors and the woman was after all, just a Half-Soul. The Gods would forgive him, for making the choice to send her to her doom.

As he looked at Andra, it was clear, that even if the Gods forgave him, he would never forgive himself. He was a King but he was also a man and although his head told him to forfeit Andra, his heart told him to save her.

He held his hand out to the Governor, "I will trade," he said softly.

There was grumbling from the Almadra warriors, they knew, a wagon of Grana was not worth one warrior's life, let alone a Half-Souls. They knew their King was fond of the Off-World female but to trade their life giving salt for her, was an offense, not only against them but against the Gods, they would remember this day for a very long time.

Agart could not believe, that his brother would sacrifice so much, for his love of a woman; _my brother has gone against the laws of our tribe. The Gods watch us and know our hearts._ He looked at his brother and bowed his head, "I will order the wagons to deliver the salt." Then he left the room.

Darken did not expect the King to agree to his demands so quickly; _this King has a weakness, he cares for this woman, a leader who puts love above power, is a fool and fools can be defeated!_

He smiled and took Arn's hand, "Done," he said, with a slight smile on his scaly face.

"There is still the matter of two missing warriors," Arn said withdrawing his hand.

The Governor shook his head, "I have no reports of any warriors, if you have lost some, it is your concern not mine." He signaled to Tamar-Ran, who had been standing at the back of his entourage, "I think I may have something that might interest you."

The Lion-man came forward, along with two of his most trusted men, they were carrying dirty sacks, that were full, they placed them on the ground and stood back.

The Governor gestured to his henchmen and Ran came forward to cut the bags open. He up ended the sacks and out poured, an old man and a small green Sandjar. They were bound and gagged, it looked like they had been beaten.

"I think these belong to you," Darken could not help but smile, he was holding the two captives, as pawns in the negotiations, if necessary but now he had the Grana, they were no longer needed. "We do not need a Callaxion and if we did, it would not be a worn out one. As for the Sandjar, I can have him killed if you like."

Andra was about to go to her friend but the King held her back, "Thank you for returning them to me, they are just trade goods and the Sandjar is my pet. I think our trade is done." He turned to his brother, "Gather the wagons, we travel to the Pass of Moke."

"It shall be done," Agart motioned to the warriors to leave. They picked up the two bound captives and returned to camp.

Arn had one more thing to say, before leaving, he came close to Darken and starred into his yellow eyes. "If I find out that the Talsonar are to blame for my missing warriors, I will return with a hundred thousand and we will not leave, until every stone of the city is ground to dust." He turned and left with his men.

When they were gone, Darken spoke to Ran, in a low voice, "Follow the Nomads and make sure they leave our lands."

The Lion-man understood his orders, he left, to make sure the Nomads would be of no further concern.

Some hours later, Seeda and Almec woke from their peaceful sleep, it seemed like no time had passed at all. When you sleep in the embrace of Ice crystals, you do not dream, you do not need too. All fantasies are fulfilled, all desires satisfied and all hopes are reached. Without the need for hope, there is no future, when you sleep at last, it is like dying the death of an unbeliever, without an Afterlife. No green fields, filled with sunlight and warmth, no joyful meeting, with long past loved ones. Nor is there the cold and dark ice caves of the dammed, no frozen torments to last for an eternity, or the burning Pit of Marloon, there is simply nothing.

The two warriors sat up and looked at their naked bodies, their vision no longer clouded with the fire of last night. In the bright sunlight of day, they could see every tiny flaw. It was like seeing someone for the first time, you do not love them, nor do you hate them, you simple do not care. Then the memory of what happened, slowly returned, they understood what they had done and why.

Seeda took Almec's hand again, this time there was no spark but it felt good anyway, "I never felt anything like that before, I never knew such desire could exist _." Other Worlds, I have seen Other Worlds!_

"It was more than I ever thought possible," his voice was soft, it made Seeda feel warm again.

They looked up and saw the twin suns had reached their zenith, they had slept the night away and lost most of the day. In a panic, Seeda began to gather up her clothing and armor. "By all the Gods, half the day is gone, they will be wondering if the Screels have gotten us," she started to pull on her hide leggings, then her sand boots.

Almec pulled her playfully to the ground, "It would take more than sand demons to pull me from your side," he started to kiss her again.

Seeda was tempted to kiss him back but she pushed him away, she started to think like her old self again, realizing just what she had done. She stood up and pulled on her chest plate and arm bands, "I think we've had enough for one night, now are you coming or do I have to walk back to camp alone?"

Almec would rather have stayed but it was getting late and he suddenly felt very hungry. "I will go with you but when we get back, you can bring me a plate of well-done Rimar and a nice mug of well-aged Po." _T_ _he tribe will see and we will be mated._

Seeda knew what he was asking her to do but it would take more than one night of passion, for her to move her belongings into his tent. "You can get your own drink but perhaps I will share my bowl with you," she smiled.

Almec reached for her but she bolted from the rusting hulk, with her young lover racing after her. They were some distance from the fallen ship, when Seeda suddenly stopped, "Wait, I forgot something," she started back to the ship but her lover, held her back.

Almec knew why she was going back, in their haste to return to camp, she had left behind her trading pouch, containing the forbidden Ice. He looked at her; _t_ _he Ice, she wants to return for the Ice, I must stop her, I must save her. "_ Let us go now, we do not need anything to fill our nights, we have each other," his voice was filled with love but there was also a hint of a demand.

For a moment, Seeda almost went with him, then she thought; _I am not a bed warmer, I am my own person, the Gods do not control me, I want Other Worlds!_

She pulled away from him, without saying a word, she went back to the wrecked ship, she found her trading pouch, half buried in the sand. She picked it up and held it for a moment, she was tempted to pour its contents to the winds but she did not. She put the pouch into her belt, then walked back to Almec, who was still waiting for her.

As they walked back to camp they said nothing, they did not know but their lives would never be the same again. As a child, Seeda had tried to read the Book of Isarie but she could never get through the long pages of words that had no meaning to her. Perhaps if she had been a better student, rather than spending her time riding Whiptails and fighting with her brothers, she might have remembered one passage. It would have meant something at this time.

On the thirty-ninth page of the Holy Book, Isarie has created the first two Nomads from the dust on the ground, she holds them in her hand and gives them two green crystals.

I give you the Salt of the Earth.

It is the life I give you, it is yours.

But taste no other, for in their dreams is death.

Someday those words would return to her but for now, they were just memories, as meaningless as the sand beneath her feet.

#  Chapter 15. Earth-shaker

You are my chosen people.

But you are not the Gods of my world.

Do not awaken the wrath of those that sleep in the earth.

For they are the Lords of the land.

From the Book of Isarie.

It had been several days since the Outlanders had left the Talsonar lands, they had been traveling westward and were now entering the Greenland's. A large expanse of land, dotted with patches of lush vegetation and small clear water lakes. Here the Thundra beasts could graze and fatten themselves for the journey ahead, there were also many fat Rimar for the Whiptails to feast upon. It was a time of plenty for the Nomads and they laughed under the warm suns.

But even in this green land there was still the treat of attack, for Gorn was not a forgiving place and seemed at war with itself.

The Nomads had many enemies, in the South lands, lived the Ozendra, the Zengarie, Maringar and Bal-Borie, in the North, dwelt the Caladon and the Armrod. These were the strongest of the Nomad tribes, with whom the Almadra had made war. Tribal wars were a way of life to the nomads, some fought for reasons seemingly, far too petty to an Off-Worlder. An insult at a gathering of the clans, or a question of who the Gods favored most, or over a female, whatever the reason, trouble was always brewing.

Osh was still feeling a bit sore from the beating the Talsonar gave him. Some boiled herbs, the loving care of the Touch-tenders and some Grana, soon got him back on his feet. As for the young Sandjar, he did not seem to be affected at all. The old man watched in amazement, as his bumps and bruises healed almost overnight. He was sure, the Scavengers had some extra healing capability in their genes, making them extremely tough. Rubbing his shoulder, he looked over at Andra, who was now driving his wagon.

"I think I can handle the reins now, if you would like to rest some?" There was no answer from Andra, she sat looking straight-ahead, "It really isn't a problem," he said.

"I'll be fine," her voice was short and without warmth.

The old man knew, Andra was not, happy, she was no longer welcomed warmly by the Almadra. When the tribe heard, that their King, had traded a wagon full of Grana, to save her life, they were angry. It was one thing to fight for a warrior who was innocent but to give up their precious salt, for an Off-Worlder, who admitted their guilt, was something they could not accept. For her own safety, she was told to stay with the old man and not speak to anyone.

In Osh's eyes, Andra was still a friend and he tried to keep it that way. He looked around at the green countryside, "This vegetation is quite fascinating, it seems to be a form of plant life, that is indigenous to all planets of the Trylon level. Now that brings up a very interesting point, how can a single plant life, be found on so many, different worlds. I have a theory, at the beginning of the universe..."

"Will you shut up!" Andra suddenly screamed, "Nobody cares about vegetation or the universe or any of your stupid theories!"

Her loud outburst woke Endo, who was sleeping quietly in the back of the wagon, he began to cry loudly.

"And will you keep that little brat quiet!" _Why didn't I kill that monster when I had the chance?_

Osh said nothing, he crawled into the back of the wagon, uncovered the Sandjar and began stroking its bald head. As he did, the young Sandjar, slowly stopped crying and began making soft mewing sounds.

Andra heard the child but did not look, she kept staring ahead, thinking of what the future might hold; _my world is gone, my family is gone, will this be my end? Sitting in a wagon, listening to a little monster crying?_

The Nomad column was moving in a defensive formation, the Whiptails at the front with the Spike-backs on either side. The Trofar herd was at the back and at the front was the King and beside him, rode his brother and sister.

Arn had not accepted his sister's story, that she had fallen asleep and did not hear the signal horns, calling the warriors to battle. He was sure there was more to it, what it was he didn't know. Any other warrior, would have been punished severely but since it was Seeda, she was given the task of milking the Trofar beast. A duty any child of the tribe could do, it was humiliating for Seeda but far better than she deserved. She was also told not to speak to Almec, Arn was not sure of Almec's role in the matter but he decided to keep them apart, for the time being.

As they rode, the King could hear his sister, muttering under her breath, so could Agart. He moved his Whiptail closer to her, "I hear you're becoming quite a good milkmaid," then he made a gesture, like he was pulling on a Trofar's udder.

Seeda did not say anything but made a loud grunting sound, she dug her spurs into her Whiptail's sides and rode away quickly.

Agart felt a little guilty, he never meant to hurt her feelings, he watched her moving back into the column, until she was obscured by dust, then he rode up beside the King.

Arn saw him and shook his head, "You should not tease her like that, you know it only makes her worse, better to tease a Whiptail than our sister."

"She is a good warrior but she still has a lot to learn, about growing up," his brother commented, "She is still, as thin skinned as a Forest-flier."

Seeda was still grumbling, when she rode back to the Queen's wagon.

_A milkmaid he called me, milkmaid! I remember when we used to wrestle and I would hold him in an arm sling, until he screamed for our mother. Milkmaid!_ She continued to grumble as she passed the Trofars, she knew they would need milking, very soon.

Egmar was now doing all the things she used to do, the Touch-tenders were no longer needed and she was even holding the reins and sitting proudly, like she did when she was young. She no longer sang the dark songs of the Wailing Women and her nights were filled with warm dreams. She knew, someday she would join her mate in the Golden Hall of Isarie and they would live in eternal rapture.

The Queen watched, as her angry daughter jumped into her wagon, she tied the reins of her Whiptail to the railing. She sat down beside her mother, not saying anything but still grumbling under her breath. The old woman listened to her for a time without comment, the muttering continued, suddenly the Queen slapped her hard on the side of her face.

"Why did you do that?" Seeda asked, as she rubbed her reddening cheek.

"Why, did it hurt?" Egmar asked mockingly.

"Of course it did."

The Queen looked at her hard. "I see, so a mighty warrior of the Almadra, is hurt by a blow from a frail old woman," she looked up at the sky, "Isarie look kindly upon us, for we are defenseless."

Seeda finally understood what her mother was getting at, she looked down sheepishly; _m_ _y mother is wise, I was acting like a fool. "_ Forgive me mother?" she asked still rubbing her cheek.

Egmar pointed at her daughter with one of her long fingers, "Your brother is King and you are a warrior, accept his judgment like a warrior." Her mother tried to keep a stern look on her face but it did not last long. She handed the reins to her daughter, "I am tired, would you guide us for a while?" _I am not tired but she always liked yelling at the Thundra._

Her daughter smiled at her and then shouted at the Trofar beast, to move faster, the wagon gave a sharp jolt as it lurched forward, almost sending Egmar into the back, she grabbed hold of the wagon rail. "Slow down or I will strike you again!" she screamed.

Seeda only laughed and whipped the reins down hard on the Trofar's rump, making the creature bellow and move even faster.

On the other side of the column, Andra's wagon moved up over a rocky outcrop, then came down hard, shaking everyone inside and making the Sandjar child cry once again.

"I thought I told you to keep that dam thing quiet!"

Osh held the green child and tried his best to calm him, "I will if you keep from hitting every rock on the planet." _I wonder how many rocks are on planets this size and what are the odds of hitting every one?_

Andra stopped the wagon and turned around, to look the old man in the face, "Why do you keep that little monster anyway, he'll suck the life out of you, just like he tried to do with me. Or have you forgotten how the Sandjar treated us, if you can't do it, give him to me and I'll throw him off!"

The old man could see that Andra was very upset, she had a right to be, she had been through a lot. Now she was almost an outcast from the tribe, it was easy to understand her sudden outbreak.

"You were a soldier once, it is easy for you to kill," he handed her the child, "Go on, kill it! I am sure you will receive a medal for your bravery."

Andra looked at the little creature; _I was a soldier but I never killed an infant but it tried to kill me. I should smash its head in, right here and now but kill a child?_

She handed the Sandjar back to the old man, "Take it," she said sharply, "and try to keep it quiet, if there is one thing I hate, its crying little brats."

The old man took the child and put it back into the bundle of sandy rags that was its bed. When Andra was busy driving the wagon, he took a small bone from his robe, it still had some raw meat attached. He sniffed the bone, like a bird checking a worm, then put it into the Sandjar's toothy mouth, it immediately stopped crying.

Osh covered his son with more rags, he took some soft sand, stored in a large clay pot, then made a soft layer of sand over the rags. Then he climbed back beside his friend, "Endo is fine now, he will be asleep in no time," he said.

Andra looked at him, "I meant to ask you, why you named that thing Endo, what kind of name is that anyway?"

The old man sat up a bit taller, "Do you like it? I thought it would be a good name because he is a biped carnivorous life form of the Endo-Nomarus species. It is really quite an interesting area of research. The first real investigation into the Sandjar people, was done by a colleague of mine. He was a rather intelligent man even for a Soltarrian but he was not very good at chromosome separation, I remember one time...."

As Osh began another of his long-winded stories, Andra almost wished the Sandjar would start crying again.

Since Almec had been forbidden to speak to Seeda, he had been spending more time with his old friend, Kuno. Mostly they just drank and discussed the attractiveness of the tribe's females. They would also play Chance-cards and since they both cheated, it did not matter who won or who lost. Everyone knew the Spike-back Captain was not mated, he preferred to stay alone in his tent. Some said, it was because of his eating habits but the truth was, he found being mated, too much of a restriction on his rather easy going life. He had tried it once but after a very short time, his mate asked the High Priestess to dissolve the marriage. Their names were taken off, the Almadra ancestor records.

Kuno knew his friend had been drinking quite heavily lately, he also knew, that he was sneaking out of camp at night, to meet with Seeda. He knew this was against the King's orders but he was never one to follow rules too closely. So he looked the other way and kept his mouth shut. He looked over at his friend as he rode his Whiptail, he could see that Almec was not feeling very well.

"What ails you my friend, is it last nights Hagar soup or is it a certain female warrior, not allowing your weapon into her tent?"

Almec looked up at his drinking companion, his Spikeback lumbered from side to side, making the Talsonar weapon on its back, bounce. Its long barrel, was only inches away from his friend's helmet. It seemed like, it would knock him off his saddle at any moment, "I would look to my own weapon, if I were you and not be so concerned about others," he said bluntly.

This made Kuno laugh hard, "My weapon is always at the ready, my sad friend and I always hit my mark!"

Almec laughed also, he felt much better now; _s_ _hould I tell him about the Ice? The world that it opened for me? No! I made a promise to Seeda and I will keep it._

As the Nomads came up over a rise, the King could see a large green area, it had tall grasses and small trees. It did not seem out-of-place in the Greenland's and to anyone but a Nomad, it looked like just another oasis. Beyond it was a rocky canyon, with tall cliffs on either side, the Pass of Moke. Arn stopped his Whiptail and turned to Agart, "It will take us a long time to go around," he said quietly.

His brother saw the oasis and nodded, "Yes but the Pass of Moke lies beyond, there is no other way through the Mountains of Kresh. If we move quietly we will be safe _." A dangerous choice but one he must make._

Arn thought for a moment or two, then made up his mind, "Tell everyone to remain silent, when all is ready, we will move on." _Is it the right choice? Would father do the same?_ Agart rode off to give the order, Arn looked up at the sky and spoke softly, "May Isarie guide me." _Father, are you watching?_

The King's orders, were spread quickly throughout the tribe, the warriors strapped their weapons to their saddles and put the water flasks inside carry bags. The Elders placed the children inside the backs of the wagons and gave them sweet tasting Meadow-cane, to keep them quiet, until they were out of danger. Everyone checked, then rechecked their wagons for any loose item that might make a noise. The Trofar were muzzled, to make sure they did not bellow at the wrong time.

Agart rode up to Andra and Osh's wagon, stopping in a cloud of dust, he pointed at their wagon. "Make sure you remain silent, secure all your belongings and do not speak until we are well clear of the danger," then he rode off.

Osh looked around, he was confused, "I see no danger here, this must be some kind of joke."

Andra did not see anything out-of-order either, "Perhaps but let's not take the chance. I will check outside, while you do the same inside." She jumped off the wagon and began to tighten ropes and secure anything that might give their position away; _a sound can mean death and silence is the best armor!_

All the Almadra knew what was coming but they did not waste time in discussion or fear. They quickly went about their duties and made sure all the loose items in the wagons, were tied down and all was made ready.

A short time later, the tribe was ready to move, the signal that all was ready, was passed up and down the long column. They waited for their King to give the order to proceed.

Arn had been watching the green oasis intently; _there is no movement, or cracks in the ground, no shifting of the surface rocks, it is safe._ He lifted his hand as the signal to the Madrigal, they were on the move once more.

Slowly the long train of wagons and warriors, began to move towards the Pass of Moke, they made no sound, except the creaking of wagon wheels and the occasional snort from a Whiptail. Everyone seemed on edge, as they came closer to the lush green oasis, everyone except the two Off-Worlders.

Andra held the reins but seemed at ease, while Osh looked around, trying to find any sign of danger, "I do not see anything that might cause us harm, no unstable ground formations, no steam vents, nothing. I think we have been the subject of an elaborate hoax." _If this is a joke, they have taken a lot of trouble._

Andra had to agree, the land looked perfectly safe. _This is good country, there is water, rich ground, it would be easy to start a farm here, start a family;_ she thought _._ She shook her head; _you hated being a farmer,_ _getting your hands dirty and the spiders!_ She shook her head, then turned to Osh, "It may be a hoax but let's not take any chances."

Osh was about to say something, when Andra put her fingers to her lips. In all the worlds of the Outer Rim that gesture meant the same thing, be quiet, so the old man sat still and did not speak another word.

Arn was apprehensive, as he led his people towards the green oasis, as they drew closer, it was easy to see the tall stands of Balbar trees and the lush green grass surrounding the area. To a traveler, this would be a paradise and they would surely have thanked the Gods, for providing such a resting place.

The Nomads knew this was no place of resting. The warriors held their heavy axes tightly and used their strong legs to grip the sides of their Whiptails. They were ready for what may lay ahead. The Elders clutched Holy figurines in their wrinkled hands and prayed silently to Isarie, to let them pass unharmed. Even the Thundra beasts, seemed to sense something dangerous was ahead, they made no sound.

In the High Priestess' wagon, Obec was surrounded by her Handmaidens and together they softly chanted a very ancient song.

Hear our prayers oh Gods of the soil.

Forgive our passing on endless toil.

Sleep in the earth, where peace is found.

Wake not from slumber and break the ground.

They repeated this, over and over again, they raised their hands to the heavens and there were smiles on their faces but in their hearts, they were afraid.

Andra could still not understand, all the apprehension. It was clearly a water hole of some kind, nothing to fear at all. Perhaps the Nomads saw something, she did not but whatever it was, she did not know. As they drew even closer, it seemed no worse, the only thing different, was a slight smell, like rotting leaves, or when you lift a rock and find insects have made it their home.

"This is silly," she suddenly blurted out, "there is nothing here." _it_ _was a trick, I bet they're all having a great laugh on me!_

Osh nodded his head in agreement, "I think you are right, although I did hear stories of some kind of monster the Nomads fear. All societies have their monsters, take for instance the creatures of the pale Moon of Trimax..." He was about to go into one of his overly detailed stories, then he remembered the order to be silent, so he decided to obey the command.

As Andra looked over at the wagon next to her, she saw that the woman driving it, had tears in her eyes. Her small daughter was clutching her tightly; _she is afraid, perhaps there is a monster here;_ Andra thought _._

Quietly the Nomads moved past the oasis, Arn watched its passing, he sighed in relief; _we are past, I made the right choice!_

Beside him Agart also looked pleased _; Isarie has heard our prayers and has smiled upon us._ They could relax now, the greatest danger was behind them, ahead lay the Pass of Moke.

The King turned to his brother and spoke in a low voice, "We will remain silent, until we enter the Pass of Moke; _w_ _e are past but there is still danger."_

Agart approved of the order and smiled at his brother, "Yes, after the Pass, we can set up camp near the..."

He stopped suddenly, once more the Nomad's sixth sense came into play. A sound. Before he could tell his brother what he was heard, the ground under his Whiptail began to shake, in his mind he heard; _Earth-shaker!_

As he watched the oasis, he realized, the shaking was not coming from there, this was another Land-quake.

The King could see rock, falling from the Pass of Moke, large boulders were tumbling down the steep slopes, before smashing into pieces on the hard ground. Night-fliers and Sun-droppers, took to the air in a desperate effort, to avoid being crushed under the falling rocks.

The Almadra held their breath and waited, the column had stopped at the first sign of the shaking, now they did not move or speak, they were afraid, slowly the rumbling subsided.

Arn waited, he too was afraid, afraid of what the Land-quake might awaken. The earth stopped moving and all was quiet once more, he looked back at the oasis and saw nothing, then he turned to his brother, "I think Isarie is with us."

"Yes, let's hope she stays with us," Agart lifted his hand and the Nomads started to move. They had only moved a few yards, when the ground started to shift again but this time, it was not the will of the Gods but the earthly God of the Greenland's.

The green oasis, was slowly lifting up from the ground, as it did, the surrounding land began to crack and rumble. The air was filled with the stench of rotting plants and the arrow birds that had made their home in the Balbar trees, flew hurriedly into the safety of the open sky.

The Almadra wagons, rocked back and forth, screams could be heard, as mothers held their children. The Trofar beasts, began to bellow loudly and run in all directions. The usually mild mannered creatures, were now mad with fear, they did not respond to the herd tender's yells and rushed from the caravan like wild things.

Andra had her hands full, her Tundra beast was pulling at the reins, making deep honking sounds. She held on with all her strength, trying desperately, to get the creature under control, "What's happening?" she cried out. She looked back at the oasis and saw something, it made her gasp in awe. She saw a creature slowly rising up from the ground, it was monstrous, she had seen many large creatures before but none like this.

It was hundreds of meters tall, it almost seemed to fill the sky and its mottled skin was embedded with moss and rock. It was shaped like the small field turtles on her home world but this one, had long tentacle like tubes, trailing from its stomach to the ground. Its four massive legs were toe-less and their footprints could have covered an acre. Its armored head was without eyes and it had dozens of long pink tongues, protruding from a giant toothless mouth. Its back was covered in soil and vegetation, large rocks falling to the ground as it lifted itself up, could have crushed her wagon like a toy.

A monster!

She saw it lift its titanic head, then emit a blast of sound that almost broke her eardrums, it echoed over the Greenland's, like a wave from the ocean. It started to move, its feet crunched into the ground, causing cracks to appear and toppling boulders to the ground.

Arn's Whiptail was jerking about underneath him, as he yelled to Agart, "Save what you can, I will attack with the warriors."

His brother knew, it was useless to try to harm the beast, its hide was too thick and their axes would only bounce off, like water off a rock. It might buy them some valuable time, to get the tribe to safety. As he fought with his mount, Agart pointed to the Spike-backs.

"Order the guns to fire, then attack from the left, I will attack from the right." _Isarie help us!_

It was the best plan the King could think of too, "I will give the order," they rode off, both praying to a single God!

The Nomad wagons began to race for the Pass of Moke, the Earth-shaker was too large to follow them into the narrow canyon and they would be safe there. They knew the creature was blind and was not a carnivore. It was merely moving to another feeding ground but anything in its way, met with certain destruction. It made the loud bellowing sound once more and several of the wagons overturned, when their Thundra bolted in panic.

Andra drove her wagon as fast as she could, the monster was right behind. One of its tremendous feet, struck the ground some distance from her but with enough power, to shake the wooden vehicle violently. Osh was in the back now, holding the screaming Sandjar child. He was shaking like a leaf and trying to think of some soothing words keep the boy quiet.

Seeda wanted to stay with her mother but her warrior blood, was starting to take over, she had only one thought, to ride with her King and defend the tribe. She looked over at her mother, who was holding the wagon railing tightly.

Egmar could see the look in her daughter's eyes; _it would be useless to keep her from the battle, she is a warrior!_ She smiled at her and said just one word, "Go!"

Seeda took one last look at her mother, then jumped into her Whiptail's saddle. She lifted her war-ax and rode hard to face the bellowing land God.

Kuno had already ordered the Disruptors to make ready, using the long-range cannon would be a waste of ammunition. The shells were much to small and would hardly be felt by the Earth-shaker but the creature's hearing was very acute. The Disruptors channeled a beam of high intensity sound, by vibrating a massive crystal inside its casing. Not advanced technology, just good mechanics and therefore it was unaffected by the planet's magnetic waves.

To a Nomad, it caused intense pain and even death but to the monster bearing down on them, it would mean little more than an irritation but it was all they had! As the King rode up to Kuno, he was holding his hand up, ready, to give the order to fire.

Arn and his company of warriors, were ready to charge the beast, each man and woman eager to fight for their tribe. They reached into their carry pouches and took out small lumps of wax. They stuffed them into their ears, shutting out most of the sound, it protecting their hearing from the creature's blasts.

When all was ready the King shouted to the Spikeback commander, "Fire!"

Kuno dropped his hand and the Disruptors powered up, a low hum, quickly building up to a high pitched wail, suddenly an invisible beam of energy, shot out from their directional disks, the monster bellowed. It turned slightly to the left, missing the High Priestess' wagon, which would otherwise have been crushed. Even so it shook the heavy cart to its core, causing the Handmaidens inside to scream. Several of the Thungodra, trying to defend the Holy Woman, were ground to pulp, under the monster's foot.

Arn led his warriors into the fray. They blew their war horns and shouted at the top of their lungs, they tried to drive their weapons into the creature's feet but they bounced off, like sand off a mountain.

Agart tried with his men but the outcome was the same, even though it was a futile attempt, they had to try. Running from an enemy, would have been an act of a coward, better to die in battle, than live in disgrace.

Andra followed the wagons to her front, racing for the narrow pass. The air became thick with dust and she could barely make out the wagons ahead. She almost overturned, when her Trofar stumbled over a rocky outcrop, although the cart was lifted high into the air, it came down on its wheels and they continued their escape.

Again and again, Kuno gave the order to fire the Disruptors, with the intense firing, one unit's power coils burned out, billowing smoke into the air. When the creature moved towards them, the Spikeback warriors, did not retreat, even when the ground gave way under their feet, they continued to fire.

Their commander started to laugh, as he shouted to his men, "If you cannot hit a target that big, you do not deserve your Po!" _If we die, then we die in battle and there is always plenty to eat in The Great Hall of Isarie._

Almec had found Seeda, he could hear her war cries, echoing like a sky demons, he saw her riding as fast as her Whiptail could carry her, heading straight for the Earth-shaker. Almec wielded his ax and dug in his spurs, his war beast let out a loud roar, then raced up to and alongside Seeda. When she saw Almec next to her, she smiled, then together they screamed out their tribe's name and raced to meet whatever fate the Gods had in store.

They rode side by side, at that moment, they did not care if they lived or died, the fighting madness was upon them. They would have ridden into the fires of Marloon if need be. Then as a titanic foot came down near them, Seeda drove her Whiptail close to the monster, she struck at one of the long tentacles, hanging from its belly. The huge worm like extensions, were without armor and her ax bit deeply into the spongy flesh. The creature gave out another loud bellow that shook the ground. Almec was almost hit, as the tentacle withdrew upwards but he managed to get away unhurt and joined his lover as she rode away.

Most of the wagons had now reached the safety of the canyon, they moved into the narrow pass, some with broken wheels, were being dragged. Once inside the canyon they slowed down to wait for the warriors to return.

As they waited, the Elders prayed for the lives of the warriors, reciting ancient passages from the Book of Isarie, hoping the Gods would show mercy on them and grant them victory.

Andra's wagon was one of the last to enter the pass, her vehicle was mostly intact, except for a broken water barrel and several cracks in the undercarriage. Osh was still holding the screaming Sandjar, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be praying.

Arn could see the Disruptors were working, the Earth-shaker was slowly turning away and heading back into the Greenland's. As the monster moved away, he signaled to the warriors, to give the all clear on the war horns, as they did, he looked around at the damage. As the dust settled, he saw many dead warriors, some had been crushed to death under the monster's feet. Others had fallen from their mounts, to be trampled by the Whiptails, who could not seen them in the thick smoke and dust.

_My choice has killed many warriors_ _but they died as warriors, the Gods will welcome them;_ Arn told himself _._

He saw Agart riding up to him, with him, several warriors and his sister. She was dirty and had a cut on her cheek but she never seemed so happy. He looked at her and smiled, "I see you are unhurt, that is good, I wouldn't want you to miss the evening's milking."

Seeda should have been offended but she just smiled back, she had ridden her Whiptail well and defended her people, it would be a memorable tale to tell around the campfire.

#  Chapter 16. Warriors Weep

I walk alone and I no longer see the face of Isarie.

I do not feel the warm wind or the cool rain or the forgiving light.

Shadows now fill my soul and I eat from the empty bowl of darkness.

I hear no songs of joy, only the endless beating of the funeral drums.

I no longer dance under the shimmering moons on warm mating nights.

My heart only feels the cold Hagar winds and my blood has turned to stone.

I will walk alone and I will no longer see the face of Isarie.

And I will wander in the land of shadows till I am no more.

Isarie, Isarie, Isarie, take my hand in the darkness.

Prayer of the Wailing Women.

The twin suns had gone down and the heavenly family of moons, once more began their endless travels across the star sprinkled night sky. There were heavy clouds passing over their eternal faces and the air was filled with electricity. It meant only one thing, there was a storm coming. It would not be the heavy violent downpours, like those after the Burning Times. The many creatures of Gorn, would welcome this one, it would bring new life and carry the souls of the dead to the Afterlife.

The weary Almadra made camp deep in the rocky Pass of Moke. Surrounded by, steep jagged cliffs on both sides and the Long-Range weapons, guarding them front and rear, they felt somewhat at ease. Unlike other resting camps, there was no laughter or joyful music, only the soft sounds of crying and the melancholy prayers of the Wailing Women.

The tribe had lost many brave warriors, their mangled bodies, now lay on dark stone beds, made from hundreds of rocks gathered by the Almadra. Around the bodies burned great fires, the whole area was bathed in a warm restful light.

Each dead man or woman was washed, their bodies dressed in their finest armor. In their right hand, they held their war-ax, in the left hand, they clutched a small golden cup. Lying beside them, a bowl of warm Hagar soup and a long loaf, of freshly baked Kasha bread. Around their necks, the golden nail worn by all warriors.

The warriors, were surrounded by the solemn Thungodra, their duty was to ensure, no demon from the Pit of Marloon, came for the fallen warrior's souls. They also kept a lookout for the Night-fliers, that liked to feed on the blood of the dead.

Obec was also there, she was dressed in the black robes of judgment, in her hand, she held a staff with a large golden eye, in her other hand, she carried a small stone hammer. She sat in a large white chair, made from dried animal bones, on either side, stood the Handmaidens of the Gods. Their naked bodies were covered in red dust, they wore gold necklaces and silver arm bands, set with precious stones. Their long hair, was tied up with ivory pins and bobbles, made from shells and the feathers of the Onyx bird. They held bowls of smoking incense, which they lifted up to the night sky, they watched as the blue smoke drifted lazily upwards. They would hold them up, for a moment, then lower them again, while repeating the names of the many Gods as they did.

"Garnog, Cortrex, Horcon, Unarnis-Balnor, Lun, Rator, Pollartex, Intarius, Troben-Set...You are the Gods of the Heavens and we are your children, guide those who come to you and take them into your heart."

The entire tribe, had covered their faces with the same red dust as the Handmaidens, they wore dark robes and each one held a small stone in their hand, they also offered prayers to the Gods.

"Guide them great Gods, set them against those who would challenge your powers, they are strong and their weapons are sharp, they will fight beside you, when the Day of Endings comes."

The tribe's Elders were reciting ancient prayers, while the Frail-legs sat some distance away. They did not seem to understand what was happening, they sat quietly, looking up at the night sky and the moons overhead. If they had any feelings for the dead warriors, they did not show it, they just sat and smiled, like children in their mother's arms.

From a distance Andra watched the funeral, she and Osh, had made their camp next to a large bolder, not in the view of the rest of the tribe. From their vantage point, they could see the circle of the dead warriors.

The old man was holding a marking tool and the skin of a Burrow-baby. He was going to record the Almadra's funeral practices. Seeing what he was about to do, Andra looked at him shaking her head, "Have you no respect for the dead?"

Osh just looked at her, "Of course I do, that is why, I want to make sure their deaths are recorded. I just wish I had a Datacom import, it would be much easier, than writing everything down."

Andra shook her head again and returned to watching the strange ritual, she listened to the soft words of the Handmaidens and smelled the incense.

They respect the dead, she told herself; _they pray for their souls._

Then she saw Arn, he was standing with his two brothers and Egmar was at his side, next to her was Seeda. They were wearing dark armor, the Queen was wearing a long red robe with a tall ivory headdress. Several of the tribe's Elders, were with her and behind them was a mass of warriors. They too wore dark armor and they were holding their war-axes.

Obec listened to the chanting of the Handmaidens intently, she made sure every word was spoken correctly and counted each lift of the incense, to make sure the Gods would not be ashamed. She knew, Isarie was watching her closely, it made her feel good, the great Goddess had seen fit to make her, High Priestess.

The old women tightened her grip on the staff, then raised her arm, the chatting stopped abruptly, everyone fell silent. She slowly rose from her chair and began to speak, "It is written in the Book of Isarie that all warriors are born to fight. Then as Horcon sees fit, they are called to the heavens, to stand with the Gods on the Day of Ending. Their lives with us, are only training for the great battle, when the entire universe will perish and a new heaven will be reborn. We now send you our best warriors, greet them and give them food and drink, let them sing in your Great Hall and look upon the face of Isarie."

She nodded to the King, Arn moved forward a few steps and lifted his ax, "I say now that these warriors served the tribe well, let their names be written in the Book of Isarie. Let their deeds be sung around the campfires, they will wait for us in the Golden Halls of the Gods, until we join them. As Isarie judges them, let them not feel thirst!"

When those words were spoken, the warriors standing behind the King came forward. They went to their dead comrades, one by one they lifted their axes, they spoke as one, "Drink of our strength." Then they cut their arms.

Andra watched as their blood flowed, it dripped into the small ivory cups, held by each dead warrior. The Handmaidens began to make loud wailing cries, as the cups were filled, "The blood of The Chosen, the life of the tribe, the river of our fathers, the milk of our mothers, drink from our lives and live again."

Osh watched and began to write quickly, "An offering to the Gods for safe passage into the Afterlife. I have heard of this ritual but it was said, the nomads ate their dead, I will have to make careful note of that."

Andra almost told him to be quiet but she was too engrossed in what she saw. As a soldier, she had helped to bury many of her comrades, it always seemed such a small thing to do. They had given their lives and despite the many, different religions, it always seemed to be done hastily. Maybe, it was because no matter how you let someone go, it still hurts.

When the cups were full, the warriors marched back to stand behind their King.

Obec spoke once more, "Let the warriors be forever ready, let their hands be filled with the symbol of their strength for all time." The old woman held up the hammer she was holding. Soffca came forward and took it from her, she went to each of the dead warriors and took the golden nail, from around their necks. The Handmaidens cried out with one voice, "ISARIE, ISARIE, ISARIE, we fight for you"

Soffca took each golden nail and placed it over the hand, holding the warriors ax. Using the hammer, she struck the nail hard, driving it through the palm and into the ax's wooden handle. Now, the dead warrior would not lose their grip on the weapon.

Now, Andra understood what Seeda meant, by having to earn the nail around her neck. A symbol, she hoped she would die, with a weapon in her hand too. Andra remembered another pledge she gave once, a pledge she dishonored; _my comrades are dead, it was my fault, how will I die? Alone and forgotten on a strange world?_

Writing as fast as he could, Osh could hardly keep up with his observations. He was trying not to miss anything, "Was that a golden nail, or just a metal one?" he asked.

Andra suddenly grabbed the Rimar skin from him and threw it to the ground, "They're dead! Can't you understand that?" She walked away, leaving the old man to ponder, what he had said wrong?

As the last nail was driven into the last fallen warrior's hand, Soffca turned around and walked back to stand with the other Handmaidens, Obec, lifted her arms to the night sky.

"Eka, Eubano, Ashsana, Italus, Rowgal, Lomic, Fromic, you are the children of this world, help guide our children to the Golden Halls of Isarie."

The Handmaidens got on their knees, then lay on the ground, they began to roll slowly, back and forth. They spoke as one, "We are The Chosen of the Gods, we come to you and offer our bodies, to do with them, as you will."

The old Priestess, lifted the staff in her hand, "The eye of Isarie, sees you and knows your heart, is there anyone whose heart is not open to the Gods?" The old woman looked over at the Queen's _te_ _ars? Not the tears of a Queen for her people, tears for herself._ She remembered what the Darkman had said. _A_ _present for your Queen, when the time is right, she will give you what you want!_ Obec slowly lowered the staff, "We have done what the Gods commanded us to do, let the dead rest."

As the heavy storm clouds, rolled across the faces of the different moons, the tribe of the Madrigal, marched past the stone pyres of their dead, one by one. In their hands were stones, which they placed on the dead warriors, slowly covering them. It was their way, of showing respect and an offering of their love, the tribe passed, time and time again, adding more stones each time. The young and old alike, placed their offerings on the dead and said a prayer to the Gods for their souls.

When the bodies were no longer visible, Obec lowered the staff she was holding, Soffca came forward to cover it with a red cloth. "The Eye of Isarie, sees the souls of our dead are satisfied, go now and do not look back." The old woman left the ceremony, followed by her Handmaidens and the Thungodra. When she was gone, the tribe slowly moved away, leaving only the King and his family behind.

Arn turned to Agart, "Make sure the bodies are not defiled, there may be Night-fliers and Sandjar lurking in the shadows." _I killed them, it was my mistake, I can at least keep their bodies safe._

Agart nodded his head, "I will make sure their rest is not disturbed," his brother left to give the order to the warriors.

The King looked at his sister, she seemed distracted, "Seeda, will you stand with the warriors to guard the bodies?" He knew it was something, his sister would want to do. She did not seem to hear him, "Seeda? Do you wish to guard the bodies?"

His sister, suddenly turned her head, "What? Yes, yes I will stand guard tonight."

"Very well," the King replied, "I put them into your trust."

His sister nodded and left, leaving only Anais and Egmar standing with the King. The young Prince started to leave.

"Where are you going?" Arn asked. His brother stopped a few steps from the King and looked at him; _you may be King but I go where I want!_ "I was going to tell Obec, what a good service she performed, I am sure the Gods, will be pleased with us."

"Yes, tell her the King is very pleased too," Arn said.

Anais gave a little bow and left.

Arn stood beside his mother, she looked up at him, her face no longer sad but filled with pride, "Your father would have been very proud, you have made me proud." _Y_ _ou will sit with your father in the hall of Isarie!_

"I am satisfied mother," the King said softly, "you have taught me well and I will never fail you, I promise."

She smiled at her son, "You had better not, you are not too big, to have your backside beaten." They walked from the stone pyres, leaving the dead to rest in peace.

Anais was smiling, as he walked to the Handmaiden's wagon. He could not help thinking, what fools his people were; _did they really think that prayers and rituals would give you what you want. Also, my brother, acting like he was so grand, so magnificent_.

He kicked a small rock at his feet; _well, what does it matter, he was a fool, they were all fools, dead is dead, there was nothing after this life. If you want to be satisfied, you have to take what you want, all that silliness with the Journey Nails, nonsense! When I die I want nothing in my hand but power, all the power there is!_

While walked, he thought of all the terrible ways, he would use the power.

Andra had been walking for some time, she could still see the Washa fires and hear the Tundra beasts grunting. She wanted to be alone, it was a long time, since she had been. Over the past weeks, she had either been with Osh or tribe members. Here was no one about, just the rocks and moons of Gorn to keep her company. She sat on a smooth bolder and looked up at the stars.

Through the dark heavy clouds rolling in, she could see different constellations, over there was Roglaus and here Pyra. When she had been a soldier, she knew each and every star cluster in the heavens. It was part of her training, knowing them could keep you alive.

They seemed of no importance now, they were just stars and not a reference point for a globe strike, or landing maneuvers.

As a young girl, she listened to her mother, telling stories about brave knights and beautiful princesses. How the stars were not suns at all but jewels on the dress of the Night Goddess. When the Goddess cried, it brought the rain, her name was Andra too. Her mother named her after that story, now she was, sitting on a far Off-World, circling one of the stars, she used to dream about. She sat back and closed her eyes, she could hear her mother's words clearly. When the spring storms raced across her home world, she used to sing songs to her and comfort her.

Close your eyes and look at me.

Stars of night and blue of sea.

Dream of raindrops on your face.

Sweet of honey to the taste.

She suddenly felt a drop of water on her cheek, she opened her eyes, soft rain was starting to fall. _I should get back to camp now_ _or, I will get very wet; she_ thought _._ After walking a few paces, she decided to return, she stopped. _What if I do get wet? What will happen? Will my weapon get rusty and lock up, when I need it_? The war was over long ago and she no longer had an assault rifle; _will I get sick and die? Not likely, Osh said the Grana would keep me well and strong. Will mother scold me, for ruining my new dress?_ Her mother was dead, killed in the first attack on her world.

She realized there was no reason to go back to her wagon, it really did not matter, if she got wet or not. She spread out her arms and let the rain wash over her, it felt good, it felt alive, she was alive; _maybe the Gods do have a plan for me?_ She still did not entirely believe in them but if she ever heard them speak, perhaps now she would listen.

The rain came down harder, it washed down the sides of the rocky cliffs, making a small river in the Pass of Moke. It would not last long but it would fill the tribe's water barrels and soak the dry ground.

Andra was too busy to notice but nearby, a patch of vegetation began to bloom. Its small white flowers, lifted upwards to the night sky, their stems were thorny, with a red point at the tip of each spike. The petals of the plant were delicate but they did not break under the heavy drops of rain. If any child of the Almadra had seen these flowers, they would have stayed clear, they were the beautiful but deadly, Moonbuds!

The rain continued to fall, Andra felt the water on her body, giving her strength, renewing her soul. At that moment, it seemed her old self had been washed away, replaced by a new Andra, she looked up. _Was the Night Goddess crying?_ Maybe it was all just nonsense but the rain felt good and she could hear the stars singing.

High above, standing on top of the cliff of Moke, was someone who did not feel the rain. He wore a long dark cloak, hiding his face. The Darkman had been following the Madrigal, ever since they left the stone city. He watched, as the tribe retired to their tents, to mourn their loss. They would cry and tell sad stories, more names would be added to the Book of Isarie.

_The Book of Isarie!_ The man suddenly clenched his bony hands into fists; y _es the Holy Book of the Almadra, where all the names of the tribe are written, where all the sons and daughters are remembered, where..._

The Darkman, left his viewpoint, he walked to a huge winged creature, crouched on a jagged bolder. He mounted the beast's scaly back, then grasped a chain, attached to a ring in its flat nose. It spread its great bat-like wings and together they flew off into the dark sky. They rose higher and higher, the Darkman's mind was filled with rage.

The Holy Book of Isarie... a book of lies!

#  Chapter 17. Mazes

Dreams are the mind looking at itself.

There are those who see clearly.

And others who are blind.

From the Book of Isarie.

Agart was dreaming, he was walking alone in a dark land, he did not know where he was, or where he was heading, the feeling filled him with dread. There were no twinkling stars or family of moons, nothing to fill his soul with warmth, only an endless cold darkness, in his loneliness he called out, "Arn?"

He did not know why, he called out his brother's name, he said it again, "Arn, Arn, Arn my brother?" There was no answer, only more eternal emptiness, then he said something that filled his hollow heart, "Forgive me."

He stood alone in a forgotten world, a strange dark figure came towards him. As it moved closer, it took on a shape he suddenly recognized, a woman dressed in white, her hair filled with burning stars, the Goddess Isarie. _Isarie, the merciful,_ _the all knowing, the divine_ _;_ he thought _._

He smiled as she walked up to him, her eyes were filled with warmth and mercy. She stood before him and held out her hand, he took it into his and felt a love he'd never known. She spoke, words that filled all the dark chambers of his tormented soul.

"The Gods will arise."

The words echoed through his mind and into eternity, he felt his body breaking apart, falling into a vortex of endless love. He woke up.

He lay in his tent, now he knew where he was, it made him feel secure, the Goddess had come to him in a dream, it was a good sign. He knew the Madrigal, were The Chosen of the Gods, perhaps he was The Chosen of the Almadra? He smiled and began to pray, eventually falling asleep, the warm night, washed over him.

The night had been filled with rolling thunder and bolts of crimson lightning. Warm rain fell softly, as the strongest warriors stood guard over the fallen dead. The warriors stood beside their fallen comrades to make sure, no Night-fliers or demons from the pit, came to feast on their blood.

One of the sentries, reported seeing a large dark shadow, lurking near the outskirts of the camp but it disappeared when several Whiptails roared. It had no doubt, smelled the blood from the ritual and thought it was a dead Rimar or Spikeback. There was one warrior, who swore he saw a Screel but he was not believed. A demon would not come so close to the Almadra camp, they had put out all their talismans, they would ward off a creature of the netherworld.

There was one report, Arn found very disturbing, it seemed that Seeda had left her post during the night, not to be seen again, until dawn. It seemed very strange to the King, that his sister had deserted her vigil, so easily. She was one of their best warriors and would never leave her post.

While Arn sat in his tent, listening to Agart he felt very uneasy, "She was not seen until well past morning, I also heard, Almec might have been with her."

The King sat for a moment with his chin on his hand. The fire from his Washa did not seem very warm, the days were becoming warmer now and it was not really needed. It made him feel comfortable, he liked to look into the dancing flames. After a moment, he lifted his head, "Send for Seeda, then tell the warriors to prepare to move." Arn did not look at his brother, he kept staring into the fire.

Agart watched the King for a moment; _something troubles my brother, he always stares into the fire, when his mind is heavy. "_ Is something wrong?" he asked.

The King looked up from the fire, "Why do you ask?" _My brother can see, he has the eyes of a Sager Cat._

Agart looked at his brother hard, "I know that look, from the time when mother scolded you, for bringing mud into our tent, what's troubling you?"

Arn nodded, then smiled at his brother, "If I remember rightly, your boots were no cleaner than mine." He stared into the fire again, the King had the look of a man far away, "Do you think our father truly loved our mother?"

Agart was unprepared for this absurd question and he had to chuckle, "What a silly question, of course he loved mother, they were chosen, to be mated, by Isarie herself." _Isarie does not make mistakes._

The King looked up at the sky, "Do the Gods pick who we shall love?" he asked. His brother was not sure where this was heading but he thought it concerned the Off-World woman. This did not, please him in the least, "You and I are Almadra, we are The Chosen of the Gods, never forget it." He went to the tent's entrance, to leave, "I will tell Seeda you wish to speak to her," with a glance at his brother, he left.

For a time, the King sat looking into the flickering Washa fire; _there are many things to do. The wagons loaded, the warrior's armor checked, to make sure rain did not make them go rusty. The Elders must be cared for and Seeda must be punished, again, so much to do._ He looked deeper into the fire, he shook his head; _Andra,_ _you are not a lovesick Burrow-baby! You are a King of the Madrigal;_ he told himself. _Besides, the woman is far too skinny and her hair is too short, her eyes too far apart and...._ Realizing what he was doing, he stood up suddenly and left the tent.

Outside, the air was fresh and clean, he could hear the Whiptails roaring, while they were being fed. _Yes! That's it, I will have a large bowl of Rimar meat, a full tankard of...no, two full tankards of Po, I am a King, not a weak Burrow-baby!_

Not far from the King's tent, Seeda was lying in Almec's arms, they laid quietly, a small bowl was beside them, it contained several red crystals.

Seeda had gone back to the robe merchant, she traded everything in her pouch for Ice. She also gave him, her best pair of earrings and a very long shell necklace. Almec had also traded, with a string of large Sagar teeth and a very big Rimar horn. Between them, they got all, of the merchant's red crystals. They lay sleeping now, long past the time, when most warriors, were putting saddles onto their Whiptails and preparing for the day ahead.

A warm wind blew into the tent, Seeda opened her eyes. At first she did not know where she was. She had never felt like this before, it was not, like being unable to remember, where you spent the night. That had happened before, when she drank too much Po and found herself in a warrior's tent the next day. This was much more disturbing, for a brief moment, she did not know, which direction was North or South, or where the suns would rise, or the direction to the Hollow Hills, or the Western Sea.

For the first time in her life she was lost! She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her brain, she thought for a moment more; _was this the Golden Hall of Isarie?_

She remembered the dream of the night before. She was with Almec, both were naked, their bodies entwined in a warm love knot. They were being watched by the dead warriors in The Great Hall of Isarie, she could hear their shouts of encouragement, as she made passionate love. She remembered the feel of her lover's body on hers, the sweat, the kisses, the feeling that the entire universe was hers.

Seeda closed her eyes, remembering it all and she smiled, she ran her hands over her body; _o_ _ther Worlds, worlds that were mine._

She continued to recall her memories. Her lover started to change, the strong warrior's body, suddenly became a Sand Dragon with scaly coils. Instead of being afraid, she continued to claw and bite, in the fit of her passion. The creature sank its long fangs into her breast and she screamed as it's hot venom flow into every fiber of her body.

Why am I cold? Even with the warm air blowing into her tent, it felt like the cave of a Hagar Beast, she pulled the thick blanket up over herself and lay shivering. _A strange dream_ _but only a dream_ _;_ she thought _._

Suddenly the tent flap opened, she grunted and was preparing to scream at whoever dared to disturb her rest. She saw her brother Agart, looking at her, she knew he could see Almec, beside her but she did not try to hide him.

"The King wishes to speak with you," he said coldly.

She could see the disapproving look in his eyes, "I will come," was all she said.

Agart closed the flap and started to walk away. _She should not have a warrior in her tent, they are not mated,_ _the King should know about this but then, it is my sister;_ he thought _._ He looked up at the morning sky; _I am sure the Gods will look the other way just this once._ He was also sure the Gods would hear his words. He headed for the other side of the camp, telling himself, it was to ensure, everyone had their ration of Grana. What he really wanted, was drive the image of his sister from his mind.

Seeda sat up sluggishly and stretched her tanned arms; _so cold,_ _why is it so cold?_ She glanced down at the small bowl beside her; _t_ _he Ice? Had he seen the Ice? No, there was no look in his eyes to say he did...my secret is safe._ She reached out and touched one of the small red crystals; _s_ _uch a tiny thing to give so much pleasure, how silly to believe all the dark stories...silly stories for little children._

Seeda felt fine, a little cold maybe but it would soon pass, besides it was a small price to pay for last night's lovemaking. Almec had never pleased her like that before, her entire body was on fire, all her emotions washed over her, like the waves on the Orgon Sea. She ran her hands over her body again. How wonderful!

What if I left the guarding of the dead a little early, there were plenty warriors to watch over them. Besides, I have been doing many chores lately, milking the Trofar, riding on sentry duty, I deserved a little pleasure; _so much pleasure._

She pressed her hands into her flesh, wishing they were the strong hands of Almec, who now lay beside her; s _illy stories for little children._ She leaned over and kissed Almec's warm lips, he moaned softly, then slowly opened his eyes. She smiled at him, "Are you going to sleep all day? It's not the Burning Time you know."

The young warrior looked at Seeda in confusion; _who is this? Where am I?_

The moment of doubt passed and he remembered everything. He returned her smile and touched the locks of her tangled hair, "Are you sure? With your hair like that, you look a bit like a Crystal spider." _She looks so beautiful, so beautiful._

Seeda put her hands to her head, she knew it was a mess, "This is your fault, you were too rough last night," she laughed, "but it was wonderful." _A_ _nother world,_ she kissed him again and again... _I no longer feel cold, I feel whole...whole!_

Egmar had been summoned by the High Priestess, she did not know why. Whatever the reason, she rose early, putting on her best robe, she wore her hair in the traditional way of the Queens of old. She put a red mark across her forehead, denoting her sadness over the loss of the warriors. She knew, it pleased Obec, when she was acting like a proper Queen of the Madrigal and showing respect to the Gods.

She waited quietly in the High Priestess's antechamber, she had been waiting for some time now. Maybe, she wanted tell her, how well my son was leading the tribe? _No,_ she thought; _she didn't want Arn to be King. Maybe it was to compliment her, about the ritual of the dead the previous night? Maybe, I acted like a Queen._

She waited. An old trick, keep them waiting, let them worry why, they were called before the Gods! I have been Queen too long, to be frightened by her old tricks.

She sat waiting quietly, knowing there was nothing else to do. She heard a noise and turned to see Obec and several young Handmaidens, walking slowly towards her. The old woman was wearing a long white robe and a headdress that was much too imposing, for such an occasion.

She dresses for a ritual, Egmar thought; _she thinks it will turn my head like a child's._

Obec walked up to the Queen, she smiled, "I hope I did not keep you waiting too long?"

Her words were far too sincere, "Not at all, it was very short wait," said Egmar. She watched as the old woman, continued to smile; _behind that smile she is scowling,_ _she is playing games_.

Never-the-less Obec still continued to smile, "Of course, shall we sit and enjoy a nice cup of Deep-root tea?"

_Deep-root tea,_ _s_ _he must be trying to impress me, it is rare and not for everyday use_ _;_ the Queen thought _, "_ Yes that would be nice," she replied.

The old woman motioned to one of the Handmaidens, she bowed low, then left to bring the tea.

"Now I suppose you are wondering, why I summoned you here?" Obec continued, still smiling.

_Summoned? You do not summon a Queen, you ask._ She was feeling her power today, "Well I wasn't sure but I knew it wasn't very urgent, after all the tribe is in good hands, is it not?" _She is treating me like a fresh chosen Handmaiden, on her first day of rituals, from the first day we met, so long ago, she has always treated me differently,_

Obec did not like the question; _Karn is dead now, your power limited, you should be on your knees, praying to the Gods for guidance._ She did not voice her thoughts and continued to act politely, "The time for the Gathering is growing near, after that, the Mating Rituals. I want you to help me, pick a suitable mate for the King."

"I will do what I can," Egmar replied; _that old tradition is no longer enforced, a King chooses his own mate, then the High Priestess blesses the union._

The old woman looked hard at Egmar, it did not show on her face but she was not pleased; _h_ _ow dare this, this, former Queen question me! If only she knew what the Gods had in store for her, how she would beg forgiveness for her arrogance. That will come soon enough, now it is time, to see, how much strength, this old Queen still has left._

The old woman got up slowly and went across to an altar, upon it, was a small wooden box. It was beautifully carved and on its lid was the symbol of the Goddess Isarie. She brought it over to the Queen, then waited for her to stand, before handing it to her, "Open it," she said softly.

Egmar had seen the box before, she knew what was inside but she decided to play along, she opened the box. Inside were three small compartments, one held a cup full of Grana, the High Priestess' own green crystal, blessed by the Gods. The second compartment, was half full with black Crystal. The Queen knew this substance all too well, it was Tral, Black Grana. A deadly poison, used at the Choosing Time, seeing it now gave her a chill.

She tried to hide her feelings but the old woman could see a look of fear in her eyes. She watched as the Queen looked into the last compartment.

Egmar's heart skipped a beat, she felt the strength leave her legs and she almost dropped the box. As she staggered, the Handmaidens rushed over and took her by the arms, she was helped into her chair, the box handed back to the High Priestess.

"Are you alright my dear?" the old woman asked. Her voice was full of sincerity, false but disguised after years of training. She thought something much different; _the Darkman was right, now I have what I want, weakness! "_ Sit and regain your strength, you have been doing too much, you should rest."

The Handmaiden returned with two cups of hot Deep-root tea, the Holy Woman gave one to Egmar, "Here drink this, it will make you feel better." _Weakness!_

The Queen took several sips of the warm tea, then sat back in her chair. Her heart was pounding in her chest, like a war hammer and her hands were shaking. She tried to act like a Queen of the Almadra, "Yes thank you, I am feeling much better now, I do not know what came over me, I am sorry if I frightened you." _The carving, she has the carving...she knows!_

"Oh not at all my child," the old woman purred, as the eyes of the Goddess, I have to see many dark things; _I see into your heart, it is weak!_

The Queen took a few more sips of tea, "I'm sorry but I would like to return to my tent and lay down."

"Of course," the old woman motioned to her Handmaidens, "Take the Queen to her tent, make sure she has everything she needs."

The Handmaidens bowed, then helped Egmar out of the High Priestess' tent. When they were gone, Obec sat, holding the ritual box in her thin fingers, she opened it slowly and looked inside. The Holy Grana was intact, as was the Tral, the last compartment, made her smile. Laying at the bottom of the box, was the small carved statue, the one given to her by the Darkman.

She closed the box and sat back into her chair, her thoughts raced through her mind like a Burrow Baby through its cavern. There were some dark places in her mind, where she had never been before. Having seen the look on the Queen's face, when she looked inside the box, gave her the courage, to open those dark caves in her soul.

She closed her eyes and spoke in a soft voice, "Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor, out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise."

The twin suns were high in the sky, before all the wagons were loaded and the Almadra on the move, once more. The Pass of Moke, led into a narrow canyon, steep cliffs rose up on either side and cut into them, were dozens of other canyons and even more beyond those. If anyone other than a Nomad, had ventured into these canyons, they would become hopelessly lost. All the canyons looked alike, there was nothing marking them or any other way to tell one from another. It was a complex maze able to swallowed an army.

To the Nomads it seemed natural, like a walk in an oasis, they traveled through the rocky trap, singing as they did. The warriors still kept watch, their war-axes at the ready, At their head as always, was the King, his brother at his side.

Agart was not in a good mood, the strange dream of the previous night, had plagued him all morning, like swamp flies around a dead Spikeback.

He heard the words the Goddess had spoken to him again, _"The Gods will arise."_ _What did they mean? Were they a prophecy of things to come? Should he tell the High Priestess of his vision? If it was a message from the Gods it was his duty to speak to Obec but then what about his calling out his brother's name and the other words, "Forgive me."_

_What did they mean?_ He looked over at his brother, "Do you sometimes have doubts?" he asked.

Arn looked at his brother; _a strange question? What has gotten into him on such a fine day? "_ Doubts, of course, I sometimes doubt if my ax is sharp enough, or if my Rimar meat is cooked enough or...?"

His brother spoke again, "No, I mean doubting yourself? _"_

_This is not the brother I know, he is always the sure one, the one with the right words, now he asks for my counsel, why? "_ A warrior who does not doubt himself, once in a while, does not live long, doubt is what keeps us alive."

Agart smiled; _our father's words, spoken so many times!_ "You were listening when father yelled at us."

"Well perhaps a little," he replied, "in the end I learned by my mistakes."

His brother's face became serious, "Will you forgive me, my mistakes?"

Arn could see his brother's eyes; _he is asking me for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive, "_ of course, as soon as you make one!"

Agart felt much better, "You're right, you are the one who does not know, Meadow-cane from Welt Grass."

The King shot him a look, "That was not my fault, it was you, who told me to take a bite. It took a whole week, before my mouth stopped itching."

His brother started to laugh, "Remember how mother kept putting Rock-worm into your mouth, to stop the pain? I'm sure it was delicious."

The Maze of Moke, filled with the brother's laughter, it mixed with the tribe's traveling songs, causing the cliff floaters, to dart from their nests and fill the sky with their shimmering wings.

Andra made sure, her wagon was close to the one in front, lest she became lost in the puzzle, of this unforgiving world. Holding the reins of her bouncing wagon, she looked over at Osh, he was holding a small bowl of raw Rimar meat. The Sandjar child was standing by him, waiting for another piece of food. He made several low grunting sounds, then said a word Andra understood.

"Food?"

Osh had to smile, "You see, I told you, he has spoken his first word!"

"So what, any child as big as this one, should be yammering like a Cartaran politician," she snickered.

"Ah yes, any humanoid child but this is an Endo-Nomarus species, they are not, supposed to be able to speak, as we do. I think I may have to re-write the information about the Nomarus species, in this sector." _If_ _only I had a data-comp, to mind-say the information._

Andra saw the pleased look on the old man's face, "Well just don't teach him too many words, its hard enough, listening to you all day long, without that thing, talking my ear off."

The old man stopped smiling, "Why do you call Endo a thing? He has intelligence and feelings just like us."

This made Andra laugh, "Feelings? That creature has no more feelings than, than..." She looked around and as the wagon passed by, spotted a large rock, "than, that rock," she pointed a finger at the bolder.

Her Trofar made a loud grunt and she watched in amazement, as the rock began to move. It lifted itself off the ground and lumbered away from the Nomad's wagons. It had six large legs, its back was covered in a thick hide, it blended perfectly into the landscape. As it moved away, Andra turned to her friend, he was smiling.

"There is an old Callaxion saying, do not judge an informational program by its search number," he handed another piece of raw meat to Endo.

Andra hated being wrong but she decided to let it go and concentrate on keeping the wagon on track.

While chewing his food, the Sandjar uttered another word, "Good!"

It took all of Andra's strength, not to look at the old man, to see his smiling face, would have been more than she could stand.

#  Chapter 18. The Gathering

Let all my children come together.

Let them dance and talk and sing.

Let them be as one for a time.

Then let them go in peace.

From the Book of Isarie.

It took five more days and nights to travel through the Pass of Moke. Sky-Riders were not to be seen, they nested further North and rarely ventured far from their rocky homelands. They were still a potential threat, so the Almadra kept one eye towards the heavens or watched for their shadows on the ground. A final warning was their wailing cries, as they fell upon their prey

The Riders were related to the Outlanders but unlike them, they preferred the high Mountains of Kresh. They rode giant winged reptiles, Screechers, raised from eggs and they also worshiped strange Gods.

The tribe stopped once, to gather roots from the cliff sides and from the mouths of caves. For the young of the tribe, this was a fun time, they liked to hunt for roots and made it into a game. The King, gave a small wooden ax, to the one who brought back most, they were also allowed ride beside him, on an adolescent Whiptail. A reward every child dearly wished to be theirs.

After a little more travel, the Almadra at last, were approaching the Great Plains of Darmock. This vast open range, stretched as far as the eye could see, an endless expanse of green grass and woodlands, with small shallow lakes. It was not like the thick jungle of far off Yug but it was teaming with life. Here vast herds of Rimar were plentiful, also, smaller Sling Backs. These four-legged reptiles, were far too fast to be caught riding a Whiptail, only a full grown Sagar Cat, could hope to run one to ground. Still the Nomads liked to try, they made it a game, to see who, could come closest to the swift creature.

There was also a crashed Dropship on the open plain, it had fallen long ago, its rusting hulk now lay half buried in the soft ground. The mighty ship that once sailed the stars, was now a home to field birds and Burrow-babies.

Near the lakes lived the deadly Daggermouths, large amphibious creatures that attacked anything coming near the water. Their rows of sharp teeth, could rip and tear through even a Rimar's thick armor plating. Their muscular tails contained succulent meat, a great delicacy among the Nomads.

There were huge pods of Flame-Crests, large two legged beasts with narrow heads and sharp powerful beaks. It was well known, never to go near a Flame-Crest's nest. Their eggs, were much prized by the Nomads but a mother Crest, would defend her eggs viciously. Only experienced Outlanders, knew how to gather them safely.

The Balbar trees were rich with fruit and the iron like wood, was used to repair wagons and war-ax handles. They might also conceal colorful but deadly Arrow-tails, small flying reptiles. They could shoot quills from their tails, causing great pain and sometimes death.

The Greenland's was also the home of the Ax-breakers, a large beast with a very thick shell, covering its entire body. They were mostly mild mannered creatures but could attack, with their powerful beak shaped jaws and club like tail.

Golden fields of Kasha-wheat, grew abundantly on the great plains, it was harvested, ground on stone mills, then made into bread, any surplus they traded with the Sea People. They also made small loaves, mixed with large amounts of Ulon spice, called Stone Bread. To the Outlanders, the large amounts of spice made the bread unpalatable. It was traded with the Ergan-Mar, cave dwellers who mined the precious Grana Salt, they never ventured into the sunlight.

The Greenland's were also the breeding grounds of the Whiptails, they would mate, raise their young and there was plenty to eat. During their mating time, the air was filled with their bellowing.

Here, all the giant creatures of Gorn roamed free, they fought to survive and eventually they died. Their bones lay scattered over the ground, a reminder that death comes to all creatures, great, or small.

This was also the place where the Nomads held their Gatherings.

As the tribe emerged from the Pass of Moke, they breathed a sigh of relief, here was their homeland. There was still danger, the Shadow-men might be lurking, ready to strike but they seldom ventured out of the Poison Lands. Far to the North, beyond the Mountains of Kresh. The Nomad's strength at the Gathering, was much too strong for a raid by the Cursed of the Gods.

The long column of Nomad wagons and riders, moved across the grasslands, as they approached their destination, the warriors lowered their war-axes. Riding with weapons raised, was a sign of aggression. If spotted by other Nomad tribes, it would be seen as a challenge, something the Outlanders did not take lightly. A challenge must be accepted, otherwise a warrior would be seen as weak, perhaps even be made an Outcast. So axes were strapped to saddles, rather than risk confrontation and any other consequences.

The King's Whiptail, was grunting and shaking its head, Arn knew it could smell the female whips. It was the beginning of the mating season, soon they would let them roam free and let nature take its course. They would call them back using signal horns but much like a Nomad, a Whiptail kept from its mate, was extremely dangerous.

Like all creatures of Gorn, the mating season for the Nomads, would soon be here too.

The King breathed in the warm air; _sweet, sweet like the hair of a woman,_ _Andra, her hair is sweet too;_ he thought. Arn slapped his face. _Stop_ _! She is a Half-Soul, she is not The Chosen of the Gods, she is too short, her hair not long enough._ He shook the visions out of his head, then looked over at Agart, riding happily beside him, "I think we are the first tribe here," he said proudly.

Agart looked across the plains and saw a thin wisp of smoke rising upwards, "It looks like the Armrod have taken a shorter route." He pointed to the smoke, "Kadar, always likes to be the first to lead his tribe to the Gathering."

Arn could see the smoke now, he smiled, "Old Lostlimb, I wonder if he still remembers the time we stole his ax?"

"How could he forget, he was so mad, I was sure all of Gorn could hear him screaming." His brother laughed, "You'd better not call him Lostlimb, you know how he hates it."

"Why not? The name suits him very well."

"You are not a reckless Prince anymore, you are a King and Kings do not insult other Kings." _They do but they shouldn't._

"Oh very well but you're spoiling my fun!" The King looked back over his shoulder, "At the Stone Circle, I want the Off-Worlder's wagon, next to mine."

Agart looked quizzically at his brother, "Is there a reason for moving the Half-Soul's wagon?" he asked. _The Half-Soul's Wagon, should not be next to the King's! It is not our way._

Arn could see the look in his brother's eyes, a disapproving look that always showed on his face, when the Off-Worlders were mentioned. He was not, happy that his brother still refereed to them as Half-Souls.

"Andra is a warrior now, she should be treated as one!" His voice sounded like that of a King.

Agart did not like the sound of it but he did not let it show on his face; _t_ _he King is taking the side of the Half-Soul, she is taking my place._ "Forgive me my King, it will be done as you ask." He rode off in a cloud of dust, created by his Whiptail.

Arn knew, he had hurt his brother's feelings, he watched him ride to the back of the column, he smelled the warm sweet air of the grasslands. He listened to the grunting of his Whiptail and once more, his mind filled with images of Andra. He might be King but he was still a man and the mating season was fast approaching.

The Thungodra had spent the last few days, preparing for the Gathering. They polished their best armor and practiced their marching. They knew, Obec would expect them to be at their best and the Gods would be watching. Besides being a Gathering of the many tribes, it was also a meeting of the Nomad's Holy Women. They would be meeting in the Great Chamber of Isarie, to commune with her and other powerful deities, to ask for their blessing in the days and months to come.

Obec was the oldest and therefore the holiest of Isarie's servants. The Thungodra were in charge of guarding the High Priestess, making sure, no demons or assassins came near to her. A jealous leader of another tribe, might try to kill her, then their Holy Woman would have the most power. So the Priestess' guards, sharpened their axes and prayed long into the night. They did not want their names dishonored, nor to spend their time in the Afterlife, in the endless darkness that lays beyond the gulf. Or worse, burn in torment in the eternal fires of the Pit of Marloon.

Inside the High Priestess' wagon all had being made ready, the Handmaidens had cleaned the holy robes and filled the incense burners. The statues of the Gods, were washed with holy water, collected from a spring in the Temple of Isarie. A Handmaiden who was not, allowed to touch anything else, carried the water in a golden urn. Her hands were bound and only uncovered on special occasions, when she had to pour the water. The water was known as the Tears of Isarie, it was believed to hold the secret of life itself.

Egmar sat in the back of her wagon, she told Agart, she was feeling unwell. It was a lie of course but the Queen wanted to be alone. Agart assigned one of his best warriors, to handle the Trofar's reins.

She felt the wagon swaying lightly and she knew they were entering the Grassland's. Her years of traveling over many, different terrains, gave her the ability to sense the land she was on, even when she could not see it. With the wagon's movement, there was a familiar sweet smell of grass and the rippling grains of the ripening Kasha wheat.

This should have been a happy time for the Queen but it was not. Looking into the High Priestess' box, was like a dragon's tooth, piercing her heart and removing all warmth from her soul.

She asked herself; _h_ _ow much, does she know? Where did she find the carving? It was lost in the sands of Kresh, forgotten along with.... No, it must be some kind of trick, Obec is clever, she knows how to use intimidation, to get what she wants._ She laughed inwardly; _that's it, it was a trick._

The Queen told herself to forget what she had seen and prepare for the Gathering. She pondered over which robe she should wear.

In the corner of the wagon, was a large wooden chest, richly carved with mystic animals and figures. It was her mating chest, it had been her mothers before and her mother's before that. It had been handed down, from mother to daughter, through the ages. It was one of her most cherished possessions.

She went over to it and ran her hands over the warm wooden lid. After unlatching the strong lock at the front, she opened the chest and carefully searched through its contents. It contained an assortment of brightly colored robes, all well made and embroidered in styles, fit for a Queen. With great care, she lifted them out, one by one, then she looked them over.

_The green one? The one with the silver treads, embroidered around the neck, or perhaps the red one? No! That one is too ornate, not appropriate for the Gathering, besides, it makes me look fatter than I am_. Carefully she placed the garment by her side and continued searching _...Not the yellow one, too tight around the neck and too loose in the middle, no, that won't do._

At last, she found what she was looking for; _Yes! The dark blue one, with the tribe's emblem on the sleeve, the right color and it was a perfect fit._

It would be...Maybe it was not a trick? Maybe it was the truth? Somehow, Obec knew the truth, she knew.

The Queen put the robes, back into the chest and closed the lid. _What should I do? I am Queen and Queens do not lie! This in itself is a lie, is it not? Everyone lies sometimes, the time I lied to Karn, when he made me, that horrible Hagar soup, too much Ulon spice but I said it was perfect, a tiny lie yes but still a lie!_

She looked at a small golden statue of Isarie, she kept by her sleeping mattress. _H_ _as my whole life had been a falsehood, an empty shell, like a Sword Breaker, whose skeleton lays bleaching in the sunlight?_

She tried to drive the thoughts from her head; _i_ _t is foolish to think the old women could see the past. What is done, is done, there is nothing, to be done about it now. Obec is The Chosen of Isarie and the Goddess sees all, was it the will of the Gods that my secrets should be revealed? Does Obec really know? How could she, it was so long ago, so many cycles now, so many memories...Memories...Memories..._

"Stop!" she cried out.

She listened to the wagon wheels, turning slowly, she smelt the soft fragrance of the meadow grass. She picked up a pair of long silver earrings, then placed them against her wrinkled face, she looked into a reflection plate.

They were very nice, Karn, had traded a set of Sagar teeth for them, he had hunted the dangerous beasts, to get enough teeth, to trade for the jewelry. This cat, almost killed him but he emerged in one piece, just! He said it would make her look good at the Choosing...

_The Choosing._ She put the earrings down and looked at herself in the reflection plate; _c_ _an the laws of the Almadra be changed? Can anyone, fool the Gods?_ The Queen saw her eyes were filled with tears; _who is this woman, is she a Queen or an empty shell?_ Putting her face in her hands, she cried softly but she did not want the tribe to know of her tears.

Andra had spent the last few days, listening to Osh, endlessly repeating words to Endo. She was very surprised, when the little creature, began to repeat them.

While listening to the Sandjar, she could not help but think, about her own family. _M_ _y mother, my brother, all gone now, my Home World gone, the land barren and burnt, my comrades dead or imprisoned. What will happen now? Will all record of the Selcarie, be lost? Am I the last of my kind?_ _She_ gripped the reins tighter, then she heard Endo say a strange word, "Mother?"

Andra turned sharply, the little creature was sitting next to her. He was looking at her and she could not tell, if he was smiling or baring his teeth. Either way, it made her feel very uncomfortable, he spoke again, "Mother?"

"He thinks you are his mother," Osh came from the back of the wagon, holding a small clay pot, "It is because of the blood you gave him, it imprinted on him, now, he thinks you are his mother."

Andra looked away from the Sandjar, "Then he is dumber than I thought." The little green creature, sat staring at Andra.

Osh climbed into the seat next to Endo. He settled himself, then held out the clay pot, "Here you are my son, a nice bowl of Rock-worms with fish sauce."

Endo took the bowl and began to eat heartily, this seemed to please the old man, "Do you like the food?" He watched him eating, "Is it good?"

"Good" said the little Sandjar, in a grunting voice, "Very good."

Osh beamed with pride, he pointed to the small creature, "There you see, I have proven beyond all doubt, a Sandjar can be articulate!"

"So you taught him a few simple words, so what, back home, my Thall-bird could say a lot more words, than that thing."

"Maybe so but a Thall-bird is bred to talk, a Sandjar...." Osh had to choose his words carefully, "Sandjar can be a very unpredictable creatures but they are not dangerous, as long at you treat them with kindness."

"What if you don't?" she asked.

Osh, did not want to answer that question, so he decided to change the subject. He looked out over the grasslands, "This is good farmland, you could grow almost anything here." He looked at Andra, "Do you know how to grow things?" he asked.

Suddenly, Andra had an embarrassed look on her face, "Not really but anyone can see, this is good land," _h_ _e doesn't need to know my parents were farmers and I'm a farmer's daughter._

"Yes very good land," he looked at Endo, "Can you say good land?"

The Sandjar stopped lapping his soup, he looked at Osh, "Good land" Then went back to his food.

Andra said nothing, she listened to the little creature, sucking deeply and making purring sounds. She saw Agart riding fast towards her, quickly she turned to the old man, "Better hide Endo, here comes trouble."

Osh knew exactly what she meant, when he saw the Prince coming near to them. He took Endo's bowl of soup, then pulled him into the back of the wagon.

Agart maneuvered his Whiptail alongside Andra's wagon, when the dust cleared, he looked at her, "Place your wagon beside the Royal tent tonight, by the King's order."

He rode off quickly, Andra watching him go, then thought; _b_ _eside the royal tent_? _W_ _hy? What's going on? A trick, maybe a way of spying on her?_ She began to smile; _beside the royal tent, it w_ as _something to think about._

The old Callaxion, came to the front of the wagon, "What was that all about?" he asked.

"We're setting up our tent, beside the King's tonight."

The old man thought about this for a moment, "There is an old saying, no one knows it origin but it seems to fit this situation."

"And what is that?" she asked.

"Keep your friends within your viewing limits but keep your enemies in close-proximity."

Andra had heard this saying many times, although the wording was different, she learned it during her soldier's training. At the time, it seemed a rather silly saying but now it made sense, was she growing wiser, or just thinking about warm nights?

It was late in the day, before the Almadra finally reached there destination, there in the middle of the vast open plains, was the Eye of Isarie.

It was a huge circle of titanic stones, each monolith, the height of several tall men and carved with images and inscriptions. Each had, the insignia of the many, different tribes on their faces, the Ozendra, Bal-borie, Caladon, Maringar, all the tribes had their markers. Here wagons and warriors would make camp.

Between the huge blocks, were the sacred stones of the King's, all Nomad Kings, past and present, were there. Each bore the name and the deeds of their Kingship, some of them, were worn by the wind and rain, their images almost gone. A few had been broken, they lay half-buried in the ground, these were the Forgotten People. Those tribes that had been destroyed, or like the Argonie, had destroyed themselves. Their monuments just lay there, there was no one left now, to tend to or carve new stones for them. Only the Book of Isarie remembered their names.

Near the Eye, stood the Great Longhouse of the Tribes, it was a gigantic stone structure, made in the style of the Almadra Longhouse. It was immense, it could easily hold thousands of Nomads and more. It was built so long ago, no one knew how it was built. With the great stones that made up most of the building, there were metal beams and plates from fallen space craft. It was both old and new and it was where the tribe's Kings met to discuss treaties and make judgments.

Some distance from the Longhouse, stood the Temple of Isarie. To the tribes, the Holy of Hollies. The High Priestesses from the different tribes, came here to pray and read from the Book of Isarie. It was round, with a stone dome, held up by huge pillars, made from a dark smooth stone. The tents of the Thungodra surrounded the temple, they guarded the Holy Women, allowing no one, entry to the temple. Unless they had permission from the Holy Mothers. If anyone, other than a Priestess or Handmaiden, came too close, they were killed instantly. Even a King was not permitted into the Holy Shrine, it was the Place of the Gods.

Andra had placed her wagon, next to the King's. When the tribe's Elders saw that the Off-Worlder, had been given a place of honor, it made for whispered conversations in their tents. There was also some grumbling among the warriors. A King should not do something like this was, it was not the way of the Madrigal. The King's tent should be placed in the middle of the camp, surrounded by his warriors, the strongest, placed closest to him. The King's brothers and sister came next, then the Elders and so on, it had always been this way, for as long as anyone could remember.

The King was asking them to change their ways, he was their King but to change? It cut deep into the Nomad's hearts, their traditions were their life. They had followed these beliefs an age, changing them was unthinkable. The laws were handed down, from their ancestors, who received them, from the great Goddess Isarie herself.

If anyone questioned those laws, they need only look in the Holy Book of the Goddess, there it was written for all to see. It was not, possible to change, it was as it should be, this knowledge, brought comfort to the Outland's people.

Still, they were warriors, so they were bound to the word, to their King, rightly, or wrongly, they would obey.

So Andra and the old man, were permitted to place their wagon and tent, next to the King's but there was still much grumbling, in the warrior's tents.

#  Chapter 19. The Talk-Stone

Let all come and speak from their hearts.

Let no one hold a weapon or speak a lie.

For the Talk-stone is the ear of Isarie.

And she will listen and know the truth.

The Laws of the Almadra.

By nightfall all the Almadra tents were up and their Washa fires were burning brightly. Since they were now safe in their own lands, they built a huge fire, around which all the tribes of the Nomads could gather. The flames shot high into the night sky, proclaiming to all that the Outlanders had come for a Gathering.

The air was filled with singing and the smell of hot Hagar soup. It was a very warm night but still they ate with gusto, large legs of choicest Rimar meat, cooked slowly over glowing fire pits. Barrels of well-aged Po, were drunk by thirsty warriors. Sometimes fights broke out but they were friendly for the most part, just ways of letting off pent-up aggression and testing their strength. The warriors were forbidden, to carry their axes, which was a good thing. Often, a drunken warrior, would reach for his weapon, only find it missing.

They still carried their Dragons-teeth and less serious injuries were plentiful, as they settled long-standing feuds, or argued over a mate. It was not just the male warriors, their female counterparts too, would fight over potential mates, or take offense at some remark or other. Despite the fighting and injuries, it was a joyous time for the Nomads, a time of plenty and a time of tradition.

Andra had placed her wagon, next to the King's as ordered. She ignored the looks of disappointment, from the Elders and unflattering remarks, whispered but loud enough to be heard. The Off-Worlder, started up the fire in their Washa but she left the cooking to Osh. It was much better that way, one taste of her cooking and the old man took an oath never let her near a pot again.

While Osh was stirring the cooking pot, she changed into a clean robe, washed her hair and put a silver pin into it, mimicking the hairstyles of the Nomad women. Then Andra sat on a bread barrel, watching the Nomads, in their activities.

"It is almost ready," said Osh, as he took a sip of the warm nourishing soup. After tasting the thick liquid, he shook his large head, "It needs a bit more Ulon spice." He picked up a small bowl and dropped two pinches of red spice into the soup, he tasted it once more, "Yes that's much better, care for some?"

Andra shook her head, "Not right now."

The old Callaxion continued to stir, "If someone told me, someday I wouldd be stirring a pot of Nomad soup, I'd have said they were mad. Yet here I am, cooking like a farm wife and enjoying it. I told you the Gods had plans for us."

"The Gods want you to make soup?" There was a chuckle in her voice _; I doubt the Gods are cooks._ "I can't see how, it would make any difference to anything."

"Well, there are infinite possibilities, of cause and effect, for instance, from stirring a pot of soup, you could..."

"Are all ciphers as annoying as you?" she smiled, as she looked at the old man.

He could see, she was not interested in his knowledge, of cause and effect, " I will have you know, Callaxions, are one of the most respected species in the galaxy. We've been in control, of some of the greatest Datacoms ever created."

"Yes but there are no Datacoms here," she replied.

The old man smiled back at her, "That is why I am making the soup!"

Andra watched the old man stirring the soup, "Will you be going to the Gathering?" she asked.

"No," he replied, "You can tell me about it later."

There was nothing, Osh would have liked to do more. There would be a lot of valuable information on the Nomad's social structure. He was however, very reluctant to leave Endo on his own. Osh was about to take another sip of his concoction, when Endo jumped out of the wagon and came over to the old man.

"Food?" he asked, pointing at the cooking pot, with a small clawed hand, "Good food?"

Andra looked around her quickly, "You'd better keep him in the wagon, I don't think its wise, to have him running around." Even as she'd finished speaking, two large warriors passed their wagon, they both took a long hard look at the little Sandjar.

"Perhaps you are right." Osh took Endo by the hand and led him into their tent, pitched beside their wagon. Looking at him, he said, "I think it would be better, if you stayed in the tent, do you understand?"

The Sandjar cocked his head to one side, "Inside?" he asked.

"Yes, inside, I will bring food inside, very soon."

Endo returned his gaze, "Food inside, good," then he scampered quickly into the tent.

The old man went to the cooking pot, "I never saw anything, eat like he does." He used a large ladle to fill some clay bowls with hot soup, then he headed for the tent. Just as he was about to enter it, he turned back to Andra, "Eat what you want but do not, do anything to the soup!" he went inside the tent and closed the flap.

Andra grumbled under her breath, "I'm not that bad a cook." She looked across at the King's richly decorated tent, two armored warriors stood guard.

Above the tent was a large flag flying proudly, embossed with a symbol, a silver spider against a black background, the insignia of the Almadra. This flag, had flown over many battlefields and was well known to all Outlanders. Many Almadra had died, fighting for the flag bearing that insignia, they would continue to fight for it, as long as they drew breath.

The Whiptails and the tribe's other beasts, were let free, to roam the Greenland's. They had been trained, to return when the signal horns sounded. They might lose a few to predators but it was the best thing to do, it was mating time and no one stood in the way of a Whiptail on heat.

As Andra stood watching the King's tent, she could feel something in the air. _The air is warm tonight;_ she thought. _It feels nice on my skin;_ she ran her hands over her arms, then up the sides of her body; _so nice. Osh spoke of the mating time, when the Nomads choose a husband or wive. He said the time would be here very soon, maybe it was now._ She touched her face; _mating time, strong arms around my body, Arn, schoolgirl!_ She pulled her hands away from her face and paced back and forth; _she_ _was being silly, why would a King be interested in a defeated soldier?_

She scolded herself for acting so foolishly, then poured herself a bowl of Hagar soup and tasted it; _not bad, not bad at all, Osh is annoying but he does make wonderful soup._ She took several mouthfuls, of the tasty concoction, then she saw Arn, emerging from his tent.

He was dressed in his finest armor, the skin of a Sagar Cat was draped over one shoulder. His long hair, was tied back by a silver cord and he wore two golden bracelets around each wrist. Beside him, was Agart, dressed much the same but without the cat skin. They stood before the tent talking.

Agart adjusted the colorful cat skin on his brother's shoulder, "Remember, you are not a protected Prince anymore, you are a King and leader of the strongest tribe of the Nomads, now act like one."

Arn adjusted the Dragon's teeth at his belt, "You worry too much,"

"You do not worry enough! Remember what I told you and above all, do not call Kadar, Lostlimb, he's bad enough when he's drinking and doesn't need pushing further."

They walked away from their tent, when Arn noticed Andra, standing by her fire, he stopped, "Wait here," he said, then he walked over to the Off-Worlder.

Agart watched his brother, going over to the Half-Soul; _my brother has feeling for this woman,_ _she is taking my place;_ he thought _._

As the King walked towards her, Andra quickly put down her bowl of soup. _I_ _s he coming over here? What does he want? I am a schoolgirl!_ She tried to act as if she was looking for something.

"How is the soup?" asked the King.

Andra gave him a little smile, " I think it's good," she picked up her bowl and held it out to him, "Would you like to try some?"

Without a word, the King took the bowl and had a taste of the thick soup. He smiled, "Your cooking has improved I see," he took another spoonful, swallowed then looked at her, "A bit too much Ulon spice but very good."

Andra gave a slight smile, "You're right, it does have too much spice, next time I'll use less." _I'll_ _tell Osh to cut down on the spice._

Arn put the bowl down, "I need a good warrior, to guard me around the Talk-stone, come when you are ready."

Andra watched him leave, thinking; _Talk-stone?_ _W_ _hat is a Talk-stone?_ _I must find out, after all, a woman who can cook, could certainly find out what a Talk-stone was!_ She went over to their wagon and lifted the flap, to see Osh sitting beside the Sandjar, "What is a Talk-stone?" she asked. Before the old man could reply, she asked another question, "And where is my armor?"

Agart had been looking for Seeda, to tell her, she should be beside the King, at the Talk-stone. She must not be missing from the Meeting of the King's. Seeda's tent was near to the King's tent but being beyond the light from the surrounding fires, it was in darkness. She wasn't inside either, she hadn't been seen, since the setting of the suns.

Seeda and Almec, were some distance from the Eye of Isarie, they had been walking across the green land and finally they sat, near a small pool of clear water. They were wearing their best armor and carrying their war-axes, it was dangerous, to be away from the wagons at night but they wanted to be alone.

The night was warm and clear, above them, their world's moons, moved across the sky. In the distance they could hear the tribes singing, mixed with the cries of the mating Whiptails and buzzing Blaze-Ants, inside their mud towers.

Seeda looked up at the night sky, "It's cold," she said, pulling a thick Hagar fur, over her shoulders, "I don't remember it being this cold, at this time of the cycle."

"Perhaps it's a wind from the North?" Almec said with a smile; _there is no wind but do not start an argument._ He moved closer to his love and put his arm around her, "Is that better?"

Seeda pulled his arm from her shoulder, "I'm not a Frail-leg and I do not need your body warmth!" S _till, I am cold!_

They did not speak for some time, they sat listening to the distant cries, a loud roar from a Whiptail, broke the air. Seeda looked over, "Do you think Whiptails fall in love?"

Almec had never thought about that before; _Whiptails, why is she asking about Whiptails?_ He tried to think of an answer, "they only mate once in a cycle, I do not know, if they yearn for their mates, the rest of the time."

Seeda thought this over for a moment or two, "We've made love but we are not mated."

The young warrior wasn't ready for a comment like that. He tried to think of something that would make it sound like he did, "I have not brought you food and you have not filled my bowl, in the eyes of the tribe we are not mated." He looked up at the night sky, "Isarie sees all and in her eyes we are one."

Seeda started to mumble under her breath, it was not an angry grumbling, she was thinking up a suitable reply. It went on for a time, then at last she said, "If you think I will serve you, before the tribe like a Handmaiden, you are a fool!"

Hearing this insult, made Almec very angry. He suddenly stood up, holding his ax tightly, "Was I foolish to lay with you, was I foolish to stay with you, when you broke our tribe's laws?" He shook his weapon in her face, "I must be a fool, to think you would ever be mated to me!"

Seeda jumped to her feet too and held her ax, as if she was ready to battle, "Why would I want to mate with you, you are nothing but a weak backed little Rock-runner!"

"Mating with a Whiptail, would be far better than with you!" he screamed back, then he swung his ax.

Seeda blocked his attack and their axes sparked in the air. She swirled around and aimed a blow at his head, he ducked just in time. He moved backwards and they stood glaring at each other, her eyes flashing with battle frenzy.

"I will kill you!" she screamed.

They remained looking at each other for some time, both ready to fight, both ready to die if need be.

Almec lowered his weapon, "I was a fool yes but even a fool can learn." He turned and walked away.

Seeda watched him go; _let_ _him walk away, I wear no mating rings._ She heard the mating cries of the Whiptails and looked up at the little moon called Eka; _so small? Was it larger when I was young? Mother would sing to me of Eka_

The words echoed in her mind then she began to sing softly.

Little moon, little moon, so high and far away,

Moving through the silent sky till Isarie brings the day,

Little moon, little moon, please sing to me of night,

I see your face and sing your song till morning brings the light.

She stood looking up at the night sky, a warm wind softly blew across the open fields, it made the Blaze-ants murmur inside their earthen towers but to Seeda it felt very cold.

The Thungodra, stood to attention around the High Priestess' Holy wagon, even with a truce in effect, it was still their duty to protect Obec. They also knew, the Holy Woman would not, forgive any error in protocol. Therefore, they were watchful of each and every person, who came near the wagon, ready to fight if called upon.

Anais would rather have stayed in Soffca's tent but the King insisted, he was present at the Talk-stone. He felt uncomfortable in ceremonial armor but it was tradition, he must sit beside his brother, so all could see, the Almadra were strong.

Soffca's tent was small and had been sparsely furnished but now it was well decorated. Anais had given orders, for it to be made more comfortable. A large sleeping mattress, filled with the best Doff-Bird feathers, which made it, very comfortable, was moved in. Also a large wash basin and several chests, filled with clothing and jewelry. They had their own table for eating with chairs. Their food was served on the finest gold plates and silver goblets for their Po, it was a tent fit for a Prince, rather than a Handmaiden of Isarie.

Anais pulled his arm brace on and looked over at Soffca, who was helping him to get dressed. She was naked and in the soft firelight, her skin seemed to glow like cave crystal.

"I wish this was funeral armor, I would be very happy, if my brother, was being laid in his tomb." _I will live to see the day!_ He pulled the other arm brace on and stood looking at himself, in a large reflecting plate. "This useless, Meeting of the Kings, all they will do is talk, talk, talk, endless words of lies and deceit, I am sick of hearing words!"

Soffca just looked at him, she said nothing, the Prince took her into his arms. "That is why I love you, we have no need for words," then he kissed her, she kissed him back, then they parted, "When I am listening to their lies, I will think of you." Another deep kiss.

He stood back, to look at her, then he started pulling his armor off, "No, I will not go, let them scream all they want, I am not a slave to be summoned and told what to do!" He threw his helmet across the tent, where it clanged against a statue of Isarie, "Let my brother have his say, someday his voice will be silent and I will speak instead!" He pulled the last of his armor off and laid down on the soft sleeping bed. He looked at Soffca; _l_ _et them scream, she is so beautiful._

Soffca could see his eyes, filling with lust, she came to him and laid beside him, she began to kiss him.

Anais held her close; _is there, love in her heart for me?_

The Handmaiden ran her hands over his body, she kissed him hard, again and again.

Does she love me?

Soffca continued to kiss him, then she heard the ring of a soft bell, she stopped and looked at him with gentle eyes, "I must go." Before the young Prince could do anything, she rose and naked still, she left.

"Where are you going, come back!" Anais called but his words had no effect, she did not return. The Prince did not know what to do, he became very angry; _d_ _am all Gods!_ _S_ _omeday I will be King and I will cast out the Gods;_ he thought to himself. His rage softened; _there are no Gods! Tales to frighten little children, let them pray, it does not matter, let them pray._ He closed his eyes and filled his head with visions of Gods bowing before him.

Outside the tent, Soffca could hear the measured ringing of the prayer bells. She paused for a moment, then walked into the night. She could hear singing and laughter, from the many tents around her but she did not listen, she only heard the bells, calling the righteous to worship. She walked slowly to the High Priestess' dwelling, as she approached the Thungodra guards, they lowered their weapons and let her pass.

Inside the large tent, the air was filled with incense and the sounds of chanting and small bells, rung by the Handmaidens. She walked towards the magnificent Altar of Isarie, it was surrounded by baskets of fresh fruit and freshly picked field flowers. The well carved face of the Goddess, shone warmly in the flickering firelight. Soffca came before the Goddess and bowed her head in reverence.

Naked, she stood before the statue and lifted her slim white arms skyward, then she spoke in a low solemn voice, "Forgive me Isarie, I am the servant of your heart, forgive me." She said a prayer in the old language, none but the Handmaids of Isarie, could understand its meaning. Soffca was asking the Goddess of the Heavens, to grant her mercy and strength for the days ahead.

Some distance from the Priestess' tent, stood the Frail-leg's wagons, they were placed in a safe and quiet section of the camp, where they could be attended. They ate quietly, then they sat looking up at the night sky, all the while, Touch-tenders comforted them and listened to them singing softly.

They sang songs of the old times and of companions long dead but it was not a sad time, they smiled as they sang and now and then, spoke to the family members who visited them. Their words had little meaning, when spoken to, they did not answer, they just smiled and looked upwards.

The Nomad's Great Longhouse, was filled with the best warriors from the many tribes. They feasted and drank deeply, they sang the ancient warrior songs. The air was heavy with oily smoke, from the fire pits, now roasting huge legs of Rimar meat. The smoke hung like a cloud over everyone and it stained the carved wooden rafters, covering the structure. The roof beams, were in the shape of mystical dragons and creatures of night dreams. The walls were painted with the stories, of long dead warrior hero's, it showed them defeating demons of earth and sky.

In the center of the hall, was a stone circle, in the middle was a large black rock, the Talking Stone. The stone was round and carved with intricate mystic designs, from the Before Time. Here the King's, Elders and warriors, would meet, to speak their mind, on any subject and no matter what was said, they were not to be physically attacked.

This was the one place in all Gorn, where a warrior could insult another and they would not be challenged to combat. It was a way, for the Outlanders, to say what they truly believed, it was a safe place.

Around the stone, were seating places for the tribes, each tribe had their own stone marker and a flag, bearing their insignia. Arn and the other Kings would talk here.

Arn and Agart stood near the talking stone, with them, were several large Almadra warriors.

Arn looked around the hall, "Where is Seeda? She should be here by now."

"I have sent for her, she will come," Agart replied; _my brother is worried that she will not come, why?_

"Is there something, you are not telling me brother?" Arn studied his brother's expression, he knew Agart was holding something back, "Is there anything?"

Agart smiled, "No nothing, she is fixing her hair, you know how she likes to show off." _He knows I am lying but he will not challenge me._

Arn laughed a little, "Yes I do, I wonder why women care so much about their hair?"

His brother laughed back, "Because we do!"

They laughed together, then the King looked around again, "Is the Queen comfortable?"

"Yes, I ordered the Touch-tenders, to see to her needs."

The King smiled, "They will be kept busy," then his face became more serious, "Where is our little brother?"

Agart shook his head, "Let him be, he is talking to the Gods."

Arn gave a chuckle, "Good, let the Gods listen to his complaints," he watched his brother smile.

"That is why they are Gods, they have infinite patience."

They both clinked their drinking horns then drank deeply, then the King's smile turned serious, "Do you think our father is watching now?"

Agart put his hand on his brother shoulder, "He sits on the right side of Isarie, he is satisfied." _The Gods are all powerful and they know our hearts...I will help my brother._

He was just about to say something, when he saw Andra coming into the Great Hall. She looked every inch the warrior, her armor shone in the firelight and she had painted her face, in the manner suited to the occasion.

Andra felt a bit uncomfortable in the armor and with her painted face; _this is not the look of a Selcarie soldier!_ _I_ _f Sargent Reynolds were here now, he'd call me a weak backed farm girl and make me run the obstacle course, until sunrise;_ She told herself. She looked around at the warriors and the tall stone columns; _my home world no longer exits and Reynolds died in the Battle of Pagar Prime, am I alone? She_ stopped thinking about the past and turned to the present; _Moonbud, the flower that kills._

She adjusted the Dragons-teeth around her waist and strode into the Great Hall, like a Whiptail among Rock-runners.

As she passed numerous warriors, she heard them muttering under their breath, she picked up a word or two, Half-Soul, Off-Worlder and others, she was sure they were insults. No one said anything to her face and she took that as a sign, she had some respect among the Outland's warriors.

Arn watched, as Andra walked towards him, she carried herself like a warrior and her hair was getting longer, in spite of himself, he had to smile, this did not go unnoticed by his brother.

Agart could see his brother watching the Half-Soul woman as she approached, his heart beating faster and decided it was better to leave, than sit with the Half-Soul. "I think I will see what is keeping Seeda," then he got up and walked away, passing Andra as he did. She didn't look at him but walked over to the stone, next to Arn, before she could say anything the King spoke.

"Sit." was all he said.

When Andra sat down, there was a grumbling from around the Talk-stone, they were not, happy about having an Off-Worlder sitting in a place, meant for a tribe leader.

Before anyone could speak, there was a beating of drums, the signal for the Gathering to begin and a great shout went up from the warriors.

A tall thin man with a red robe came forward, he was a Sun-Gazer, a Holy man, who had chosen to stare into the suns of Gorn, until he went blind. It was a way of showing his devotion to Isarie. Sun-Gazers believed, they would be rewarded in the next life, for their sacrifice. The Nomads treated them with great respect and called upon them to oversee the Gatherings and make judgments if needed.

The old man came forward and raised a long wooden spear, his voice was strong and clear, despite his age. "Here we meet, here we talk, here every mind shall have its say, let no one lift a weapon, let no one say an untruth, let the Gathering begin."

Again there was a great shout, then the Nomad Kings, came forward and took their places around the dark stone.

#  Chapter 20. The Word of God

The words of Isarie are written for all to see.

Hear the words and know their meaning.

In the light of understanding is the way of truth.

To speak the words without knowing is falsehood.

In that darkness lies death.

From the Book of Isarie.

Far from the laughter and merriment of the Gathering, stood the Temple of Isarie. The holiest place of the Nomads. The great dome could clearly be seen, by the soft moonlight and the ceremonial fires burning near the Thungodra tents. There was no singing or feasting, only the soft rhythmic chanting of the Handmaids and the low murmuring of the dark warriors, praying to the Gods for strength and the power to kill all enemies of The Chosen.

Inside the temple was the Great Statue of Isarie, it was taller, than a dozen tall warriors and carved with such skill that any Nomad, would say it was made by the Gods themselves. It showed the Goddess, standing with one arm raised in a blessing, while the other held a war-ax. She wore a horned helmet, similar to the tribe's warriors and she wore armor plating over her long robe. Her face was delicate with forgiving eyes and a soft gentle smile. Hanging In front of her, from a strong steel chain, was a large golden bowl, filled with precious Grana Salt, an offering to the Goddess, it was a gift from The Chosen, for her many blessings.

Around the statue were smaller, beautifully carved stone statues, they represented the Holy Women of the Goddess. The style of the designs and wear on the stones, showed their great age. At the base of each statue was an offering of flowers and a golden bowl of Grana. The air was filled with the sound of Handmaidens, chanting the ancient prayers, over, and over again, they lifted glowing braziers of incense, up, and down, to show their devotion to the Goddess.

Amid the ringing of ancient gongs and the tinkle of ritual bells, the Holy Elders of Isarie entered temple. They were dressed in long red robes and wore the high headdress of their tribe. They held long rods, of gold and silver, their faces marked with ritualistic symbols. They walked slowly, accompanied by a group of female warriors. All dressed in strong armor and holding a weapon, males were not, allowed to enter the temple, so each tribe, provided a female, warriors to guard their spiritual leaders. They were not allowed to hear, what was said by the Priestesses, so their ears were plugged with tallow.

Once inside the Temple, they walked single file, down long stone steps to a chamber, cut from the rock itself. It was a very large and the walls were carved, with images of the Nomad's Gods and Goddesses. There was a collection of metal plates and unknown devices, from fallen Lightships and the bones of long dead land creatures. In the center was a pool of clear water, its surface still and its depth unknown. The water was a deep cold blue, occasionally a small bubble would break the surface, where or what, it came from was unknown.

Being the oldest and therefore the wisest of the Priestesses, Obec led the Holy Women into the chamber. It was her right and her privilege, she held her head high, walking with slow measured steps. The Holy Women gathered around the pool, then they sat on the smooth stones seats. Behind each one, stood a female warrior, chosen by her tribe after many trials to proved her strength and courage. To be a protector of the consecrated water, was a great honor, coveted by many females warriors.

When they were all seated, Obec spoke.

"In the beginning there was Isarie. She made the planets and the creatures of the land and sea and air. She bore many children, who are the Gods of all things, we give thanks to Isarie for life and for her gift of life, the Salt of the Earth."

The Holy Women stood up and took a small pouch from their robes, they removed a small green crystal, then lifted it skyward.

"The Salt of the Earth."

They put the crystal into their mouths and swallowed it, then speaking as one, they said, "Isarie is great, we are your servants," then they sat down.

Obec waited a moment, then asked, "Do The Chosen of Isarie dream?"

One of the Elders stood up, she looked at Obec, she was Samtha, High Priestess of the Bal-Borie. She was short with gray hair and known for her devotion to the Goddess. She even Outcast her own son, for speaking out against the Gods. Her voice was clear and strong, "The chosen dream your holiness."

Obec thought this over for a moment, "And are their dreams the same?"

Samtha answered, "Yes, they dream of things long past and things to come, it is a sign from Isarie"

"And do the dreams speak the words of the Gods?" A moment passed while Obec waited for a reply; _I know the answer but it is better they hear it from another._

Samtha lifted her head high, "They say, the Gods will arise."

A soft murmuring went around the room, as the Elders of Isarie, said the words over and over.

Obec lifted her rod and there was silence once more. "I too have dreamed, the time of the Goddess is growing near, we must clear the way for her return and those who are not chosen, shall be cleansed by fire and steel."

The Holy Women whispered under their breath again, "The Gods will punish them and we will stand on the right side of Isarie."

Another Priestess, rose from her stone, tall and thin, Oman was the Holy Woman of the Ozendra. She was not liked by the stricter spiritual leaders, they believed her, to be too lenient with those who spoke against the Gods and her views sometimes, bordered on sacrilege.

She looked at Obec, then spoke in a low voice, "Your holiness, does not the Book of Isarie, tell us to forgive those, who cannot see the face of the Goddess clearly, are we not cup sharers?"

The old woman smiled at her, "It also says, The Chosen of the Goddess, shall make all of Gorn their home." She waved her rod over the clear pool of water, "The Goddess has given us this world to rule and there is no room for Half-Souls."

Omani waited until the murmuring stopped, then she spoke again, "Your own King, made a warrior out of a Half-Soul, is she now, The Chosen of the Gods?"

Obec's eyes flashed when she heard those words, "She is not of The Chosen. Kings come and go but the word of Isarie is eternal!" _I will stand on her right side!_ The old woman took a moment to regain her composure, "We will speak only the truths of the Goddess, if those words are not enough, then say nothing."

Omani paused before she spoke, "The Book of Isarie is a great truth but are there are other truths, not written in the book?"

Obec's face showed no emotion but her hands tighten around her staff, "The book is the truth, the only truth! All that is needed, is the word of the Goddess and those who speak otherwise, are not of The Chosen!" _Fire and steel, I will see it come true._

Omani recognized the threat against her, saying anything else, she sat down.

Samtha rose from her seat, "There have also been reports, of the Frail-legs singing to the stars, I say they hear the song of Isarie and listen to her voice."

Obec had heard this too, she was not sure, what it meant but she pretended she did, "Yes, they are close to her heart and being so, they have heard her love. Let the Frail-legs sing but let no one question their song."

Samtha bowed her head, "It will be done," she sat down.

Another Priestess stood up, she called Elna, her tribe the Armrod. She was blind but still strong and well respected by the Nomads, "I am blind but I see the face of Isarie, if the tribes go to war with the Half-Souls, many will die. When mothers ask, why their children died, what shall we tell them?"

"They will say it is the will of the Gods and their souls now sit in The Great Hall of Isarie, waiting for the Day of Judgment." _The day grows closer!_ Obec's voice grew softer, "Our people are warriors, without war they grow weak and a weak people are soon conquered."

Samtha looked at their leader, "What must we do?"

Obec spoke calmly, "A time is coming, when all of Gorn will rise up, a time of renewal and rebirth. We shall rise with them, we shall lead them and all creatures of this world will know the word of Isarie. The Chosen and those who dwell in the shadows."

There was a loud gasp, as the Holy Women turned to one another.

"Does your holiness speak of the Shadow-men?" Samtha's words were filled with apprehension.

"Yes" she replied calmly.

The words brought Omani to her feet again, "Your holiness, you cannot mean we will join the Shadow-men, they are outcasts, vile beasts who feed on the dead!"

Again Obec spoke softly, "Isarie will guide us, the Shadow-men are an anvil, The Chosen are the hammer. Together we will beat the Half-Souls into dust. Then we will break the anvil and all of Gorn shall be free."

Omani shook her head, "To join with the Shadow-men is forbidden, if the people knew their true heritage, they would....."

"They will not, find out!" Obec's voice was final, then it softened, "The Shadow-men will be our allies, they will come out of the Poison Lands and we shall lead them." _I shall lead them._

Omani shook her head again, "The Shadow-men cannot be led, they know no laws and follow no leader."

Obec smiled, "They will have a leader and he shall be led by us, with them, we will be strong enough, to bring down the Half-Souls."

Omani shook her head, "It goes against the word of the Gods."

Obec took a step forward, she looked directly into Omani's eyes, "I am the word, we will join, we will drive all others into the stars, we will be free!"

Elna stood up now, "The Book of Isarie says that freedom lies within us and not in the land we walk. I have looked into the darkness that is not of the word and I have seen the horrors that wait to be freed," she sat down.

Omani rose and stood tall, "We are the voices of Isarie, I shall not tell my people to walk with the Shadow-men."

Obec held her head high, her thin fingers grasped the golden rod tightly and her back stiffened, "Those who stand against the Word of Isarie shall be outcast."

For a moment the two women stood looking at each other, the fate of the world now rested on their shoulders, who would prevail? Would the will of Obec, be strong enough to stand against the revolt against her authority. The old woman knew that all her planning and prayers, would be granted or destroyed in the next few seconds, she waited.

Omani sat down.

Obec smiled.

"Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor!"

The Holy Women spoke as one.

"Out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise!"

Obec closed her eyes; _fire_ _and steel, now it can begin._

#  Chapter 21. The Challenge

A warrior may challenge another.

They will meet together in a pit.

At that time the Gods will watch them.

And in their hands will hold their fate.

Laws of the Nomads.

The Outlander Kings had sat, listening for some time, to the many warriors who came forth to have their say. They listened as Orm Relcuda, the leader of the Zengarie, accused Balgar the King of the Maringar, of taking his best Whiptail, without payment. Everyone knew, the Zengarie King, had lost his prized mount, in a bet and the Maringar King, had every right to take it. They also knew that Balgar, cheated at Chance-cards.

They made their judgment, Balgar should pay Orm, three Sagar teeth necklaces, plus two large Rimar horns. It was less than half the worth of a good Whiptail. There was much yelling and threats, from both Kings, until the Sun-Gazer lifted his spear, then it was settled.

There was also a female, she said, her mate, was bewitched by another woman. The other woman said, she had not forced the man into her tent, he came on his own. The women warriors were brought forward and the Kings looked at both of them. It was not easy to see, why a man would, chose one over the other. They were both tall and strong, both had long hair and well sculpted features. The Kings could see, they had proven themselves in battle, by their facial tattoos. It was a difficult choice, deciding who was in the wrong.

Their judgment was to let them fight, so the Gods would decide who was telling the truth. They fought and when it was over, they decided, the man was not worth the trouble. Laughing, they walked away to share a tankard of Po and discuss the shortcomings of men.

Arn listened and spoke his mind when necessary, being the newest and youngest of the Kings, his words did not carry much weight with the older warriors. They knew the Madrigal, were among the best of the Nomad fighters and they would obey their King, no matter how few cycles he had seen.

Andra had remained silent, she listened but did not say anything. She decided it was better to learn the ways of the Nomad Gathering, before giving her views on their traditions and laws. She had learned this skill as a soldier, watch the enemy before you attack, learn their strengths and weakness, it seemed to apply here, as well as in war.

Kadar had been watching Arn, since he entered the Great Hall. He'd known his father well and fought beside him in the last tribal war. In the same battle, with the Shadow-men, he'd lost his arm and Karn lost an eye. He'd seen the young Prince, grow into a strong warrior and now King of the Almadra but he was not sure how strong.

The old King grasped his drinking horn and took a long drink of sour Po. He wiped his face with the back of his rough hand and looked at the Off-World woman; _what is she?_ _A_ _spy for the pyramid dwellers, a Half-Soul who is hiding from something, maybe she's a Screel, a demon of the desert;_ he wondered. He took another long gulp from the horn; s _he looks human but a spell mask, could hide the dark creature within, she could be a Soul Gazer._ The idea made him shudder; _does she know my thoughts?_ The King knew the woman needed watching.

It was Arn, who was his main concern, he'd heard the talk among the warriors that this new King, was strong and brave. He'd also heard that Obec the High Priestess was not, happy that the Gods had seen fit, to make him King. It may have been the flagons of Po he'd drunk, or maybe his love for a fight but he decided to test the young King's courage. He took a long gulp of his brew, then spoke in voice so loud, it could be heard over the noise in the Great Hall.

"I have heard it said that a Half-Soul has been made a warrior of the Madrigal. Does this mean the tribe no longer bear strong children?" he took another drink of Po.

Arn looked at Kadar; _he is testing me, he thinks I'm weak, I must show him I'm not!_ Arn replied, in a tone to match that of the old King, "And I have heard that a King with one arm is not a strong leader."

This cut into Kadar, like a thrust from a Dragon's tooth. He banged his drinking horn on the Talk-stone, sending up a plume of Po, "I stood beside your father and gave up my arm, when you were still just spider urine!"

Arn looked him straight in the eye, "Perhaps if you were a better warrior, they would not have named you, Lostlimb!"

This got the old King on his feet! His face turned red and the veins on his neck stood out like bands of steel, "Why you sun baked sand crawler," he shouted.

There was a tense moment, the warriors standing behind their Kings, put their hands on the daggers at their belts.

The two Kings stood looking at each other, Kadar's face slowly changed, his worn features softened and his lips pulled back into a broad smile, "Spoken like a true King!" Then he began to laugh, "I knew when you took my ax that there was courage in your heart," he lifted his drinking horn, "Here's to Arn, a brave King of the Almadra!"

The Great Hall erupted in thundering shouts and the warriors drank deeply, they returned to their normal activities and the sound of drinking songs filled the air.

Agart had looked everywhere for Seeda. He looked near the cooking area and the Po barrels, hoping his sister had stopped to eat or drink, before joining them. He checked her tent, also Almec's, both were empty. He went to the Iron-workers, to see if she had been there but they said she had not. Finally, he went to the Spikeback corral, for no other reason than, he had looked everywhere else, she there either.

Next he tried searching the outer camp, the tribe's Long-Range weapons were placed there, in case of an enemy attack. It was not, likely to happen because the Nomads were here in strength but it was difficult to break some habits.

When he had almost given up, he spotted Almec sitting with Kuno, they were sitting before a blazing Washa, roasting large portions of fresh Rimar meat, they had also been drinking quite heavily.

Agart walked towards them.

Almec had drunk more than usual, he was also talking more than usual with his old friend. It was easy to see that he was still upset over what he said to Seeda. He took a deep drink of Po, then he looked at his companion, "You were right about women, the Gods made them to punish us!"

Kuno took a drink from his horn and then a bite of Rimar meat, "Well if that's a punishment, then I will gladly endure the pain." Kuno could see, his friend was in no mood for jests, so he put his big hand onto his shoulder. "I can see something is troubling you, I am not very smart and do not have the wisdom of a star gazer but I listen well."

Before Almec could answer, Agart came into their firelight, "Do you know where Seeda is to be found?" he asked angrily.

Almec shook his head, "No, is she missing?"

Agart started walking away, "If you see her, tell her the King is not pleased!" Then he vanished into the cluster of tents.

Kuno did not say anything, he just looked at his friend, they had grown up together and he could always tell, when Almec was troubled. They sat for a time sipping at their drinking horns.

Finally, Kuno spoke, "Seeda is missing, shouldn't you look for her?"

Almec gave him a hard look, "Why? Am I mated with her? Do I rest my ax beside hers? Well do I?"

It was rare for Kuno to see his friend so upset, he knew this was no lover's spat or a misunderstanding under the covers. This was something that cut deep into Almec's heart.

He waited for a time then he spoke again, "When I was a young boy, my father gave me a small Spikeback to raise. It was a very bad tempered creature and many times it would stab at me with its tail and I would run to my tent crying. As I grew up, I got used to the pain and came to care for the beast. On occasion it would still hurt me but when it died I cried, I guess I loved it, in spite of all the pain it caused me."

Almec took a drink, "Yes but Seeda is far more dangerous than any Spikeback."

Kuno gave a sigh, "Yes but perhaps you are the Spikeback!"

Almec stopped drinking and stared at his friend, "You should have been a soul shepherd my old friend."

The big warrior shrugged his large shoulders, "Perhaps but soul shepherds are not allowed to drink," he took another long gulp of Po; _me a soul shepherd? He_ giggled to himself, _I would not trust any God that would have me as a Holy man._

Almec stood up slowly and without saying another word, he walked away from the Washa fire.

Kuno was now certain, he'd made the right decision, when he decided not, to be mated again.

It was very late in the night, before the Kings were ready to leave the Talk-stone, it had been a good meeting and many things had been resolved.

Andra had listened quietly and held her tongue, sometimes it was hard to do. She knew that many things the Nomads believed to be true, were not. They were not weak of mind, they simply did not know any better. She was glad that Osh was in their wagon, he would have found himself in deep trouble, contradicting some, of the tribe's beliefs with simple physics.

On the other hand, she found some, of their laws, made a lot of sense, they were harsh but much easier to follow than some civilization's overly complicated laws. If a person did wrong, he or she was quickly punished, then by the law of the Nomads, it was forgotten. Much better, than the endless trials and appeals that left those who had been wronged, waiting and waiting, for their day in court. It seemed to her that the Nomads, were much more civilized, than many of the worlds she knew.

As she listened, she also understood that honor and bravery, counted for much more than wealth and power. Standing up for yourself, was paramount in their culture and fighting for your honor, was the only way to gain respect.

_Honor and respect,_ _I used to have that once but now I am alone;_ she thought _._

Agart had returned from his quest to find his sister. Wherever she was, he knew she could take care of herself, still if she was not back by morning, he would send the warriors out to find her. Now he sat beside his brother and listened to the Kings, he did not like the Off-Worlder sitting with his brother and his faced showed it.

Arn glanced at his brother and saw the ridges across his forehead, a sign he was not, happy, "Is the Po to sour for you?" he asked smiling.

"No, the Po is well-aged and the Rimar meat is not too tough, all is well." _The woman is taking my place._

Anyone could see, it was not the drink or the food but something else. Arn leaned close to him, so no one could hear, "There is something eating at you, like a Blaze-ant, now what is it?"

His brother looked him in the eye; _how can I tell him, the Off-World woman should not be at the Talk-stone? The Gods will punish him for this sacrilege? How can I say that?_ He forced a smile, "It is nothing, the smoke from the fires has clouded my head?" Then he got up, "I will check if the Queen is well," he walked away.

The King watched him go, _perhaps the fires are a bit smoky._ _Fresh air, will clear his head;_ he thought _._

He turned back to the Talk-stone, Kadar was just finishing a story from his youth.

"When my father found out I had taken his Whiptail, he was so mad, he beat me until his arm tired!" The old King took a piece of Rimar meat and continued, "Then my mother beat me!" His mouth was so full, he spat small pieces of flesh over the table and into the Off-Worlder's face.

Amid loud laughter, Andra slowly reached up and picked the small pieces of meat off her face. She looked hard at the old King, "I can see why your mother beat you, you eat like a pig!"

Kadar cocked his large head to one side, "What is a pig?"

Andra just shook her head and continued to remove things from her face.

The old King took another bite of meat but he chewed and swallowed it, before speaking again, "I've heard that you can fight, are my warriors speaking the truth, or do they lie?"

Andra smiled, "I can fight if need be, as for your warriors telling the truth or lying that I don't know but I hope they can talk without spitting!"

A hooting sound went up from the warriors, as they heard the Off-Worlder stand up to the old King.

Kadar wiped his dripping mouth with the back of his thick hand, "Are you saying my warriors are not, what they should be?"

Arn wanted to say something but he held his tongue, it was not his place to interrupt at the Talk-stone, every warrior stood up for themselves but he did look at Andra and smiled softly.

Andra knew the old man was testing her, once she stood up to a General, when he was making comments about her company and in her eyes this was no different. She turned to look back over the Talk-stone, "Your warriors look strong but strength alone doesn't win a battle"

Again there was more hooting.

Kadar could see the woman was getting the better of him; _A King can do many things but must never look weak!_ He leaned over the stone, "Perhaps you would like to challenge that strength?"

This time there was no cry from the warriors, this was no simple jest, this was a challenge!

Andra was about to smile and apologize for her words, when she looked around, the warriors were staring hard at her. She looked at Arn, there was no smile on his face; _I have been challenged_ _can I refuse? No, I would be even more of an outcast then I am already;_ she thought. She looked at Kadar; _he is far past his prime and has only one arm, how hard could it be, to beat him in a fight? When I do, will I have respect;_ she decided to take up the challenge. "I will fight!" she said loudly.

One of the Kings rose from his seat, "You cannot, this is the Talk-stone and all Nomads who speak here, are free to share their minds without fear of a challenge."

There was a clamor from the warriors but Kadar spoke above the din. "This woman is not an Outlander, therefore she is not bound by our laws," then he looked at Andra again. "What do you say Half-Soul, do you fight or run?"

Andra looked the old King in the eye, "You only have one arm, as anyone can see but maybe your hearing is weak as well, so I'll repeat myself...I will fight!"

A great cheer arose from the warriors, the drums of the Great Hall beat loudly and more barrels of Po were opened. Nomads ran from the Great Hall to spread the word, there had been a challenge!

Arn leaned over to Andra, "You are brave to accept his challenge."

She smiled at him, "Don't worry I won't hurt him."

The King looked at her with a questioning look, "Kings do not fight at the Gathering, they have a champion."

The Off-Worlder watched as a warrior came forward, he stood beside Kadar. He was a giant!

A foot or more, taller than, any other in the room. At the corner of his mouth, he had a long scar that pulled his lips back, it made him look like he was growling.

The old King began to laugh.

Andra looked at Arn, "Does that thing have a name?"

The King nodded, "Yes, they call him Ashra-Doom, it is from the old language."

"Ashra-Doom, what does that mean?" she asked.

"Earth-shaker," he replied.

Andra suddenly realized, she would gladly trade respect, for a good blast rifle.

Seeda had been walking the open plains of the Greenland's, she'd spent the night beside a small lake. Luckily, Dagger-mouths preferred deeper water, to lay in wait for their prey. She did have to fend off a small Rimar, it came to the lake to drink and picked up Seeda's scent but a few shouts and some well-placed rocks, sent the beast running.

Seeda lay quietly, dreaming. In her dream, she was standing in a dark empty cave, there were strange sounds all around but she could not understand their meaning. Then the darkened cave started to glow, the walls slowly turned from dark to light, they began to burn, brighter and brighter, then the room exploded into crimson fire.

Flames engulfed her naked body, she stood transfixed unable to move but she did not feel the burning heat. Instead, her skin began to freeze, she shivered, as the cold flames rose around her. Then in the frozen brightness, she saw a figure coming towards her, it was Almec, he moved through the fire and stood close to her, he smiled and she could hear his words.

"The Gods will arise!"

He took her into his arms but as she looked at him, his handsome features began to change. He withered and died, the flesh fell away until there was nothing but the face of a grinning skull, mocking her with horrific laughter.

She started to scream.

Seeda sat bolt upright and glanced around quickly, _it was a dream a silly dream, all is well;_ she thought _._ She saw the suns of Gorn, starting to rise in the sky and saw a tiny Burrow-baby, sticking its head out of its home. The small furry creature smelt the air for a moment or two, then hurried back into the safety of its underground home.

It disappeared as Seeda watched, she heard someone calling her name. _W_ _as it a dream? Am I really hearing a voice?_ A moment later she recognized it.

Almec had returned to the place where they quarreled but she wasn't there, he spent the rest of the night looking for her. Along the way, he counted the many reasons, why he should never speak to her again but for every reason, he found himself thinking of another, to stay with her.

He remembered the women who had danced for him and who offered to bring him food. He could see their faces quite clear in his mind and their wonderful smell in his nostrils but their images faded, until only Seeda's figure filled his brain. No matter how much he tried to drive her out, she always returned to haunt him.

Finally, he decided they were not, meant to be together, the Gods had been playing with their hearts and now they had grown tired of them. He was going to tell Seeda, they had no future and would not be mated. He would not stand in the shadow of her tent again. As he came close enough to see her face, all reason melted from his mind, like ice in the Burning Time, he went over to her and gazed into her eyes.

Seeda looked back at Almec, "I was wrong," she said.

"Wrong, about what?" he asked.

She smiled softly, "Mating with a Whiptail, would not be better than you!" She took him into her arms, "I am cold," she whispered.

"So am I," he said softly.

They stood there for a long time, they let the morning sun's bright sunrise fall upon them. There was a warm breeze from the North, it carried a song from the Gods, all was well and, the land was theirs, a bright day, a day of life.

They did not feel the warmth!

#  Chapter 22. Fire in the Sky

To you I give the power of life and death.

Use its power wisely and in my name.

Do not look for judgment from the Gods.

For you hold it in your hands.

From the Book of Isarie.

It was long before sun-birth, the Nomad tribes, were still singing and enjoying themselves in the warmth of the Gathering. There was still plenty of Rimar meat to be eaten and the barrels of Po, were still being opened. Few bones had been broken and no fatal stabbings. There was a confrontation between the Ozendra and the Caladon, over a Trofar trade. The animal's warrior owner, said it was only four cycles in age, on closer examination, the creature was found, to be seven cycles. Everyone knew, a Trofar over five cycles, gave only sour milk. Amid shouting and dagger filled hands, many, thought it would end in bloodshed. It was settled by the Sun-Gazer, who decreed the owner of the Trofar, should pay twice its price in Sagar teeth, to the man he cheated. The beast was taken to the Temple of Isarie and sacrificed to the Gods because the man lied.

Above the laughter and singing, the sounds of mating Whiptails filled the air, with grunting and roaring. A signal to all other creatures, to stay away or be killed. These sounds, told the Nomads, their own mating time would soon be here. The time when they would choose their mates, to ensure the survival of their tribes. However, females still wore their robes the right way round and the Elders kept a close watch on the maidens.

Seeda and Almec, did not wait for the mating time, they spent the night in a frenzy of love and lust. They swallowed the red Ice crystals and their bodies became as one. They did not feel the sweet grass under their naked bodies, or hear the mating calls of the Whiptails. They cared only about the fire burning inside them, like the suns, soon to emerge over the Mountains of Kresh.

They lay in each others arms and would have stayed like that, throughout the day, if it was not for a small Burrow-baby. It came out of its underground home, looking for food. The tiny furry creature, sniffed the air cautiously, then moved slowly into the open ground. Its large yellow eyes scanned the landscape, looking for small insects or field flies for its morning meal. It found a small worm and devoured it with gusto but one worm was not enough, to satisfy its ravenous appetite, it moved closer towards the two naked humans. Ordinarily a Burrow-baby would not come near to a human but its empty belly overcame its instincts and it crept closer,

It sniffed the air again. Slowly it moved closer, in the moonlight it saw a small skin pouch and as it came closer it smelled something it liked. It was just about to bite at the small red crystals, when one of the humans raised an arm, quickly the Burrow-baby scampered for its hole and disappeared.

Seeda opened her eyes, she looked up at the night sky and thought; _how close the stars are,_ _do the Gods see the stars as we do? Or are they so high above they only look down?_ She felt the warm breeze blow across her naked breasts; _I am cold._ She held Almec's body close to her but she still felt very cold.

Almec could feel his love's arms around him, he was awake but did not open his eyes, he wanted to sleep on, to lay there for all time. He did not want to open his eyes and see the world of Gorn again, he would rather have kept them closed and remain in Seeda's embrace, until the judgment time. _The judgment time;_ he thought; _when all The Chosen shall stand before Isarie and listen as she asks three questions._

"Do you know my book?"

"Do you follow its teachings?"

"Do you believe?"

He opened his eyes; _what will I say to her, what will I say?_

Seeda pulled him closer, she looked at him and smiled, "You are much better than a Whiptail," she laughed and raised herself up on one arm. She looked at the small scratches and bruises on her arms and legs; _perhaps I was wrong? "_ We'd better get back to camp; _I do not want to spend the rest of my life, milking Trofar."_

She started to get up but Almec pulled her back to the grassy ground, "Let us stay for a while longer, the suns have not yet risen and I feel cold."

Seeda gave him a hard look, she knew they should return to camp but milking a few more Trofars, seemed a small price right now. She lay beside him again.

Almec took her into his arms once more, he kissed her and he felt her body against his; _t_ _he Day of Judgment. What will I say?_

Arn and Andra had left the Talk-stone, there would be no more tribal discussions that night. All the Kings and the warriors were busy betting, how long it would take Ashra-Doom to crush the Half-Soul.

Some believed, the Off-Worlder would not even enter the battle ring, to face Kadar's champion. Some said, she would last for as long as she could run. No one would offer even a Sagar tooth or a shell necklace, or even a few Sun-dropper claws, to bet the woman would live. After all a Moonbud is crushed by an Earth-shaker's foot.

Arn walked alongside Andra, the King's long strides, made it difficult for her to keep up but she did her best, "Where are we going?" she asked, almost stumbled over a clump of grass.

Arn did not slow his pace, "If you are going to fight Ashra-Doom, you will need a strong weapon, I am taking you to the Iron-workers."

Andra knew, the Iron-workers made armor and war-axes of the tribe. They also repaired the wagons and a hundred other things. They kept their blackened furnaces, burning day and night.

"Ashra-Doom's armor is thick," the King continued, "You will need a very sharp tooth."

Andra suddenly realized, she should have listened more, when Sergeant Reynolds said, "Certain death, will only win you a medal, not victory!"

Osh had fallen asleep inside his wagon, Endo lay in a corner, curled up in a bundle of rags and sand. It was his usual sleeping place, like all Sandjar, he liked the darkness and the feel of warm sand was reassuring.

Sandjar do not dream, they simply closed their eyes and when they awoke, it is like no time has passed. They have great appetites, a young Sandjar would sleep for only a short time, then wake up to start looking for more food.

For all his ability to form words, Endo was still a Sandjar and a hungry one at that, he opened his eyes and immediately began sniffing around the wagon, for something to eat.

The olfactory senses of a Sandjar were very acute, they could smell rotting meat over great distances, they could also find roots, digging them out with their strong clawed hands.

It only took a moment or two, for Endo to find a small Grass-Jumper, hiding in the folds of his bed, he quickly ate it. His species never played with their food, there was always a chance that another larger Sandjar, would take it away, if it was not eaten it right away.

He chewed the small insect with gusto, he liked the taste of Grass-Jumpers but it was hardly a meal. He began to search again, he soon found the Hagar soup bowl, lying next to the old man. There was still a remnant of Rimar meat, stuck to the bottom of the bowl. He licked it with his long purple tongue.

Osh opened his eyes, Endo's slurping sounds, had roused him from sleep. He lifted himself up on one of his thin arms, rubbed his tried eyes, then the input port on his head. He tried to focus in the wagon's dim light, "Still hungry I see," he said with a yawn, "very well, I will see if there is any soup left." He reached out to take the empty bowl but as he did, Endo lashed out at him, with a clawed hand, "Yeeeeeeaaaaaa!" Osh screamed, then pulled his hand back. There was a cut across the top of his hand, running from his thumb to his little finger. It was not deep but all the same blood flowed freely.

The old man grabbed a piece of Endo's bedding and quickly wrapped it around his fist. He looked at his adopted son, _he did not mean to,_ _he was only following his instincts, it was not his fault;_ he thought _._ He watched as the Sandjar continued licking the last of the stale Rimar meat from the bowl. He then put it down and looked at the old man.

"Food?" he asked.

Osh held the dirty piece of rag against his hand, he looked into Endo's large yellow eyes and wondered; _is he asking for more food? Or am I the food?_ Carefully he reached over and took a small piece of dried Rimar, out of a heavy clay pot, he handed it to Endo.

He sniffed it, then grabbed the morsel and stuffed it into his toothy mouth, he chewed it and swallowed, then he smiled at the old man, "More food?" he asked.

The old Callaxion handed him another piece of meat; _what will happen if I run out of food, what will he eat then?_

Around the Iron-worker's stone furnace stood a large group of warriors. They were standing close together in front of the burning fires, their armor reflected the fire's glow. They stood quietly and motionless, holding their war-axes.

Agart was with them, standing next to his brother, he watched the Half-Soul closely; _Ashra-Doom will kill this woman,_ _the Gods will see to it;_ he thought _._

Andra stood beside Arn, watching the fire from the large stone furnace. As the Rimar skinned bellows pumped in and out, sparks blew out, like the fire from a Long-Range Cannon.

Ordinarily, the furnace would be shielded from view, in the Outlands, a fire this big would be seen for many miles. Something an Outlander would never do but here in the safety of the Gathering, the Iron-workers let the flames free, sending a burning light, high into the night sky.

To Andra, the stone furnace seemed like some great monster, breathing in and out. She watched, as the workers fed in great amounts of Balbar wood and many chunks of Eul rock, they burned with a bright blue glow. She had watched similar preparations, on her farm back home, her brother had been a very good blacksmith. He kept all the plowing blades and picking hooks in good condition. _I wonder what he would say now?_ _I'm sorry you're not here with me, I'm sorry you're dead;_ she thought _._

The bellows continued to pump, in, out, in, out.

Agart looked up at the night sky. _Isarie will punish her, for thinking she is one of The Chosen_ _and I will again stand at my brother's side;_ he thought _._

The flames grew brighter, as the pumping grew more intense. A large Nomad came forward, he was wearing a thick apron of several layers of Rimar skin, a defense against the intense heat from the furnace. He picked up a heavy iron rod and began to stoke the fire.

In, out, in, out.

Arn looked at the blazing fire; _she is strong but will she be able to stand before Ashra? What will I do if she is killed?_ He lifted his head high, his voice solemn but loud enough to be heard by the warriors, around them, "From the sky Isarie sends us steel, from her lungs she gives us life!"

The warriors began to chant, "Argo inta Isarie, the breath of Isarie!"

Andra watched as the Iron-worker put the rod down, he picked up a heavy tong, then reached into the flames, to pull out a glowing piece of metal.

Arn spoke again, "From the earth, she gives us fire!"

Again the warriors chanted, "Romac inta Isarie, the Fire of Isarie!"

Andra watched as the Nomad, took the burning metal to a large anvil, he laid it on its side, then picked up a broad hammer and began to beat the steel into shape.

Arn lifted his heavy ax and began to strike it on the ground, saying, "We are The Chosen of the Gods, in our hands, we hold the judgment of Isarie!"

The warriors began to beat the ground with their axes, "The judgment of Isarie!" they shouted, loud enough to wake the Gods. They continued to beat their weapons on the ground, they watched as the Iron-worker, hammered the steel into the shape of an ax blade, the chanting went on, "Fire, earth, air, the judgment of Isarie!" More hammering, more chanting, the night sky filled with fire and smoke, the warriors continued to beat the ground, their shouting became a war cry! "Fire, Earth, Air, Death!"

The King spoke, "We are the Iron Hand of Isarie! We are the judgment! We are death!"

Andra watched as Arn's face changed, all remnants of humanity, slowly slipped away, she dare not move or speak.

"We are The Chosen of the Gods, we are death!" He continued to pound his ax on the ground and with each blow of the ax, the warriors cried out.

Fire! Earth! Air! Death!

Andra felt she was no longer standing next to a man. There was nothing left in his eyes, no pity, no remorse, no soul, what had been a human, was now just a vessel, a killing machine in the form of a man.

Fire! Earth! Air! Death!

The warriors pounded their weapons into the hard ground, with all their might. Dust and earth filled the air, mixed with the Almadra battle cry!

"Death! Death! Death!"

Andra was afraid; _will I die?_

Agart looked at her hard; _the Gods will punish her._

The King closed his eyes; _please Isarie, let her live._

Anais waited most of the night for Soffca to return. He listened to the singing from outside his tent and smelled the slowly cooking Rimar meat. He tried to ignore it, he amused himself, thinking of all the ways, he could torture those he hated. He imagined himself as King, having the whole tribe bow down to him. Dreams he'd had many times before but they always gave him pleasure. After a time, he became bored and decided to walk.

Outside he walked past the many tents and wagons, wherever he went, the tribe bowed to him but he could tell it was just Almadra tradition not, out of respect. _Let them mock me;_ he thought; _someday I will be King and they will bow lower than ever before!_ He passed the Elder's tents, they lifted their hands and touched their heads, as they had been taught to do, as a sign of respect but he knew it was a game. _The Elders are old, their heads are full of Doff feathers!_ He smiled at them just the same; _when I am King, I will make their empty heads, bow to me!_

He passed by a group of warriors, testing each others, strength in a hand game. They would hold out their hands, palms up, a large rock was placed in it, then they stood holding the stone. The first one to let it fall, lost _,_ he grumbled; _they think they are strong, they are fools, they waste their time in silly games._

He continued to walk, he could see the Iron-workers fire and he heard the chanting of the warriors around the furnaces; _more steel, more weapons but they wield them in the name of an empty God. Fools!_ He continued to walk; _why am I the only one who sees? They all take me for a fool, that old witch Obec, thinks she can use me like a Handmaiden, she is the biggest fool of all!_

The night was warm and soon he became tired, he looked around for somewhere to sit, alone with his angry thoughts. He walked past the Talk-stone, into a small circle of rocks, large broken fragments, all that was left of a column, felled during the last Land-quake. He stopped and leaned against the cool stone. He looked up at the night sky and thought; _they believe in the Gods_ _Arn, Agart, Mother, they all believe. Let them, a belief in nothing, is nothing, they're fools, fools._ He smiled, then spoke in a hushed tone, "I am no fool."

"No, you are my son," someone said and Anais turned with a sudden jolt.

Standing a few paces from him was Egmar, she could stay in her tent no longer, there were too many memories. She decided the warm night air was better than the cold remembrances of her mind.

Egmar smiled at Anais and asked, "What troubles you my son?" She moved closer to him and reached out with a soft hand, "Do your dreams frighten you again?" she touched her son's arm, "What troubles you?" she asked again.

Anais felt her hand on his arm, he pulled back, like he was bitten by a Rock-worm, "What makes you think all is not well?" He forced a smile onto his face; _she thinks a few kind words will bend my knee._

Egmar slowly walked a step away from her son, "I'm sorry I may be mistaken," she said, softly; _does he want to say something to me?_ Nothing was said, the Queen picked a small meadow flower from a large stone nearby. There was no soil for the flower's roots but it grew anyway, she smelled its sweet fragrance and then turned to her son again, "Are the teachings of the Goddess warming your heart?" she asked.

Anais chuckled under his breath; _she thinks I've been studying the Holy Book, let her continue to think so. "_ Yes, I find her words very comforting," he replied; _as I do the flesh of her Handmaidens_.

"That is good, I am very proud of you, your father would have been proud of you!" She smelled the flower again; _thank you Isarie, for guiding my son from his darkness._

The young Prince hid his contempt for his father, behind a warm smile; _my father, my father was the biggest fool of all!_ "The embrace of Isarie is a warm one," he replied; _if only she knew of Soffca, then she could see, how the Gods reward unbelievers._

The old Queen stood looking up at the night sky, she could see the moons clearly, she smiled, "Do you remember the story I used to tell you, the story of the lost moon?"

_Lost Moon? Story?_ "No, I remember no such story, perhaps you are thinking of another son." _It was not me, you never told me stories._

Egmar moved over to a smooth stone fragment, carved on it were the names of ancient tribe members, destroyed by an Earth-shaker. She sat down upon it, still holding the small flower, in a soft calm voice she asked, "Would you like me to tell you the story now?"

_A story now? Is_ _this a trick? She wants to tell me something by hiding it in a story. "_ You are still Queen, mother, do as you wish," he said calmly.

Egmar held the flower close to her and began to tell the story. "When the Great Goddess Isarie was just a girl, her mother Nigor gave her a small moon to care for but she was careless and the moon was lost."

_Why does my mother tell me such silly stories now?_ Anais pondered; _it is too late for stories, too late._

"Rather than look for the moon, she went to her mother and asked her to make another one to take its place," the Queen continued, "but her mother told her, she could not!"

A silly story for silly children!

Egmar looked up at the night sky again, "You are the maker of the heavens," Isarie said, "A small moon is nothing to you." Nigor smiled at her daughter and said, "I can also make another daughter, do you want me to lose you?"

Anais stood and looked at his mother; _Nigor, Isarie? My mother has grown weak, she walks with the Frail-legs._ The young Prince smiled at his mother, "A very amusing story but its growing late and I must be going." _I must get away from all these fools._ He turned and walked away.

Egmar watched him go, she wanted to run after him, to hold him and tell him she was sorry. Sorry for the many nights, when she did not tell him stories, to ask him to forgive her, for not caring for him, as much as she cared for her other children but she did not. She looked up at the sky; _forgive me Isarie, I am a woman not a Goddess._ She looked down at the small flower in her hand; _I am just an old woman, walking in my dreams._

Andra watched while the warriors beat the ground and cried out in the night. She stood silently, as the glowing steel, was fashioned into a magnificent weapon, of perfect design and balance. She let them cut her arm, so her blood fell onto the flaming blade, she listened to it, hiss and steam and make it sacred. She watched as it was wrapped in a red cloth and given to the King, who now held it up to the sky, as the first rays of sunlight were breaking over the far distant Mountains of Kresh.

Arn watched the shafts of morning light coming over the Greenland's, until they touched the cloth he held.

Then in a voice carrying all the weight of a King, he said. "As the light of Isarie gives us life, so that same life, shall be given to this ax, let the warrior come forth and speak so that all may hear!"

Andra moved slowly forward and stood before Arn, she held her head high.

"Who are you?" the King asked.

"I am Lieutenant Andra Oseira, first infantry division, Omega 5," she said proudly.

"And what is the name you were given in the tribe?" he asked.

"Moonbud, the flower that kills!"

The King removed the wrappings from the weapon but did not touch it, he held it out to Andra, "Take this weapon and mark it with your soul."

Andra took the ax.

The King smiled at her, it was a private smile, one of the other warriors could not see. He looked out at the Nomads and spoke again, "Horcus inta Isarie.... The Judgment of Isarie!"

"Horcus inta Isarie, the Judgment of Isarie!" repeated the warriors.

Agart did not recite the words; _she should not have a tooth, she is not, of The Chosen, the Gods will punish her!_

Again the King spoke, "A weapon can be broken but not the soul that holds it!" He looked at Andra hard, "Moonbud, the flower that kills, will you travel with the tribe?"

Andra looked deep into his eyes, in them, she saw strength, a strength that would never be broken, "Yes I will travel with the tribe," she replied.

"Will you stand with your King?" he asked.

She regarded him again using his eyes as her cue, this time she saw something else, it was more than strength, more than the look of a King, she saw, love! "I will stand with the King," she replied.

When those words were spoken, the warriors began to cry out once more, "Moonbud, Moonbud, Moonbud!" It was the same chant as before but this time it was different.

This time she had a tooth.

#  Chapter 23. Hands and Hearts

The Nomads have great knowledge of their environment, they use a vast selection of plants and animals for nutrition and medicinal needs. A detailed investigation of those substances, would prove very useful in preventing sickness and prolonging life. Foremost of these is the Green crystal they call Grana, it is held sacred by the Nomads.

There are two other substances, one called Tral and the other named Tran, I have not yet determined the significance of these additional substances.

There are other minerals too that seem to hold great power over the Nomads but the tribe's Elders are reluctant to talk about them and say only that they are forbidden.

From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

The morning light, bathed the Great Plains of Darmock, in a warm gentle glow. A refreshing breeze blew from the North, telling the Nomads the Burning Time was approaching. Fire from the sky, was not the first thing in the Outlander's minds. The word spread quickly throughout the many, different tribes, a challenge had been taken up.

The time for the battle would come, when the great sun Karus and its smaller brother Micos, were high in the sky. They would not help or hinder, the challenger or the challenged, who were to meet in the ancient warrior pit near the talking stone. There the eternal Gods, would decide their fate.

Although the Nomads were anxious to see the battle, Andra thought the time was far too short, she had not slept all night. After she accepted the war-ax from Arn, he took her to a place far from camp, a shattered Dropship, fallen many cycles ago. On the way, they passed a pod of Flame-Crests, the large flightless birds had magnificent plumage but like most creatures on Gorn they were very dangerous. There massive hooked beaks could give a nasty wound and their long clawed feet could rip a Warrior in two. They also encountered an Ax Breaker, it had smelt them approaching. Lifting it's heavily armored head, it gave out a warning roar, a signal to the humans, to stay away. They gave the huge creature a wide birth, then continued onto the fallen star ship.

The twisted hulk was mostly overgrown with vegetation, here and there was flame scorched metal but nothing of value to the Nomads. Sandjar had long since been here and taken anything not, destroyed in the crash, all that remained was empty cargo pods and some dried bones.

The bones were all that was left of hundreds of captives, being sent to Gorn from an Outer Rim planet called Trylon. The far off world, wanted to be rid of its excess labor force, after a dramatic shift in the Malmorie Trade Union economy. The easiest way, was to send them to Gorn.

The Dropship was a quiet place, where Arn could try to teach Andra, how to use of the war-ax. The Nomads never went there, believing the ship was haunted. Andra knew there were no such things, as demons or ghosts. Being a Nomad, Arn still checked to make sure all was well.

After a lengthy time mock fighting, the King lowered his weapon, "Hold your weapon higher, you are leaving your right side exposed," Arn was not pleased by his pupil's slow progress.

On the other hand, Andra was growing tired of his constant criticism, "If I hold it any higher, I won't be able to cover my left side."

They had been practicing with their battle axes, since before dawn. Arn could see some progress in Andra's defensive techniques but she had a long way to go, before any hope of defeating Ashra could be achieved.

He tried to make Andra understand, "When you lower your ax, he will strike for the head. You can keep fighting with a cut to the arm or leg but if your head is gone, they will not know what to do!"

Andra nodded once, then held up her weapon, "He thinks he knows everything," she muttered under her breath.

The King moved towards her once more, he swung at her head. She ducked and quickly moved to the side, as she did, she saw an opening and swung her unfamiliar weapon at the Nomad's exposed side.

Instantly, Arn saw what she was doing and wheeled around, leaving her ax striking at empty air. Moving back, he looked at her, "You cannot defeat empty space, you must find a place for the tooth to bite."

Andra was hot and tired, she suddenly dropped her weapon and sat down on a broken fragment of wall. She breathed in the warm morning air, "How about we take a break," she panted, "or don't ever Nomads rest?"

The King came over to her and looked at her closely, "Warriors rest but death does not!" He saw that Andra was indeed very tired. _S_ _he needs rest, I have been training her too hard;_ he sat down beside her, "Very well, we shall rest."

While they rested, the King watched her; _Andra is thinking of the battle ahead, she thinks she is going to die. I must give her courage, without courage there is no hope and without hope you die_. Arn smiled at her, "You are doing very well, if I was Ashra-Doom, I would be praying to Horcon to change my fate."

Andra knew he was trying to brighten her spirits, she had done the same thing, when she was about to lead her company into battle. She remembered how they looked at her, when they heard her encouraging words. It made her feel good, she decided to give the same pleasure to Arn.

"Yes, I think I can win," she smiled; _right before he cuts out my heart!_ She decided it was not, something to dwell upon and changed the subject, "What's it like being a King?" she asked, looking the Outlander in the eyes.

For a moment, Arn did not know what to say; _I cannot tell how I feel, "_ The Gods decide who is King, it does not matter how you feel, you must be King" he said. He decided it was his turn to change the subject, "Is there a mate waiting for you on your home world?"

Andra shook her head, "No, there is no one waiting." _There is no one because they are all dead, just like I will be soon. I should be dead, it's what I deserve for what I did._ Andra suddenly got to her feet and held up her ax, "Shall we continue?"

Arn also rose to his feet, he was about to go with her, then he stopped and looked at his ax, "Wait a moment, my ax head is loose, I need to tighten it."

Andra nodded her head to assent, "Sure." She lowered her guard and Arn suddenly struck out with the blunt end of his weapon. It hit her in the chest and sent her crashing against the Dropship's hull. The noise scared off a flock of Field-birds nesting in the broken plates.

As Andra gasped for breath, Arn walked over, he placed the sharp blade of his weapon against her neck, "Death is everywhere, even in the hand of a friend, you must always be ready." He held out his hand to her, she took it and he started to pull her up. As he did, she twisted suddenly, placing her right foot behind his, she pushed with all her might and threw him onto his back.

Andra stood over him with a grin on her face, "Yes, everywhere."

A smile crossed the King's face; _this woman is clever, perhaps Horcon will smile on her._ He held out his hand to her, "A clever trick, now can you help me up?"

Without thinking, Andra held out her hand, Arn took it and pulled her off balance, onto the ground beside him, they both laughed.

Andra looked into his eyes, only a short time ago, they showed no sign of humanity, no trace of mercy, nothing but death. Now they shone brightly with something else, a deep inner need and strength, even a schoolgirl could see its meaning. Love!

At the same time, the King could see into Andra's eyes. He did not want to look but he did, something was pulling him, something stronger than the traditions of his tribe, or the will of the Gods.

Love.

They kissed, in that brief moment, nothing mattered, neither the will of the Gods nor the laws of the Almadra. It all drifted away, like the dying shadows around them as Gorn's twin suns, rose higher in the morning sky. There was no time, no future, no past, only the moment, what was written in the Book of Isarie did not matter, nor the feelings of a schoolgirl, all that mattered was the beating of their two hearts.

They did not know but they were not alone. Hidden in the structure's broken bulkheads, someone had been sleeping, someone who wanted to get away from the noise and laughter at the Gathering. Someone who wanted to be away from all the fools!

Anais crouched behind a broken cargo box, he had been watching in silence for some time. He watched his brother trying to teach the Off-Worlder, how to wield a war-ax. He watched as she tricked him and they both tumbled to the ground. Now he watched, as Arn betrayed his tribe.

_I can use this,_ _I can use this against my brother but I will need more, I will need the Gods on my side;_ he thought _._ He held back a laugh and slowly moved away from the Dropship, into the open grassland. _There are no Gods but fools still believe in them and that will put a strong weapon in my hand!_

He continued to walk, all the while laughing in his heart.

Osh had heard about Andra's challenge, he also heard, there was little hope the Off-Worlder would survive. By all his calculations, it seemed they were going to be right.

Osh paced back and forth in his wagon. Endo sat in one corner slowly chewing on a broken Rimar rib bone. He washed it down, by sucking up large quantities of Trofar milk from a clay pot.

"What was she thinking?" he asked himself but he directed it at the Sandjar, "A Selcarie woman is no match for a warrior of the Almadra." He shook his large head, "Even if you factor in Highburges' principle of uncertainty, which says there is no such thing as a certainty. There is every possibility she will be killed."

"Killed?" asked Endo.

"Yes killed!" replied the old man, "Dead, no longer functioning, terminated, dead!"

"Mother, dead?"

"Correct, she will no longer be your mother." The old man did not know what else to say. _I_ _f you try to help her, you will most surely die;_ he thought; _but she helped you at the Dropship, can you desert her now?_ He began to pace again, "Perhaps I can reason with them, make them see that fighting in not the way?" He shook his head; _fighting is their way. It would be easier, to calculate the number of grains of sand, on all the worlds in the galaxy, than persuade them not to fight._

He started just such a calculation, he was half way through, when he suddenly stopped. _No_ _! You must help her._ He looked at Endo again, "I cannot leave you alone here, you must come with me and try to save her!"

Endo dropped the leg bone and stood up on his small legs, his voice had a certain understanding, it had not been there before, "Save mother!" he said strongly.

At the time Osh did not know the depth of those two words but they would come to mean the difference between life and death.

The Nomad's challenge pit, had not been used for some time. Dug out of the ground and surrounded by a stone complex, it was like a colossal dome. The pit was in the center and around it were tiered rows of stone seat. It had been used mostly by Kings, to settle arguments over Grana rights, or territories but with the truce in effect, it was a bit overgrown and in need of attention.

Agart had the task of making sure it would be ready when the time came. He checked that the ground was cleared of rocks or other debris that might trip a combatant, or give an advantage to another. He walked the floor himself, to check if the ground was too soft or too hard and that there were no weapons hidden in the earth.

It was not, unusual to find a warrior, who wanted to increase his chances of winning a challenge, would hide a weapon. It was against the laws of the tribes and against the laws of Isarie but some still tried. After searching carefully, he found no weapons and declared the pit ready for use.

He looked across at two trusted warriors, "Make sure no one enters the pit," his words carried the authority of a Prince of the Almadra.

The two guards lifted their weapons in a salute, "It shall be done," they said in unison.

With one last look into the pit, he walked away. _A_ _ll is ready for the challenge, I have done my part to ensure the Judgment of Isarie is fair. If the Selcarie woman dies, then it is the will of the Gods, not mine;_ he thought. A small smile crossed his handsome face, then quickly vanished.

Then he went to attend to the many matters of the tribe. He was also disturbed that Seeda had not been at the Talk-stone, now he had to search for her once more. She is a Princess, he thought; _a Princess should know how to act._ He did not have to look for long.

He found her standing near her tent, washing her hands and face in an iron basin, most of her armor was removed. Her long golden hair was undone and lying across her back in loose waves. A sight that would have raised the blood of any Outlands warrior and turned their thoughts to mating. She filled the Prince's mind with anger. He walked towards her, while murmuring under his breath.

Seeda cupped her hands and pulled the cool water out of the basin, then splashed it against her body, the water felt good on her skin. _T_ _he day will be warm, the mating time is coming;_ she thought; _will Almec bring me food?_ Though the morning sun was bright and there was a hot breeze blowing from the North, she was cold. She splashed more water onto her face, then dried it with the course towel lying next to the basin.

Her brother spoke, "Are you a Princess of the Almadra or not?"

From the sound of his voice, Seeda knew it wasn't a question, "Have the Gods made you King now?" she shouted back; _he treats me like a slave._

"You were not at the Talk-stone, you were not at the Tooth Making, you should be by your brother's side, not sneaking off with a warrior, who is not your mate."

Seeda began to put her armor back on, "What I do and where I go, is my mind not yours, or the King's!"

Agart looked her in the eye, "You are the King's sister, you are The Chosen of the Gods, you will act like one!" He took her by the arm and pulled, "You will stand with your brother!" She fought back, a small pouch, fell from her belt onto the ground, its contents, spilled out for all to see. Ice!

Agart at the small red crystals, there was nothing that could have caused him more pain, it ripped through his heart, like a blow from a war-ax. The world stopped spinning and the weight of betrayal, came crashing down on his shoulders; _Seeda, my sister, what have you done?_ His mind spun; _Seeda, may the Gods forgive you._

Seeda also saw the red crystals, for a brief moment she wanted to run, as hard and as fast as her strong legs would carry her. She wanted to leave this world behind and find another one, one where she would feel no pain. _Another world, another world, let me go to another world, far beyond this one;_ she thought _._

As Agart looked into his sister's eyes, he wanted to say many things. He wanted to ask, how she could go against the laws of Isarie and the laws of her tribe. How she could betray all who had given her life and strength, how she could turn her back on all that was right and good, to turn her back on him?

He did not say those things, he simply said, "Why?"

Seeda could see the pain in her brother's eyes, she knew it was tearing him apart, to see what she had done but what could she do? She could say the crystals weren't hers but he would know it was a lie. She could ask him to forgive her but it would be too much to ask, so she just looked at him and said nothing.

Her brother turned around and slowly walked away.

Seeda stood there for some time, she stared at the red crystals at her feet and thought; _my brother will not tell the King, he loves me too much. I should take the crystals and throw them into the fire, in the ring of the Talk-stone_. _B_ _urn them as an offering to the Gods, then Agart will forgive me and so will the Gods, yes, take them now!_

She bent over and one by one, she picked up each tiny crystal. Carefully she put them into her pouch, then drew the opening shut, she started walking to the Talk-stone; _I will throw them into the fire, I will be forgiven!_

She walked past several warriors, who were busy betting on which body part the Off-Worlder would lose first, they paid no attention to Seeda as she walked past them.

I will watch as my betrayal burns in the fire of Isarie! Then I shall go to Agart and he will forgive me.

Seeda entered the massive columns surrounding the sacred stone, she walked over to the fire burning there. She stood looking into the dancing flames and felt the heat on her body. She stood thinking; _throw them into the fire, ask forgiveness!_ _Perhaps it would be better to take the crystals to the temple of Isarie. I can place them on her altar and make a prayer to ask for her blessing?_

Standing this close to the fire she felt much better, the warmth from the flames seemed to ease her resolve. _Yes, that is what I will do, I will take the crystals to her temple and pray._ _T_ _hey will be very busy with the meeting of the Holy Women, perhaps I should wait until tomorrow?_ This please her very much and she thought further. She smiled to herself; _yes, tomorrow would be much better._ She turned around and left the fire of Isarie, she did not look back and continued walking out of the stone ring, towards her tent. She looked up at the morning sky; _y_ _es, tomorrow, or perhaps the day after._

She did not realize but to a God there is no today or tomorrow, only humans think in terms of the past or the future, it is meaningless to a God. They simply exist, seeing and hearing all that is spoken, in the past and the future, they know what is to come and know all that has passed. To them Eternity is as today.

#  Chapter 24. The Judgment

I give you the power of my judgment.

It is my word, it is my breath, it is my fire.

All who need be judged, shall be judged.

The truth is there for all to see, you hold it in your hands.

From the Book of Isarie.

The great sun Karus was high in the sky, while its smaller brother Micos, rose just above the horizon. They hung like two golden eyes of the Gods, as they looked down on the open Grassland's of Darmock. If they were indeed the eyes of the Gods, like the Sun-Gazers believed, they would see something to make Atos the War God smile.

There was a large gathering of the warriors around the ancient battle pit, they came from all the great tribes and were ready to see the undefeated giant Ashra-Doom, crush the Off-World woman into the ground.

Many wagers had been placed in favor of Ashra-Doom but their winnings would be very small. By contrast, the odds on the woman surviving, were very good, although there weren't many takers. Anyone who thought she would live, was sure to be called a Frail-leg. However, if someone decided to go against common wisdom, he or she, stood to win many Sagar teeth and Rimar horns. Not to mention, many strands of ocean shells and baskets of Robox root, all they needed was for Andra to win!

Kadar was eager for the challenge to begin, he was sure his champion warrior would soon remove the Half-Soul's head. He was so confident that he wagered his best Whiptail, against King of the Caladon's, three Spike-backs, he wanted to see the look on his fat face, when he came to collect.

Since the challenge was a matter between warriors and did not involve the Gods, Obec and her Handmaidens stayed away. They were praying and communing with the Gods in the Temple of Isarie. The Sun-Gazer would be present, to make sure that all the proper rituals were carried out and that it was a fair challenge.

Arn and Andra, had yet to appear at the battle ring, they were still at the King's tent preparing for the coming fight. Ordinarily, the tribe's warriors would have helped Andra into her armor and made sure her new battle-ax was sharp. This time the King ordered them to stay outside his tent, telling them he would help, the Off-Worlder.

"Remember what we practiced," Arn's face showed no fear but inside he was very afraid, "Keep you weapon high, Ashra likes to collect heads."

Andra tried to listen but she was thinking of the night before, "Yes, you've told me a thousand times but I will remember?" _I will remember the touch of your hands and the warmth of your body._

Arn tighten her leg guard straps, "When he strikes for the head, his right leg will be exposed, armor is weakest, just above the knee." _Her legs are strong yet soft._

"Yes, he'll try to wear me down and when I'm weakest, he will move in for the kill," she said. She wasn't even listening to herself; _when he_ _is on top of me, moving so strong, so strong._

Arn finished tightening the strap and turned her around, to check the fit of her back plating, "Ashra-Doom is strong but his strike is slow, if you move quickly enough, you can stay out range of his tooth." _Her hair smells so sweet, like meadow grass in the morning air._

Andra was growing impatient with his condescending tone, "I know, I know, I fought the Darkmar on Primax One and they're even bigger than Ashra." _Does he love me? Do I deserve to be loved?_

Arn was satisfied with the back plate and moved round to her front, checking the chest piece was not hindering her movement. "I do not know the Darkmar but I know Ashra-Doom, he has killed many strong warriors, Horcon smiles on him!" _Her breasts are like Doff feathers, soft and warm;_ he finished his inspection and stood back to look at her. _Her armor fits well, she is ready. "_ Remember this, do not listen to the warriors, they are not in the pit with you, listen only to your own mind!" _I wish she could hear my heart._

Andra turned from side to side, testing the mobility of her armor; _it fits well and I need all the armor I can wear. "_ I'm ready, hand me my weapon."

Arn reached for the war-ax, then stopped himself; _she wants to see if I will make a fool of myself, by touching her ax, she is testing me._

A faint smile crossed Andra's face, he smiled back at her, then she picked up her weapon and tested its weight, "This ax is not as heavy as yours, are you sure it will work?" she asked.

"A tooth, is not measured by its weight," he replied, "but where it bites"

She swung the ax several times, moving with it, as she did, letting the blade lead her, measuring its speed and balance.

The King watched her movements carefully; _s_ _he moves like a sky dancer, graceful but strong, she might have a chance against Ashra-Doom but if she does not I will lose her._

Andra stopped and let the ax fall to her side, she looked at Arn, suddenly feeling very afraid. _What if I'm killed, will he remember me or will I be just another conquest in bed?_

She was about to say something, when a warrior thrust his helmeted head into the tent, his words were official, "Forgive me my lord but the Queen mother wishes to speak to you."

The King nodded, "Very well send her in."

The guard drew the tent flap open wide and in streamed a shaft of sunlight, until it was obscured by a woman entering into the tent.

Egmar stood proudly, her face showing no emotion. She looked at her son, "Forgive this intrusion but I need to speak," she said coolly.

Andra started to leave, "I'll leave you alone."

The Queen reached out and touched Andra's arm, "No, I wish to speak to you my child." The King, was caught off guard by this remark and for a moment he groped for words, "Ahhh yes, of course, I will go." Andra and the Queen watched as he left the tent. Egmar removed her hand, she went over to a strong wooden stool and sat down. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her robe, then looked at Andra, "My son is a fool," she said coldly.

Andra's response was immediate, with eyes wide open, she said, "What! Your son is no fool, he's the bravest, most courageous man I ever met!"

The Queen smiled softly; _the woman has told me what I needed to know, she loves my son._

Andra suddenly realized what the old Queen was doing; _she knows, she knows._ She tried to hide her feelings, "At times he can be very difficult, in fact he can..."

"You love him, do not try to deny it," the Queen's words were not an accusation, they were filled with hope, "Does he love you in return?"

Andra moved to the far end of the tent, she felt more at ease now. She did not want to look into the old woman's face and tell a lie, "No, he doesn't love me!" she said softly; _n_ _o one should love me, I don't deserve to be loved._

Egmar let Andra's words hang in the air, she had been Queen for many years and she knew quite well, the turning of a young woman's heart. Once, she had been young herself and knew all the pain and joy of love. "Arn is a good King, a strong King but he has many questions that he asks his heart, you must help him, to find the answers." Then the Queen closed her eyes; _you must help him because I will not always be here._

Andra moved a few steps towards the Queen; _she's asking me to take care of her son...why? "_ Your son doesn't need me, he's a King and I'm just a... Half-Soul." _A Half-Soul who loves him very much._

She watched the Queen slowly open her eyes, "The Book of Isarie, says we are The Chosen, all others are to be shunned. Love does not look for a crown, or care for the names we call ourselves, it only sees a place to grow."

Andra moved closer to the old woman, Egmar held up the plant she'd picked during her conversation with Anais, "You see this flower?"

"Yes," Andra answered.

"This flower grows in the bleak rocks, it should not be able to. There is very little earth and it is exposed to wind and rain and heat, yet it still grows. Love is the same, it grows where it should not survive."

Andra looked at the small flower; _she's very smart for an old lady, should I tell her how I feel?_

Egmar handed the flower to Andra, "Take this and take my son, he will need a strong woman to stand beside him, together the Gods will smile on you."

Andra took the flower then looked at the Queen, "I don't believe in the Gods," she said.

The old woman looked deeply into Andra's eyes, "Do you believe in my son?"

"Yes" she replied.

Egmar nodded, "That is enough, belief in the Gods is in our minds, love comes from the heart."

At that moment, the King's tent did not hold a Queen of the Almadra and a Half-Soul from the stars. It held two women, who stood holding each other, one whose heart was open to the call of love and the other whose heart had answered that call long ago. They were content.

Agart was thinking of his sister and what he should do. He stood unseen near the Talk-stone, next to a very large column, once the marker for the Argonie. The tribe destroyed by the red crystals, he looked at the broken pieces of stone and the faded names of Outlanders now dead.

He shook his head, _Seeda has broken the laws of the tribe, she has gone against the Book of Isarie, she has gone against the King;_ he thought. He looked up at the morning sky; _Isarie, you see all and understand all and I am your child, tell me what to do?_

He waited for words to enter his head, to tell him what to do but no words came. He spoke out loud, hoping the Gods would hear him better. "If I tell the King, then she shall be made Outcast, my mother's heart will break and I will never see her face again, is that what you want?" Again he heard nothing, he looked down at the ground; _if I say nothing, how will I answer the three questions asked on the Day of Judgment._

Do you know my book?

Do you follow its teachings?

Do you believe?

Agart shook his head again, "She is my sister." He waited an answer from the Gods, there was only silence. _You do not hear my words, perhaps I am not close enough to you, I will pray for guidance._ Suddenly he felt much better, he looked up at the morning sky. _Yes, I shall pray and ask the Gods for guidance but what if they do not hear me, what then?_ He looked over at the broken stones of the Argonie; _c_ _an I let the laws of Isarie go unheeded, can I let my tribe be destroyed?_ "Tell me what to do?" he called out. More silence. _I will pray, yes I will pray and the Gods will hear me._ He left the Talk-stone and walked towards the High Priestess' tent.

Arn waited outside his tent, he tried not to think of what his mother might be saying to Andra. More than once, he wanted to go back inside and demand they speak in his presence. After all he was the King and if he wanted it so, then it would be done. On the other hand it was his mother and like all sons, he did not want to anger her, so he paced back and forth, like a hungry Sager Cat and waited.

The guards posted at his tent, watched him moving back and forth, they thought it odd but they were not about to question the King and they stood quietly at their stations.

Arn continued to pace, he asked himself; _what are they doing in there? Is my mother telling her to leave the tribe? Is she asking her questions? Is she angry with me for spending so much time with an Off-World woman and not being the King I should be?_

Before he could ask himself any more questions, the tent flap opened and his mother walked out, she looked at him and smiled, "The woman is strong," was all she said and then she walked away. Arn was not sure what that meant, before he could think upon it further, Andra came out holding her Ax. She looked up at the sky, "It's a nice day," she said smiling, then she looked at the King, "A good day for a fight." She too began to walk away, Arn watched her go; _I may be King_ _but I know very little about women;_ he told himself _._

It took only a moment before the King and his guards were walking by Andra's side, Arn was about to ask what happened in the tent but before he could Andra spoke. "Your mother is very wise," she said with a small smile.

The King watched as she lifted a tiny flower to her nose and sniffed its fragrant aroma; _Flowers and a Tooth, her name is a good one._ He smiled but said nothing, they continued walking.

Obec prayed in the Temple of Isarie, she chanted all the Holy words and performed all the sacred rituals, required of a High Priestess. She listened while words from the Book of Isarie were spoken and she understood their meaning. She watched as the other Holy Women, bowed low before her.

She sat quietly in her tent and waited for her Handmaidens to remove the heavy headdress and ornate robes from her body. It was good to be free of all them and to feel the warm surrounding air, sooth her aching muscles and to relieve some, of the tensions within.

With the garments removed and placed on a table, the old woman motioned for the Handmaidens to go, they bowed low, then silently left the chamber.

Obec went to sit in a softer chair to rest and although it seemed like she was asleep, her mind was racing with thoughts. _Fi_ _re and steel...the hand of Isarie is just, her judgment is final, The Chosen are the hand of the Gods, I will be the hand!_

She suddenly heard a faint voice calling to her, "Tishka." _Tishka...little bird? The name my mother used to call me;_ she opened her eyes. Standing in front of her was a woman, at first she did not know who she was, then she saw her face. The thin nose and lips, the cold uncaring eyes, when she saw those eyes, Obec knew who it was. Her mother. She was wearing the same robe and holding the statue of Isarie that had been buried with her.

"You are dead," Obec said, there was no love in her voice. She watched as her mother held up the small statue and smiled at her.

"You are not the Hand of Isarie, Tishka, you are too small."

Obec clinched her fists, "You are dead!"

Her mother smiled at her, "Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor. Out of the darkness and into the light. The Gods will arise!"

Obec closed her eyes; _you are dead, you are dead;_ she opened them, the chamber was empty. The old woman shook her head; _to many prayers, too much chanting, I need to res._ She closed her eyes again but a few moments later, she heard a Handmaiden speak.

"Holy Mother?"

She saw a slim face, poking through the thin drapes that separated her inner chamber from the rest of the tent, "Yes," she asked.

"The young Prince wishes to speak with you Holy Mother." The small face replied.

"Let him enter."

The drapes were lifted back and Prince Anais entered.

Obec took in his mood at a glance, the broad smile on his thin lips and a light in his usually cold eyes. She knew immediately, he was going to tell her something that would harm the King. She smiled at him, "Come in, let us talk."

The young Prince moved into the chamber and sat on a chair with a soft cushion.

"Would you care for some Deep-root tea?" Obec asked.

Anais nodded, "I have something to tell you, it concerns my brother."

The High Priestess smiled, like a Doff-bird about to eat its prey, "Yes...I know," she said softly.

Many great warriors gathered around the battle pit, they were from all the tribes and they all waited eagerly for the challenge to begin. None of them had slept the night before, preferring to spend their time eating and drinking and placing wagers on whom Atos would smile upon.

There were still odds, although very slim that the Off-World woman would survive. A rumor had circulated that Arn spent the whole night, teaching her combat skills with the ax. It improved the odds on her victory slightly. A wager against Ashra-Doom now, would only give five Sagar teeth to one but even with those odds there were few takers.

The Elders of the Tribes were gathered around the challenge pit, as were many parents with their children, it was a common among the Outlanders, to bring their offspring to challenges. After all, a Nomad's life was a fight for survival, what better way to learn how to survive, than the challenge pit.

The Elders knew it was their responsibility to record the event and make sure it was written into the annals of their clans. Warriors of the future could read about it and learn from the detailed narrative.

Kadar looked up, the suns were directly overhead, the challenge should begin. He looked over to the other side of the battle pit, there was no sign of the Off-World female. _Perhaps the woman has fled;_ he thought, then he smiled; _very well, by the rules of the challenge I will be the winner._

He looked over at the Caladon King, to make himself heard, he shouted above the clamor of the crowed, "I will come to your tent later, to collect my Spikeback!"

The Caladon King, turned his fat face towards Kadar and shouted back, "I will enjoy riding your Whiptail!"

Before the Kadar could shout out an insult about the mating practices of the fat King's mother, there was a great roar from the crowd. He saw Ashra-Doom walking to the pit, it was said, he broke the neck of his Whiptail, with one blow after the beast snapped at him. That was a tale of course but the fact remained, none of the other warriors, could best him at the arm game and his appetite for Rimar was legendary. As he walked through the throng of admiring warriors, he looked every bit like an Earth-shaker, the bringer of death.

_I should have wagered two more Whiptails;_ the King thought; he was about send word to the Caladon King, to increase the wager, when there was another roar from the warriors.

Kadar watched as the Off-Worlder and the King of the Almadra arrived and stood before the pit.

Andra felt very warm inside her suit of armor, although the metal skin was formed closely around her body, she was still uncomfortable with the restrictions to her movement. The helmet she wore, cut off her peripheral vision and to make matters worse, she felt the urge to urinate. None of this showed on her face, her eyes were fixed straight ahead and she did not tremble but her hands sweated a little. She looked at the monster she was about to face. _He is big but that will slow his actions;_ she thought; _you may have a chance._

Next to Andra stood Arn, holding his head high and looked every bit the King, he looked at Kadar's champion too. _If Andra can stay out of his reach, she has a chance;_ he thought. He looked around for Agart, he was nowhere to be seen. He was pleased, to see his sister, standing nearby with Almec at her side. _Good,_ _she has come to stand with her tribe;_ he thought.

Suddenly there was a loud blast from the signal horns. The warriors stopped talking and watched as the Sun-Gazer came forward, he stood at the edge of the battle pit and raised his staff.

"A challenge has been given and a challenge has been accepted, let the challenger come forward and speak his name so that all may hear!"

Everyone watched Ashra-Doom move forward, he lifted his huge battle-ax, "Ashra Doom, Earth-shaker, Challenger of the Pit!" he said loudly.

A tremendous roar went up from the Armrod warriors, they beat their war-axes on the ground and shouted out the name of their champion.

Andra heard her opponent's name, shouted over and over; _don't listen to them, listen to your heart, find a place to bite, you have a chance._

The Sun-Gazer spoke again, "Let the challenged come forward and speak so that all may hear!"

Andra moved to the edge of the pit and held up her weapon, "Andra Oseira, Moonbud, Challenged of the Pit!" Her voice was strong. Another roar as the Almadra shouted out her name.

Arn heard the cries from his tribe; _she is strong, she has a chance._

The Sun-Gazer lifted his rod and there was silence once more, he spoke, "The challenger and the challenged are here, let the Gods smile on the one, whose heart is true!"

As the crowd shouted and beat the ground, Andra looked at Arn. She wanted to say many things but there was no time now, maybe there would be later? She put her hand on his arm and speaking softly, so no one could hear she said, "I love you," that was all. Then she went to the stone stairs leading into the pit.

Arn could do nothing more, it was out of his hands now, he was powerless. Andra's words made his heart beat faster and he thought; _she loves me! Could the laws of the tribe be changed?_ Before he could answer himself, Andra entered the pit.

As Andra descended the stone steps, she felt very alone, she seemed to be leaving the world above and entering the pit of hell. _I must not listen,_ _I must find a place to bite;_ she thought _._ She walked to the center of the sunken arena, the ground felt soft beneath her feet. _It will give me a firm footing_ _if I keep moving, he might tire, then I can move in close;_ she thought _._

With the warriors shouting, her opponent moved towards her.

Andra wasn't certain but the ground beneath her feet seemed to move, as the monster came towards her; _Earth-shaker,_ _they named him well._

They stood waiting until the Sun-Gazer came to the edge of the pit. He looked down and said, "I give the power of my judgment, it is my word, it is my breath, it is my fire. All those who need be judged, shall be judged, the truth is there for all to see, you hold it in your hands, let them be judged!" There was a great roar.

Andra watched as the monster came forward, his weapon raised; _find a place to bite, find it or die._

The battle began.

Ashra-Doom swung his ax in a wide sweep, hoping to strike fast and end the battle quickly but Andra saw it coming and jumped clear. She turned back, just in time, to see another strike coming from her opponent, it missed by an inch.

_He's big but he isn't slow;_ she thought; _I will have to be quicker._ She moved quickly to one side again and swung her ax at his thick leg. The blow hit but the giant's thick armor, saved him from injury. They both moved back, to take stock of their enemy.

Arn knew now, how his mother and brothers felt, when he was in the pit with his father; _I cannot help,_ _I cannot help;_ he thought _._

Andra moved around the pit like a cat, trying to find any weakness in the giant's attack, it seemed useless. She had to move extremely fast, to avoid being cut in two, by the huge warrior. _H_ _is eyes don't betray his intentions;_ she thought. _He shows, no fear, or hate, or anything I can use. Will he win?_

They came together again, this time Andra struck first, then she dodged a blow to her head. Moving in low, she thrust the end of her ax into Ashra-Doom's stomach, the giant let out a cry and fell back.

Another great roar from the warriors.

_Don't listen, don't listen;_ Andra expected to find a deep wound in his midsection but she saw only a small trickle of blood. _He must be made of iron_!

The giant spun his arm around quickly, it caught her off guard and sent her reeling backwards, she fell against the side of the pit.

The crowd screamed for the kill.

Arn's face was ashen; _she is hurt! What can I do?_ He gripped his battle-ax; _I will help her, I will not stand by and let her die._

Before he could do anything, Andra made a lighting fast move and Ashra-Doom's ax hit the pit's stone wall.

Seeda watched as her adopted sister, fought for her life. Although she beat the ground with her ax and shouted just as loud as the other warriors, she did not feel the fighting madness that affected all the others; _where had it gone?_ She did not know why but she didn't feel the urge to jump into the arena, to die fighting but she continued shouting.

As the battle continued, there were two, who did not shout or beat the ground, they went unnoticed. Osh and Endo, stood watching from a vantage point, in the rows of seats. In spite of the heat, they wore heavy robes. The hoods hid their faces and allowed them to see what was happening, without being recognized. If anyone noticed them, they looked like a Nomad and his child watching the fight.

The old man could see that Andra was in trouble and it did not need a Callaxion, to calculate that her chances of staying alive, were slim. He looked at Endo who was holding his hand. _Endo wants to save her;_ he thought but there is nothing he can do. Osh started to pull him away but Endo's clawed hand, dig into his flesh.

Andra was getting tired, her breath was coming in gasps. She felt like she was being cooked inside her armor, like a fish in her mother's oven. Sweat from her helmet was running into her eyes, making it difficult for her to see. Then she saw the look on the giants face, he was smiling _, he is playing with me,_ she realized, _he can kill me anytime he likes but he wants to hear the crowd cheering._

The warriors shouted, "Ashra-Doom...Ashra-Doom...Ashra-Doom!"

She watched as the huge warrior lifted his ax and held it up to the cheers of the crowd; _I will find a place to bite!_ Suddenly she pulled her headgear off and threw it to the ground; _if I can't see, I can't fight!_

Kadar had been watching the battle, his conclusion was that the woman was brave and strong, perhaps one Whiptail was enough.

Andra wiped the sweat from her eyes and gripped her ax tightly; _I will not be toyed with, I must find a place to bite!_ She dodged another of the rampaging warrior's fierce blows and moved quickly to a safer corner of the pit. _H_ _e is wearing me down_ _he is stronger and he will wait until I'm helpless, then move in for the kill but I can still win if I fight hard;_ she thought _._

She remembered something from her soldier's training, something her drill sergeant told her, "Too much confidence can get you killed!" She suddenly knew what to do.

As the lumbering giant came for her, she dropped her ax and fell to the ground, the warriors let out a loud roar, "She is weak," someone yelled, "Kill her now," shouted another.

Arn watched as Ashra-Doom held up his ax; _she is defeated,_ _she will die;_ he thought _._

He was about to jump into the pit but he realized it was too late; _forgive me._ Just as he had given her up for dead, Andra burst into action.

In a flash Andra struck, she gripped her ax handle tightly, _look for a place to bite;_ she thought. With all her might, she flung the ax at the giant's exposed neck, it struck just above his chest plate and went deep.

Ashra-Doom let out a loud cry of agony, then he fell to one knee, on grasping his neck. A thick torrent of crimson blood flowed between his thick fingers, soon it gushed down his massive arm, like a wave on the sea. In vain he tried to lift his weapon but it fell from his hand. He made pitiful gurgling sounds, then fell onto the soft sand, he did not move again.

There was a moment of complete silence, then the warriors let out a mighty roar, they screamed out one name, over, and over again, "Andra, Andra, Andra!"

Andra didn't hear them, she was too tired, she lay on the soft ground, breathing the warm air.

Arn stood and cheered with the other warriors, he shouted her name and lifted his war-ax high above his head, _she may be an Off-Worlder_ _but she has the favor of the Gods;_ he thought _._

#  Chapter 25. Outcasts

Those who do not follow my book or know its teachings, shall be made Outcast and forever roam my lands alone.

Let none of my Chosen, give them food or shelter for they are no longer of my body and will never again see my face.

From the Book of Isarie.

That night saw a great many wagers changing hands. Warriors who the day before had been called Frail-legs, for betting on the Off-Worlder, suddenly found themselves very wealthy. Rimar horn, Sagar teeth, Sun-dropper claws, shells and Robox root were piled high before them, while they sat back and smiled. There were some, who said the fight wasn't fair because woman had used trickery, rather than brute strength to win. They were just bad losers and their wagers soon paid, when the Sun-Gazer made his judgment.

Kadar had to sit and listen to the endless gloating of the Caladon King and watch as his best Whiptail was handed over to the fat leader. For a time he sat muttering curses and grinding his teeth, he suggested for one reason or another that the fight had not been a fair one. It was to no avail, the judgment of Isarie is final, still it did not stop him grumbling. After a few horns of Po, Kadar and the Caladon King, were soon laughing and telling stories about other wagers and who had come off the better.

Ashra-Doom's body was taken from the pit, washed and laid out in his best armor, near the Talk-stone. His Journey Nail, would be driven into his huge hand, to hold his war-ax. He would be buried in the morning and set on his grave, a large stone marker telling all Outlanders that here lay a Nomad champion.

The victor received his battle armor, as a reward for their courage. Also his strong Whiptail, spoils accorded every survivor of the pit. Andra took the armor and the Whiptail. She listened to the Almadra's endless praise, for defending their honor and staying alive. They all said that Isarie smiled on her, even though she was a Half-Soul.

There were endless toasts to her courage and strength and many barrels of Po were opened and quickly emptied. Andra drank as much as she could but soon found herself forgetting who she was, or why she was drinking. She laughed at things that weren't funny and said she could defeat any Outlander who cared to fight. Finally, Arn took the drinking horn from her hand and guided her to a place where she could rest.

She lay quietly in the King's tent, Nomads may not have a need for sleep but she did. The battle with the giant had taken its toll and she lay in a deep slumber, with Arn standing watch over her.

In the soft glow of the oil lamps, the King thought her face seemed even lovelier. Arn noticed every feature, the small nose and full lips, the tiny scar on the left side of her cheek, hardly noticeable unless you looked very close. She did not have the sharp cheekbones of an Outlander and her skin was too pale even with the sun's darkening but it was smooth and without blemish. Her dark hair was longer now and it fell over one shoulder. The flicker of the lamp, danced over its silky surface, to the King it seemed like the morning light over a lake of dark water.

_She is strong, she has courage,_ _she would make a good mate, she would make a good Queen;_ he thought _._ He smiled; _s_ _he is a Half-Soul, the laws forbid us from mating and the laws of the tribe cannot be changed!_ He heard a voice in his mind, a voice he did not realize was there. It said, _Can I not change them?_ It was like the buzzing of a marsh fly and it repeated over and over again. Why? Why? Why?

The King tried to silence the buzzing; _the laws of our tribe are clear, they are the laws of Isarie and I will not break them!_ More buzzing. Why? Why? Why? Inside his head, the King shouted; _I am King and I must not be weak, the laws of Isarie cannot be broken!_ The buzzing stopped and he heard a soft voice, it seemed to be calling from his heart. "Love is stronger than any law." For a moment he did not understand what it meant, then he heard the voice again, "She loves you and that is stronger than the laws of our tribe."

Arn turned to see his mother standing near the entrance, she was dressed in a dark robe with only a silver belt around her waist. She did not wear jewelry and her hair was loose. She smiled at her son, "Do you love her?" she asked.

There was a long pause as the King looked at his mother. _I should lie and tell her that I do not love this woman_ _but she will know I am lying, she always knows when I lie;_ he thought _, "_ Yes," he finally said.

Egmar came over her son and gently touched his cheek, "She loves you, it is your destiny to be together."

"The laws of the tribe I cannot..."

"You once asked me, if the laws of the tribe could ever be changed," she said.

"Yes, I remember," said Arn

"I said they could not but I was wrong, the laws of the tribe, cannot rule our hearts," she said softly. _I have broken those rules, I have gone against the Gods but I did it for love._

Arn looked deep into his mother's eyes; _my mother is wise and she loves me but does she only say, the words I want to hear? "_ Mother," his voice was soft, "I am King of the Almadra, if I break those laws, I cannot be King."

Egmar wanted to tell him the laws were for others and not for her son but she could not, she knew the laws were for everyone, otherwise they would mean nothing, so she said nothing.

She put her hand to his cheek again, "You are my son, you are loved by me no matter where I go." She bowed low and walked out of the tent.

Arn stood in the center of the chamber, he did not move or speak, the buzzing in his head was gone, he listened for what his heart might say. He heard a rustling noise, behind him Andra was lifting her head from a soft cushion, her eyes opened slowly and she saw Arn.

He gazed into her eyes and in that moment, all thoughts of Kings and laws vanished like mist over a morning lake. He went to her side and sat down, he touched her hair and then her face, he kissed her. _No more laws,_ _no more laws_ _;_ he thought _._

Andra felt his soft kisses on her lips, at first she thought she was still asleep, then she realized she was not. _I'm not a Selcarie_ _or a soldier or a schoolgirl, I'm Andra and I love him;_ she thought _._ She took his face in her hands and kissed him with all the love that was in her open heart. She gave him all her love and felt his heart beating against her chest.

Obec listened, while Anais recounted what he had seen at the fallen Dropship. She had suspected it for some time but it was good to know, her suspicions had turned out to be true. Now she could use the information in many ways, she could confront the King and then watch his reaction. The High Priestess went over to a small ornately carved bed in a corner of her chamber, she sat down on it. She took a small cup from a table by the bed, it was made from gold and in it, was some warm Deep-root tea, she took a sip.

_If the King says the story is untrue, he would be calling his brother a liar;_ she thought. _T_ _here is no love in Anais' heart for his brother but there may still be some in the King's. He may say it is true but then he would be going against the laws of the tribe and that would mean his end._ _Arn is no fool, unlike his brother, he may say there is no proof and that is true. It would be one brother's word against the others and everyone knows, Anais is a fool, no I cannot go to the King._

She took another sip of her tea.

I must wait until I can show the whole tribe that Arn is not a strong King and he is not The Chosen of the Gods, then he will be made Outcast and Agart will take his place.

Another sip.

Agart is a true believer in the Gods, he can be controlled, until the time is right for him to be replaced.

She took one final sip of tea and put the empty cup back on the table, she stood up.

_After the Burning Time;_ she mused; _yes, I must wait until then, I can put that fool Anais at the head of the tribe. He will think he controls me and will make him believe it. I will wait, until I have everything in place, the cleansing will begin._

A soft smile pulled at the High Priestess' lips. _The Gods will arise._

"Holy Mother?"

The old woman turned to see a Handmaiden standing at the chamber's entrance.

"Yes, what is it?" Her voice, angry at the interruption.

"Prince Agart wishes to pray before the altar, Holy Mother."

_Agart here? Why does he want to pray here? "_ Tell the Thungodra to let him enter," she said.

The Handmaiden bowed and was about to walk away.

Obec smiled, "Tell Soffca I wish to speak with her."

"Yes Holy Mother," she bowed once more, then left.

_There is something troubling the Prince, a troubled mind is a book waiting to be read._ Obec went to a dressing table and picked up the ornate headdress sitting there. She placed it over her stringy hair, then looked at herself in a large refection plate; _I will go to the Prince to ease his mind_ _and I will see into his heart;_ she thought _._ She adjusted the headdress and smoothed the wrinkles on her robe, then she heard Soffca's soft voice.

"You wish to speak to me Holy Mother?"

The old woman turned to see the slim form of her Handmaiden standing with her head bowed.

"Yes" she said, "I want you to prepare the Statue of Isarie for prayer."

"At once Holy Mother." The young Handmaiden bowed and left the chamber.

Obec looked at herself in the refection plate again. _Fire and Steel._ _Fire and Steel;_ she thought _._

Agart took a long time before he decided to ask the High Priestess, to allow him access to the Holy Shrine. He'd walked back and forth all afternoon, listening to his mind as it spoke to him of laws and his duty to his tribe. He also listened to his heart, it told him of love for his sister and the pain his mother would feel, seeing her made Outcast.

He spent hours trying to make up his mind, he thought about asking advice from his mother but it would only cause her pain. He could ask the Elders to make a judgment but he knew well enough, what their judgment would be.

Outcast!

There was no one who could help, only the Gods, only their wisdom and mercy could relieve him of this burden and show him the path he must take. He waited calmly at the tent's entrance and watched while two Thungodra barred the entrance with ax and war club. He looked up at the night sky, many stars were breaking through the clouds, then he heard a woman speak.

"The Holy Mother welcomes you."

It was the same Handmaiden as before, inviting him in. The Thungodra pulled back their weapons and he entered the tent. Inside the air was heavy with incense and the sweet smell of field flowers. Hanging from the tent supports, by gold chains, were several brass oil lamps. In the middle of the room, was a large iron brazier with a fire. He heard the slow devotional chanting of the Handmaidens, as they sung evening prayers.

He expected to wait awhile, before the Holy Mother would see him. He knew, Obec often used that trick, on those who displeased her. Much to his surprise, Obec came through a chamber flap, smiling she approached him.

"Yes my child," she said with a soft smile, "How can the Gods be of help?"

Agart, was caught off guard by the High Priestess' sudden appearance, "I wish to pray before the statue of Isarie," he said bluntly.

"Is your heart troubled my child?" she asked.

Agart saw through the smile on her face. _She wants me to tell her, why I'm here_ _;_ he thought; _she must not find out about Seeda. "_ No," he said, "I want to pray for the tribe and ask the Goddess to bless us."

The old woman scrutinized his face. _He is hiding something, something I will know;_ she said to herself, "Very well, come with me."

Agart followed the High Priestess into an adjoining chamber. It was small compared to the huge entrance room but large enough to house an intricately worked gold statue of the Goddess Isarie. It was almost three meters high, the round base, was inlaid with ivory and precious stones. Strings of field flowers were laid around the base, as well as Balbar fruit and trinkets, all offerings to Isarie. One of The Goddess' hands, pointed to the heavens, the other pointed to the ground. Her features showed kindness but there was also a slight hint of anger in her eyes. In the dim light of the oil lamps, the golden surface shimmered like the sunrise over the Mountains of Kresh.

Obec bowed before the statue, then she turned to the Prince, "I will leave you now, the words you speak to the Goddess, are for her ears only." Then she turned around and left the chamber.

Agart stood looking at the statue for several moments. He was trying to form the words in his head, so the Goddess would understand his meaning and not think he was a child asking for toys. He went to the statue and fell to his knees, he moved in close and spoke quietly, so no one could hear, "Hear me Great Isarie, it is not for me that I pray, it is for my sister."

He said what was in his mind and in his heart, he hoped the Goddess would hear him and understand. He whispered about the things he'd seen and what he knew to be sacrilege against the Gods, he started to feel better. _The Goddess forgives all,_ _she will forgive my sister, she will forgive me_ _;_ he thought _._

Seeda sat quietly outside her tent, she watched as Almec stirred a large pot of Hagar soup. Although she had not eaten in some time, she did not feel hungry. She was thinking of Agart and what he had seen. _H_ _e will not tell Arn;_ she assured herself; _my secret is safe._ She looked up at the moons overhead, they were moving in and out of the blue clouds and it seemed to her that they were playing. _Can I let my brother hold my pain, while I go free?_ She asked herself; _a_ _m I a warrior or a Saduk?_

She put out her hands out to the warm fire, with the warm winds from the North it felt very pleasant, she looked up again. _How fast the day has passed, I was going to do something, what was I going to do?_ She remembered the Ice and her promise to lay it before the statue of Isarie. The day is gone now and there is always tomorrow, or the day after, she told herself. She held her hands out again; _h_ _ow pleasant the fire feels, so nice on a cold night like this._

"The soup is ready."

Almec's words brought her out of her thoughts, she blinked her eyes and looked at the large cooking pot.

"Would you like a bit of Ulon spice in your soup?" he asked.

"No, nothing, I'm not hungry." she said softly.

The young warrior knew, she hadn't eaten in a long time and poured her a large bowl of the hot mixture. He put a wooden spoon in the bowl and took it to her. _If she takes the bowl from my hand, we will be mated._

It was a sneaky way to get her to acknowledge their union but he was growing tired of her rejections and decided trickery was called for. He went to her side and held out the bowl.

Seeda looked at the hot soup, "Put it on the ground," she said.

He was disappointed but did as she asked, then he started to eat his soup. _I was wrong to try to trick her;_ he thought; _I do not want her as a mate through deceit._ After a few spoonfuls of the spicy broth, he put the bowl down and put his hand on Seeda's arm.

The Princess knew the touch, it was not a touch of passion or remorse, it was a touch that asked, if she needed to say something.

Without thinking Seeda blurted out the words, "Agart knows."

In an instant, Almec understood why she wasn't eating; _he knows,_ _he knows and there is nothing I can do;_ he thought. _"_ Will he tell the King?" he asked.

"No," she answered; _he knows it would force him to make us Outcasts._

"Then our secret is safe," there was a half-smile on his face, "We have nothing to fear." He looked into his lover's eyes, he saw something he feared, something he tried not to see.

Seeda knew what she had to do, she could not let her brother carry the shame of her weakness, she had to save him, even if it meant her life, "I must go," she said.

Fewer words could have cut him so deeply as those, he did not want to acknowledge them but he did. She was asking, no! She was telling him, she was going to leave the tribe, she was going to become a Waste-wanderer, an Outlander without a home or people. He also knew there was nothing he could say or do to stop her.

"Then I will go with you." he said; _where she goes so will I._

Seeda saw the look in Almec's eyes, a look no one but she could understand, it told her she would never be alone. She would always have him, in this world and all others. She smiled at him, "Would you hand me that bowl?"

Almec picked up the clay bowl, he held it out to her and she took it from him. Without the warrior's cheers, or the banging of ritual drums, without the tribe's approval or the King's blessing. With only the stars and the playful moons overhead watching, Seeda, warrior and Princess of the Madrigal, was now mated to Almec, warrior and hunter. They held each other and even though they felt cold, the heat of their love comforted them.

The night passed quietly for the Nomads, after a long day of feasting and drinking and the excitement of the challenge pit, the Outlanders were happy to rest. They still posted guards who watched the skies for any sign of Sky-Riders and heard the Whiptails, roaring as they mated. There was little to fear, so mothers slept deeply and their children, dreamed of wagons full of sweet Meadow-cane and fat Burrow-babies, frolicking in the grasslands.

There was one rather odd event, when the largest moon, Fromic was directly overhead, the Frail-legs suddenly left their soft beds and left their tents. The Touch-tenders watched them go but did not stop them, it was not their duty to control them, only to see they came to no harm. They followed them onto the open plain of the Greenland's. The Frail-legs stood looking up at the stars for a moment, then they said something, something the Touch-tenders had heard before but still did not understand.

"The Gods will arise," they said as one.

The old people began to dig the earth.

Agart prayed before the statue of Isarie, he recited all the verses, asking for forgiveness and repeated them over and over. He told the Goddess all he had seen and his sister's transgression. He asked the golden Goddess to forgive her and lift the burden of the Red Crystal from her heart. As the first rays of morning broke into the Holy chamber, he got of his knees and looked at the statue's face.

_Isarie is all-merciful;_ he thought; _she will hear my prayers and they will be answered._

He bowed low and left the chamber. As he walked through the Holy tent, he saw the Handmaidens busily with the morning rituals. He watched them replace the field flowers, offerings to the many Gods and Goddesses, that filled the heavens of the Nomads. He heard them singing softly as they worked and it filled his heart with gladness.

_She will hear my prayers, she will forgive;_ he walked out of the tent into the warmth of the morning suns.

Obec watched him go, she did not sleep that night and her frail body was aching from the activities of the last few days. She would have loved to go to her chamber to rest but she was too excited. She walked to the Chamber of Isarie, she stood for a moment then bowed her head in reverence to the golden statue. She moved around to the back of the figure and tapped lightly on its shimmering surface. A small door opened, it was so finely fitted into the statue that it could not be seen, except under close examination. The door revealed a hollow in the statue, large enough hold a person, a Handmaiden hidden inside slowly emerged.

Soffca straightened herself up and faced the Holy Mother.

Obec's face showed a faint smile, "Did you hear?" she asked.

"Yes Holy Mother," answered Soffca.

The old woman's smile broadened, "Come, we shall talk." The High Priestess walked from the chamber of Isarie, leaving the Goddess alone with the wilting flowers at her feet.

#  Chapter 26. Partings

I will hold you.

When the moons of the night sky no longer walk the heavens.

I will hold you.

When their faces no longer smile upon us.

I will hold you.

When the Meadow grass no longer grows in the Greenland's.

I will hold you.

When you are old and can no longer dance under the stars.

I will hold you.

When the stars fall from the heavens and all is darkness.

I will be there.

I will hold you.

Lullaby of the Almadra.

The Gathering was slowly coming to an end, just a few more days of rest was needed and preparation for the long journey ahead. The plains provided ripe Kasha-wheat and the storage wagons were full, the water barrels were filled to capacity and dried Rimar meat was plentiful. The mated Whiptails had answered the call of the signal horns and returned to their masters. They were being prepared for one final hunt, before they carried their riders into the far off Mountains of Kresh.

The remains of Ashra-Doom had been buried with full honors and his name recorded in the book of the Armrod. There had been reports of his body being defiled before it was laid to rest. There were wounds on his arms and legs as if he had been bitten, it might have been a small Finrat or perhaps a Night-crier. There was talk that the Almadra were keeping a Sandjar and it had caused the damage. Since no one guarding the body, had seen anything, the Sun-Gazer ruled it was the will of the Gods and there were to be no reprisals.

That did not stop Kadar ordering a beating, for the two warriors who had been watching the body. It helped to vent some of his anger from the Talk-stone.

"Do you have a Sandjar in your camp?" asked Kadar

Arn looked over the dark stone at the one armed King. In the morning light, he could see deep ridges on his worn face and beads of sweat run slowly down his forehead, to disappear into his heavy eyebrows. It did not take a Soul Seer to know that the old warrior was very upset.

"That is my affair and not the concern of the Armrod!" he answered back angrily.

Beside the King sat Agart, his handsome face betrayed no emotion as he listened to Kadar's rant.

"If you have a scavenger in your tribe, all the Outlanders need to know!"

"All that they need to know, is that I am the leader of the Madrigal and I will not be bullied by the Armrod!" answered the King.

There was grumbling from within the warriors gathered around the sacred stone, they were divided into two groups. The Almadra stood behind their King, while the Armrod warriors stood behind theirs. They were still without their weapons but their hands rested warily on their daggers in case of trouble.

The old King wiped his face with the back of his hand, then made a low growling sound. "Errrrrrr, you are a young King and have not seen as many battles as I, you do not know the strength of the Armrod."

Arn clinched his fist in rage. _He is trying to goad me into a challenge;_ he thought; _I will show him that I am not a weak King. "_ I would not make threats, remember you no longer have a champion!"

The old King rose to his feet, he spoke through clenched teeth, "I do not need a champion to better a little Burrow-baby like you!"

Arn got up from his seat and leaned over the Talk-stone, "Sit down before you lose your other arm Lostlimb!"

The warriors on either side reached for their daggers and more than one cursed, then the Sun-Gazer raised his staff and order was restored.

Agart could see the look on his brother's face; _t_ _hey are going to kill each other, I must help my brother._ He touched Arn's back, when Arn turned around, he looked him in the eye. The King could see his brother's message.

_My brother is right, I am letting him anger me;_ he thought; _there is nothing to be gained by fighting._ He looked over the Talk-stone but before he could say anything Agart rose to his feet.

"My lord, my brother and I, know all too well the power of the Armrod." His words were slow and without any sign of anger. "Your warriors stood with us at the battle of Koto-Car and the Almadra rode with you to the valley of Ugarie, to rescue your daughter from the warriors of the Elcudra, is that not so?"

The old King made a grumbling sound under his breath, "Yes it is so but..."

"Afterwords, did your daughter join our tribe, so we could have strong warriors?" Agart continued.

"Yes," the old King admitted, "but that is another matter, I want to know if your tribe is truly Nomad, or are they breeding with the scavengers?"

Agart had given his brother time for to cool down and remember that he was a King and not a young warrior testing his courage.

Arn was glad of this, it gave time to think. He sat back on his stone and took a slow lungful of air, "Kadar, King of the Armrod, none of my tribe have brought a Sandjar out of the desert, you have nothing to fear."

_My brother is bending the truth;_ Agart thought; _the old man saved the scavenger but he has not, lied, he is learning how to be a King._

The old King grumbled again, "Very well but if I find that you lied over the Talk-stone, it will go hard against the Almadra!"

Without another word the old King rose and left, followed by his warriors who were shaking their heads and murmuring that the Almadra were not to be trusted.

Arn and Agart watched them go, when all was quiet, the Almadra warriors left to ready themselves for leaving the Gathering. Agart turned to his brother, "The old man must leave us now," he said, his voice was soft but filled with authority.

Arn could see his brother had already decided. For Arn things were not so easily solved. "He would have little chance alone in the Greenland's," he said. "All we need do, is keep him and the Sandjar hidden until we leave."

_My brother is thinking of the Off-world woman;_ thought Agart; _h_ _e knows it would hurt her, to see the old man evicted, "_ You must not let the Half-Soul into your heart," he said.

Arn looked at his brother and thought; _h_ _e knows I have feelings for Andra_ _but does he know I love her?_ "A woman is just a woman," he said, "My heart is my own."

Agart looked at the dark stone in front of them, he placed his hand on the smooth surface. "This is the Nomad's Talk-stone, it is sacred before the Gods, all who speak before it must tell the truth, tell me now that you do not love this woman and I will believe."

For a moment the King did nothing then he put his hand on the stone, "My heart is my own," he said.

Agart examined his brother's eyes, they were clear and showed no sign of deception. He smiled, "I believe you," he reached out and took hold of his brother's hand, he looked into his eyes again. _H_ _e lies, his heart belongs to the woman_ _he's lied to me. He's lied before the Gods, I cannot trust him again;_ he thought: _p_ _erhaps Anais was right,_ _perhaps Arn is not The Chosen of the Gods._

At the same time Arn's mind was full of his own thoughts; _I lied before the Talk-stone, I am a weak King._

The brothers did not speak of their thoughts and there was nothing more for the sacred stone to hear.

Some distance away, outside the Eye of Isarie, Osh was sitting with Endo, near a small pond. He knew it was dangerous to be that far from his wagon but he wanted to be out of sight. They were both wearing the long robes, they wore at the battle pit, they helped when they walked into the Greenland's. If anyone saw them, it looked like a Nomad taking his son or daughter into the Plains of Darmock, to teach them its ways.

Osh looked at his adopted son while he played with a small Rock-runner he'd caught. _I was wrong,_ _I cannot change his nature, he is what he is;_ he thought _._

He reached into a small pouch on his belt and drew out a tiny piece of dried Rimar meat.

Endo dropped the Runner and grabbed the tasty treat from Osh. From under the hood helping him tolerate the bright sunlight, he saw his father's eyes, "Good, food," he said, he began to devour the dry flesh with gusto.

Osh watched him eating and thought; _I've taught him to speak and how to act like a human_ _but he is not one of us, he is not human, he is what he is._ He looked at the Sandjar's clawed hands and remembered the night when he'd woken, to find him licking blood from them. He remembered the look in those large yellow eyes a look of pleasure. He knew instantly what had happened; _t_ _hey do not know for certain it was Endo who feasted on the giant's body but they suspect it and soon they will come for him._

The Sandjar ate the last morsel of food and looked over at the Callaxion, "More food?" he asked.

"No, no more food," was the reply, "There will be no more food for you."

Endo cocked his head to one side, a gesture used by all-intelligent creatures of the galaxy, when they were uncertain, "No more food?" he said, "More food there?" he pointed a claw at the distant Nomad tents.

The old man shook his head, "No, no food there." _He cannot stay, he must leave._

Endo moved his head to one side again, "Where food now?" he asked.

Osh pointed to the vast expanse of open range around them, "There is food, go find food now!" His voice was louder now and filled with authority, "Go and find food, now!"

Endo suddenly backed away from his adopted father, he had never spoken to him so harshly and it frightened him.

"Is mother there?" he asked, "Mother will give me food."

Osh's heart felt like it was going to break but he knew, what had to be done. If the Sandjar remained, it would only be a matter of time, before he hurt or even killed a human, then they would surely kill him. He also knew that the odds of him surviving on his own, without the help of other Sandjar, was very slim but it was still a chance. "No," he said shaking his large head, "Mother will not give you food, you must find food alone!"

Endo looked out over the green grass, young as he was, he sensed danger out there, making him more afraid. He stood up and moved a few steps away, then looked back at the old man, "Will mother hold me?" he asked in his tiny voice.

Osh regarded the large yellow eyes thoughtfully, he had seen many things reflected back in them before. Hunger, pain, weariness, delight, he had never seen what he saw now, love!

He fought back his tears but he knew there was no turning back, so he spoke in a loud clear voice, " No! No mother, no mother anymore, now go!"

Endo moved away from the old man, he held up his hands, fearful of being struck by his father.

Osh watched him walk away, then he picked up a small stone and held it up, "No mother! No father! No food! Go!" He threw the rock at his son.

The rock missed the Sandjar's head but it was enough to make him run away. Endo went distance away before turning to look back at his adopted father.

Osh could still see the look in his eyes but it was a different look, sadness. The old man picked up another small rock and threw it, "Go!" he shouted "Go away!" The rock missed by a wide margin but it was enough to make Endo run across the green grass.

Osh watched him go, he watched him until he disappeared behind some large boulders and a small growth of Balbar trees. He stood for a long moment, then he wiped the tears from his eyes and spoke to himself in a low voice, "Good-bye, son." Sadly he turned around and walked slowly back to the Eye of Isarie.

Next to her tent, Seeda in her best armor, was busy loading her Whiptail with supplies, she packed extra rations of Kasha bread and dried Balbar fruit. There was a thick Hagar skin over her saddle and two blankets behind the high back rest. There was the usual supply of Grana Salt, always carried when riding and in several small pouches, a variety of things a warrior would take on a long journey.

Seeda looked for the small pouch of red crystals that forced her to leave the tribe. After she told Almec she was leaving, she'd tried to throw it away several times but each time, she retrieved the pouch. She searched desperately for the little bag and its precious contents, she looked under the robe she wore when she washed herself. Then a voice

"Saduk!"

She turned around, her mother was standing there, she wore a plain robe and her hair was undone, she smiled at her daughter, "Have you forgotten your name?" she asked.

Seeda stopped looking for the pouch and smiled, "Saduk, little cat, the name you used to call me, no, I have not forgotten."

Her mother came to her and hugged her hard, then she stood back and looked at her daughter. "You are no longer a little cat but I can call you what I wish," she said. S _he is no longer my child, she no longer needs me._

As Seeda looked at her mother, she suddenly realized she would never see her again but she held back her emotion, "Yes mother, you can call me whatever you wish."

Egmar looked around at the disarray in the tent, "I hope you'll take better care of your things when you are mated _." I will not see that day._

"Yes, of course, you taught me that a man needs more than a warm arm, to make him satisfied," she said with a smile. _I will never be held in my mother arms again._

The Queen started to tidy up, "I know Almec would fight a Sager Cat, if you asked him but helping around the tent, would take more courage than he has." _Almec will make you a strong mate and you will have strong children._

Seeda watched her mother pick up a small rug, underneath was the pouch. Her mother went to put it aside. Seeda took it from her, "Here, let me help you," she said, quickly putting the pouch onto her belt. "How did you ever find time to raise us, when you were doing so much cleaning?"

"I had help from the Gods," she replied as she shook out the small rug. She stopped and looked at her daughter _; the Gods will watch over you and I will hear them speak of you in the Hall of Isarie._ The Queen put the rug on a nearby barrel, then sat on it, she held her arms out to her daughter, "Come here," she said.

Seeda went to her mother and let her hold her, it was warm and reassuring, she could hear her heart beating through her soft robe. It made her remember her playful childhood and all the times she came to her mother, who would hold her tight in her strong arms, "I love you mother," she said softly.

"I love you too my little Saduk," the Queen replied warmly and your father loved you too, the Gods will care for you.,

Seeda held her mother tightly; _I will never see her again, I am lost._

They stayed like that for a long time, the Queen did not want to let her daughter go. She wanted to hold her until the suns overhead were gone and then long into the night. She wanted to hold her until the moons looked down on them and Sun-birth broke over the Mountains of Kresh. She wanted to hold her for all time but she could not. She remembered the words she spoke to Arn, the night before he became King. _There is a time for all things and they must run their course._ Her time was coming to an end and there was nothing to be done.

Seeda felt her mother's arms around her, it felt good, nothing could harm her now, all she had to do, was let her mother hold her. _This must be the feeling in the Afterlife;_ she thought; _to be held for all time and to know you are loved._

She knew this could not be, she had broken her tribe's laws and she must leave. She pressed her face against her mother's chest once more, then she let her go, "If I do not pack quickly enough all the good Rimar will be gone," she said.

Her mother smiled at her daughter, "Yes and I must be going too, I have many things to do." She started walking away, then she stopped and looked at her daughter again, "Come to my tent tonight Saduk, I have something for you," then she left.

Seeda watched her go, it was the hardest thing she had ever done, she wanted to run after her and hold her again. She wanted time to stand still, or better yet to return to those careless days, when she was just a little Saduk, not a warrior of the Almadra. Those days were gone but none would pass without her remembering her mother's strong arms holding her close.

She went to her Whiptail and loaded the last of the supplies on the back of the saddle, she checked her battle-ax was where it should be. As she tightened the cinch, she heard Almec's mount coming towards her, Almec was sitting on his mount, with all his supplies arranged neatly over his saddle.

"Are you ready?" he asked calmly.

She took her horned helmet from the ground and put it on, then she grabbed her Whiptail's reins, she put her riding boot into the stirrup and mounted. The creature pulled forward strongly but she pulled it back, the beast grunted once, then waited for the command to move.

Almec looked at his love, her face was calm and showed no emotion but he could see her eyes were wet with tears, "Do you want to speak to the King before we go?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "There is nothing to be said." She pulled hard on the reins and dug her sharp spurs into her restless mount's sides, the Whiptail gave out a loud roar then ran swiftly across the Greenland's.

Almec gave his beast the sign to follow, soon they left the Eye of Isarie far behind. They left their families, their friends, their tribe, they would no longer sing together around the Washa fires, or hear the signal horns calling them to battle. They would not dance naked under the moons during the mating time, they would not journey to the crystal caves of re-birth, or undergo the Choosing. All was left behind.

Now they were Outcasts and all they had, were their memories.

#  Chapter 27. The Tears of Isarie

I will make a man and a woman.

Together they will be The Chosen of the Gods.

I will water them with my tears and they will grow.

From the Book of Isarie.

When Seeda and Almec did not return from their hunt, Arn sent out every warrior of the Almadra to look for them, they searched for two days and nights. They ventured South, as far as Still Water Lake and to the West until they came to Yawning Chasm. However even with the other tribes helping they could be found.

The Armrod were rumored to have taken revenge for their champion being killed, by killing the King's sister. Some thought a Daggermouth might have eaten them, when they stopped by a lake for water. It was, also said that it was the work of the Shadow-men but they had not, been seen anywhere in the Greenland's of Darmock.

Arn demanded the King of the Armrod, should tell him what he had done with his sister. The old King denied everything, heated words were exchanged and daggers drawn, if it was not for the presence of the Sun-Gazer, there would have been bloodshed.

It was, eventually decided that it was the will of the Gods and nothing more could be done.

Arn paced back and forth in front of his Washa fire. He did not see the sun's disappearing behind the ridge to the South, or feel the warm winds blowing from the North, all he felt was anger and pain. "In the morning, I want all warriors looking South again, perhaps they are hurt and their Whiptails dead," he said, hoping his words were true.

Agart sat quietly on a half-buried rock near the fire, he slowly sipped a cup of Po. He watched his brother moving back and forth but said nothing.

"Seeda is strong, if she is hurt she will survive," Arn said, "She is strong." The King moved like a Sager Cat in a cage, trapped and unable to do anything.

Agart knew the truth of their sister's disappearance, he knew that rather than be made Outcast by the tribe, Seeda and Almec had gone, preferring to leave of their own accord. _My sister didn't want the King to suffer any more pain,_ _she didn't want mother or me to suffer either;_ he told himself _._

Arn stopped pacing and sat down on a rock near his brother.

Agart stared down at the ground; _she is gone;_ he thought; _she is gone and will not return._ He looked at Arn; _my brother knows this too but I must hear it from his mouth. "_ She isn't coming back is she?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," Arn answered. The King watched Agart take a sip of his Po; _how easily my bother accepts her loss, does belief in the Gods make such a big thing so small?_ In a low hushed tone he asked, "Why do the Gods take one and leave another?"

Agart put his cup down and looked at his brother, "It is not for us to know the minds of the Gods." _I cannot tell him the truth, he lied to me but I must not lie to him._

Arn stared into the Washa fire for a long time, his mind filled with questions he could not answer. _Are the Gods punishing me for loving a Half-Soul? If so, why punish my sister? Why do the Gods play such terrible games?_ He had no answers, he continued to stare into the dancing flames.

Andra could see the King's face, she wanted to go to him, to comfort him but she did not. She knew the pain of losing a family member, she had lost her mother, her brother and her world. She did not think her loss, was any greater or less, than the loss of a sister.

She sat by her fire drinking a cup of Po and she listened to the low death songs, being sung by the Madrigal. She heard the drums beating slowly and the mournful cries of the Wailing Women. _She was a strong woman;_ she thought; _I never had a sister but if I had, I would have wanted her, to be like Seeda._ She thought she was going to cry but she fought back the tears. _No, she would not, want me to cry, she would want me to be strong, like her._

Without being seen, she lifted her cup and shouted out her old regiment's battle slogan, "Together we fight!" Then she drank her remaining Po.

Osh did not hear Andra, he was too busy inside his wagon, writing down the events of the day. He had been writing since he came back from the grasslands, filling two whole Rimar skins, with details of his observations of Sandjar interaction with humans.

He wrote information about their feeding habits and growth patterns, he calculated their strength and endurance, their vocal ranges and their coloration. He compared their tolerance to heat and cold, with other species who were classified as being of the same Order. He wrote about, the way Endo walked and talked, how he slept and the way he moved his head to one side and the soft purring sounds he made as a baby.

He omitted one thing, he did not write of how he felt now his son was gone. _It_ _is not, important;_ he thought; _there is no scientific information to be gained, by writing about my feelings._ He continued writing, he calculated the total number of Sandjar, how much food they could eat in a single cycle and how they preferred to sleep in warm sand.

He stopped writing and looked over at the empty mattress next to his own. He put the Rimar skin down and let the inscriber fall from his tired hand, _n_ _o one will care;_ he mused; _in a thousand years who will care?_ He put his hand over his eyes and wept.

The universe has seen many tears, they fell for happiness or sadness, for joy or sorrow and for pain or suffering. Sometimes they were for feelings that could not be understood but that did not matter to Osh. His were the tears of an old man who had lost his only son.

Obec could hear the Handmaiden's slow rhythmic chatting, as they prayed for the souls of Seeda and Almec. They recited words to appease the Gods and ensure a safe passage from this world to the Golden Halls of Isarie. They lifted sweet smelling incense and sacrificed Burrow-babies, Rimar meat and the blood of a full-grown Whiptail, so the warrior's souls could drink and be strong.

It was not a sad time for Obec, on the contrary, the Princess' death would only make her plans more secure. She knew the King would be weaker now, he would question himself as a strong King and as a brother. The old woman sat down on her chair, she picked up a small clay cup, half full of hot Deep-root tea, the taste of dark drink made her feel good.

_The King's love for his sister and the Half-Soul, will make him weaker in days to come;_ she thought; _by the time we reach the Omargash mountains, he will be even weaker._ She took another sip of her tea; _Agart will not tell his brother that his sister, is now a Sin-Craver, I will let him think his secret is safe._ Another sip. _Then when the time is right, I will use it against the King. Then I will deal with the Queen._ Sip. _She is afraid, I will use that fear to drive her away._ Sip. _Isarie will smile on me, I am her right hand._

"Holy Mother?"

Obec looked up to see a Handmaid at her chamber's entrance, the young woman did not look at her face when she spoke, keeping her head low.

"The Holy Mother, Omani is here as you requested."

"Show her in."

The Handmaiden drew the curtain back and a tall thin woman, entered the chamber. She was dressed in the dark red robes, worn by a High Priestesses, when an Outlander died.

Omani held her head high and looked directly into the old woman's eyes. Unlike most Outlanders, she was not afraid of the Gods, or the power of Obec. She did not wait for Obec to ask if she wanted to sit down, she sat.

"I'm so glad you came," the old woman said, smiling.

"How could I refuse," Omani replied; _she is crafty, be careful with your words._

"Would you care for some Deep-root tea?" Obec asked, as she reached for the pot of refreshing drink.

"No thank you," was the reply.

"I'm sure your tribe keeps you very busy, so I will not keep you long," Obec smiled as she poured herself another cup of the dark tea.

"As you wish," Omai said; _she smiles but I know her mind and darkness lives there._

The old Priestess settled back in her chair, she spoke in a slow quiet tone between sips of her drink, "Why do you go against the Gods?" she asked.

Omani shifted in her seat, her hands closed around her chair's carved handrails.

"I do not go against the Gods, I walk by their side," her words did not show the anger she felt; _the old woman is trying to anger me, do not let her inside._

Obec took a small sip of her tea, "If you walk by their side, you walk in the shadows."

For a moment there was silence as the two servants of the Gods looked at each other, Omai spoke first.

"We are not children, we can speak plainly," she said, "In the Chamber of Isarie you spoke of an alliance with the Shadow-men. I held my words then but I shall speak them now, it must not happen!"

Obec's face showed no sign of anger but inside it was a different matter. _She will not let the Ozendra join with us, she is not one of us, "_ We need the Shadow-men to remove the Off-Worlders from our lands."

There was a long pause while the two women looked at each other. Omani leaned forward in her chair, "You see with one eye of the Goddess, I see with the other. Together we may see what is clear," she said, she pressed her thin back into the soft chair cushions.

Obec studied Omani's face for a moment, she saw the look of determination in her eyes and the way she sat in her chair. This woman will not bend; _she will bend or she will be broken, "_ You know as well as I that we are made from the same clay as the Shadow-men."

Omani's face was ashen, she looked around the chamber, looking for anyone who might have overheard. She turned back to the High Priestess and spoke in a hushed tone, "Those words are never to be spoken" she said and then looked around again.

Obec took a long sip of her tea, "Yes I know, only the High Priestess of each tribe, knows the truth but it is the truth never the less."

Omani's eyes closed and she spoke softly, "When we became a High Priestess, we took an oath before Isarie, never to reveal the Shadow-men's true heritage, never to tell admit they are our children. The Outlanders, must never know and that is why, we cannot join with them."

The old woman could in Omani's face that she would never change her mind, it was pointless trying. Obec smiled and relaxed back into her chair, "Perhaps you are right," she said, "I am an old woman and my mind may, be weakened by my years, forgive me for asking about what cannot be done."

Omani watched Obec slump back into her seat, she saw her face soften and her piercing eyes look upwards, as if asking the Gods for help. _She is tired;_ she thought; _she has lived many cycles and now they weigh upon her, the Book of Isarie tells us to help those who need help. "_ Isarie is merciful, she will forgive your weakness," she said.

Obec smiled and then straighten up in her chair, "Yes, she is merciful," she said, "Now please share a cup of tea with me and let us praise the Goddess together."

Omani's face showed kindness, "Yes, let us drink and forget the heavens for a moment."

Obec picked up the pot of hot tea and poured it slowly into a cup for her guest. She handed it to Omani, with one hand over the top, Omani didn't notice her drop a small black crystal into the drink.

"This is the finest Deep-root tea in all the Outlands," she said proudly, as Omani took the cup from her hand.

Omani held up the cup and smiled at Obec, "Let us drink and be content," they both drank.

Obec settled back into her chair and watched Omani, until her eyes showed a faint hint of pain. She lifted her hand, as if to ask for something, then she fell limp. The High Priestess' mouth opened slowly, as if to speak but no words came out, only a faint rush of breath. Omani stiffened and fell from her chair onto an ornate rug on the floor.

Obec watched her die! She sat for a while looking at Omani's crumpled body. She sipped her tea until it was gone. She went to her chamber's dividing curtain, she opened it to see a Handmaiden who she summoned.

The young woman came quickly, she let out a gasp when she entered the chamber, "What has happened to Omani?" she asked.

Obec smiled and spoke softly, "Isarie has called her home."

The Handmaiden ran to fetch help, Obec looked at her former rival's lifeless body; _Isarie will cry for her. The Goddess is merciful;_ she thought. _I am the right hand of the Goddess, am I not._

As Anais lay in Soffca's sleeping chamber, he could hear activity from the Holy Mother's tent. He heard the Handmaidens crying out that Omani, the Holy Woman of the Ozendra was dead. Then the clanging armor of the Thungodra, as they raced in, to see if an intruder had slipped past them, to assassinate the Priestess.

A small grin moved across his face. _Someone has died;_ he thought; _what does it matter, someone always dies._ He looked at Soffca's face of as she slept naked beside him. He reached out and touched her long dark hair, his hand moved down to touch the attractive tattoo just above her eyes. _Seeda is gone, yet I feel nothing, when I die, will anyone weep for me?_ He ran his hand down her soft back; _my mother, my brothers, they will not care when I die, as I will not care, when they are dead._

He moved his hand back up to her face again, her eyes flickered open. Anais looked deeply into them, trying to see into her soul, "Do you love me?" he asked, in a soft voice.

Soffca smiled at him, she touched him lightly on the cheek, "Yes," she said.

The young Prince waited for the words to sink in, "And will you weep when I am gone?"

"Yes," she said once more.

Anais heard the words he was longing to hear, he leaned over and kissed her; _she loves me;_ he thought; _she will weep for me when I am gone._ He kissed her again and again, if there was no one who cared, when he died, it did not matter, he felt nothing for anyone anyway. If he could have looked into his own dark soul, he would have seen a dim light. It pierced the blackness, one small burning flame, it was created by one person. Soffca!

It was still a dim light, not easily seen, he would need to look very hard, at the moment his soul was filled with lust.

There was one person who wept for Seeda, Egmar sat alone in her tent. Outside the night sky was heavy with cloud and the air was moist, a summer rain was coming. It would do little to change the Almadra Queen's mood. Silently guard kept people away while Edgar grieved. The sharpened head of their war-axes pointed upwards, a sign of mourning for a fallen warrior.

Nearby Touch-tenders sang softly and the Elders of the Tribe placed field flowers and glowing braziers of rare incense, to show their sadness and respect. Soon the offerings were piled so high that some had to be taken away, to make room for more.

The High Priestess, sent several painted red Handmaidens to chant rituals next to the tent, to guide Seeda's soul to the Golden Halls of Isarie. They offered small bowls of incense to the night sky.

Egmar could smell the sweet odors but all the songs, chanting, and flowers did little to ease her pain.

She sat on the floor, her face wet with tears and her hands were upon a small wooden chest. The Journey-Box kept by all families of the tribe. The Journey-Box contained heirlooms and small treasures that formed a link between the present and the past. In the oil lamp's dim light, the old Queen looked at the ornate carvings on the lid, some of them scarcely visible now. Worn by many years and the many hands that held the box. Its silver inlays, were a little tarnished but the gold handle and hinges were still bright and shiny.

Egmar ran her hands over the family crest, carved into the lid. _How many other women have done this_? She thought. She could recite the names of twelve generations by heart but her family went back many more, she needed to look in the Book of Isarie to find them all.

_How many women will know my name;_ she asked herself; _Seeda, my little Saduk, why did you leave me, to who will I give this box now, who will give it to their daughter and their daughter after them?_

She carefully opened the lid, the aged hinges, made a slight grinding noise, Egmar laid the cover back so it would not strain the metal fastenings. She took out one of Arn's teeth, a green idol that belonged to Agart and the trouble vessel she'd traded for, as a gift to Anais, she looked at them all.

_My sons, my sons, will your daughters, care for this box like I have, will they know our family's names?_ She took out a small wooden ax, Karn had carved it for Seeda, when she was a girl. She looked at it and smiled. _You are in the Golden Halls of Isarie now, my precious Saduk, you are sitting with your father and singing the songs of our tribe_. She closed her hand around the little toy. _Wait for me my daughter, I will come. I will hold you and you will hold me and together we will lie in the Goddess' arms for all time._

She closed her eyes and listened to the storm clouds breaking overhead, she heard the sound of soft rainfall on the tent. She knew the water would cause the field flowers to bloom and the Balbar trees to fill their branches with fresh fruit. _We are like those trees;_ she thought; _our branches are strong and will bear many children, there will be others to carry the box, we will grow...we will grow._

She began to cry the tears of a mother, for her lost child. They were not, the tears of the Goddess, they would not give life. They were the tears of a mortal but they were still precious.

The morning found the grass in the Valley of Darmock, fresh with dew, the soft rain of the night before, filled everything with new energy and life. The Whiptails, were roaring and pawing the ground with their heavy clawed feet, they beat the ground with their spiked tails, in anticipation of the journey to come.

The warriors had almost completed preparations for leaving the Eye of Isarie, they carefully folded and packed their tents into the wagons. They checked and rechecked their saddles, loading them with the previsions needed for the long trek. The Trofars were milked and to make sure they were in a good mood for pulling the wagons, given extra grass to eat.

To protect the tribe in case of a raid by the Shadow-men or any other enemy, the Spike-backs were loaded with the heavy guns and ammunition. Near to the Spike-backs and under their protection were the Grana wagons. They no longer contained the metal gathered from the Drop-ships, it had been used to make repairs and new weapons. Now they were filled with Stone Bread, it would be traded to the Ergan-Mar, the miners who dug for the precious Grana salt, in the far off mountains of Omargash.

The High Priestess' huge tent was taken down and all the hallowed statues were carefully covered and placed in the moving shrine. The Handmaidens were busy folding up the tapestries and rugs and securing them away. Their wagons, were made ready by the Thungodra, who also guarded the Holy Mother inside her moving home.

The Kings had met at the Talk-stone one last time. It was supposed, to be a meeting to pledge the peace treaty, for one more cycle but it had turned into a shouting match between Arn and Kadar. Once more Arn accused the Armrod of being responsible for his sister's disappearance and once again, the old King denied any connection with the missing warriors. More words were exchanged until daggers were drawn but for Agart's calming words, the scared stone would have been bathed in blood.

The tension spread throughout the tribes and everyone was on edge, as the sun's rose overhead and all was made ready to move.

Andra had been up before sunrise, she had put on her armor and riding spurs and tried to load Ashra-Doom's huge male Whiptail. She took advice from the warriors and made sure the creature was well fed and drank his fill of water. She checked his clawed feet for thorns or rocks, embedded into the thick souls. After several attempts she finally got his saddle attached and loaded the carry bags with provisions. More than once the beast tried to bite her, if she had been any slower, she might have lost an arm. Luckily she managed to keep all of her limbs and after a lot of effort, she finally had the beast ready to mount.

"Now just hold still and we'll get along fine," she said, looking into the creature's large yellow eyes. She grabbed the reins and lifted herself into the soft saddle but no sooner had she settled herself, than the creature gave out with a loud roar and jumped several feet into the air. Turning its back sharply upwards, it sent Andra flying, to land on the soft grass with a loud thump. Andra lay for a moment, to give time for her head to stop spinning, as she sat up and to look around, she heard a voice.

"He does not know you."

When her vision cleared, she saw Arn looking down.

"I was trying to introduce myself," she said, then held out her hand, for the King to pull her to her feet. Once standing she shook the last stars from her eyes and started back to the creature.

Arn watched as she took the reins into her hand again. _She is brave;_ he thought; _but she has to learn._ He went over to the Whiptail, as it pawing the ground, "He does not know you and will throw you off again," he said, "You need to show him you are his new rider."

Andra was about to try again but she stopped, realizing it was better to take the King's advice, "How do I do that?" she asked.

The King smiled at her, then took the reins from her hand, "Ashra-Doom was three times your size, the beast thinks you are trying to steal him, you have to be wiser than him."

"Yes," she smiled, "but there's only one of me and I don't eat that much."

Arn gave her a grin, then looked around the campsite, he saw what he was looking for, "A Whiptail is like an enemy, sometimes you have to trick him," he said.

Andra watched as Arn went to a pile of large sacks of Kasha grain, waiting to be loaded onto the supply wagons.

He picked up one of the bags, then brought it over to the beast. He lifted the heavy bag up and placed it behind the creature's saddle. "The weight of the grain, will make the beast think you are Ashra, Every night, remove some, of the grain, in a week he will accept you as his master."

Andra had to admire the King's ingenuity. _He is smart as well as handsome;_ she thought; _I wonder what kind of children we could have?_ Before anymore thoughts of children could cross her mind, she suddenly stopped. _Something is wrong;_ she thought. She looked into Arn's eyes, her gaze was not returned, he was looking right through her. _Something is coming;_ she thought; _something to be afraid of._

The ground began to shake, slow at first, then more intense with each passing moment. In that space of time, Andra could almost see into her lover's mind, she could feel his mind and the image burning there.

Land-quake!

Then it hit, the earth began to move violently, Whiptails and Thundra beasts roared and their cries filled the air, they mixed with the wailing of older women and shouts of the warriors.

There was no need for the King to shout out orders, everyone knew what they had to do.

Run!

Warriors leapt upon their Whiptails and lifted their war-axes high, a signal, everyone should stop whatever they were doing and get away as fast as possible. Empty wagons went racing into the Greenland's, away from the breaking towers and cracking earth. Clouds of smoke and dust began to fill the air, as the Nomads ran for their lives.

Andra pulled herself onto the saddle of her Whiptail, she saw Arn leap onto his own beast. Turning the creature, she saw Osh urging his Trofar on, shouting at it to move. With the ground cracking beneath them, everyone headed for the open plains of Darmock.

The wagons rumbled over the breaking ground, children screamed and held onto their mothers. The Elders prayed for mercy from the Gods, tearing their hair and beating their chests. Many of the wagons, were swallowed up by the earth, they disappeared beneath the ground, while others broke wheels and had to be abandoned.

The warriors did their best to protect their tribe but there was no enemy to fight, only the shaking ground, an attack they were helpless against. Many Spike-backs stampeded into the plains, throwing the heavy weapons from their backs, overturning wagons and trampling Outlanders beneath their huge feet.

Throughout the Valley of Moke, creatures great and small, fled. Some dug deep into the ground, hoping to escape the terror, only to be crushed under tons of earth. The Rimar gathered together and moved like one giant creature. They went into the surrounding hills, looking for somewhere to hide but there was no escape from the rumbling death.

The Nomad tribes left the Eye of Isarie, they watched from a distance, as the tall stone tribal markers, came crumbling to the ground. A great roar filled the air, as the earth under them cracked and widened, to swallow the ages old stones, what had taken centuries to build, took only moments to be destroyed. The Talk-stone broke, it would no longer hear the words of the Nomads. It would never again, know what was in the minds of the warriors, who came to sit before it as they spoke to the Gods. Now it would only listen to the endless silence of the ages.

#  Chapter 28. The Sky-Riders

The Nomads have many ancient stories about how they came into being and the origin, of the many, different species surrounding them. It is mostly conjecture, having no real basis in science. Also, they do not seem to be interested, in separating fact from fiction, they are happy in their beliefs and it would make no difference, if they were true or false.

From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

There had been many deaths among the Madrigal. The land-quake at the Eye of Isarie had been devastating, good warriors were now gone or wounded and tightly families had been torn apart. A good number of wagons and their supplies, were swallowed up by the earth, not to mention the loss of several wagons, full of valuable Stone bread.

The Nomads traveled northward for six days and nights, to escape the plains of Darmock, now they were entering the cloud topped Mountains of Kresh. The home of the mysterious Sky-Riders, a race of strange creatures, who lived high in the haunted expanse of rocky cliffs, rarely coming down from their airy homes. They rode giant Screechers, huge bat like creatures, raised from birth and trained to viciously attack on command.

The road was a dangerous one to travel but it had to be done, to reach the Forests of Omargash, then finally Koto-Car the place where the Grana miners lived. There they would trade the wagon loads of Stone Bread for the precious green salt.

The journey was a quiet one for the Almadra, there wasn't time to stop and mourn the loss of their people, or to perform the rites of the dead. They had to keep moving, time was growing short and there were a multitude of things to be done, things that would not wait for a glad heart.

Andra had taken Arn's advice, she'd removed a small portion of Kasha grain each night and now the Whiptail was hers, it did as she commanded. Now and then, it tried to bite her but now she knew the tell-tail signs, when the creature was in a foul mood. It kept her limbs safe.

Andra rode beside the King, her presence at the head of the tribe, was still a sore spot in some warrior's minds. Most came to accept her role, as the King's consort, they remembered Ashra-Doom's fate and did not want to challenge her. Others remembered how much they'd lost, wagering against her, they wanted revenge, for their bad luck.

Arn watched Andra's riding progress, she fell off twice while the big Whiptail got used to its new master. Every time she was thrown to the ground, she got back onto the beast. The King, was impressed by her courage and stamina. Now as they rode with the steep cliffs on either side, he could not help but to think back to his childhood and how his father had taught him to keep fighting, no matter what the cost.

Over the last few days the price of being King had been high. The loss of his sister and the strong warrior Almec. The Eye of Isarie falling and the distance growing between him and his brother. All of these things weighed heavily on his broad shoulders, the only thing that truly delighted him, was seeing Andra's face. When he looked at her, all the worries of Kingship, seemed to melt away, like the snow in the cycle of seasons.

_She would make a good mate;_ he thought; _but the laws of the tribe say..._ He remembered what he told himself before _...No more laws._

Andra sat in her saddle, listening to the slow padding of her Whiptail on the hard ground. She closed her eyes and started to count the slow beat of the clawed feet. One, two, three, four. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her side, her eyes flew open to see the point of Arn's war-ax, being withdrawn from her body. "Why did you do that?" she asked angrily, touching the small crack between the back plate and the front of her armor.

The King gave her a sharp look, "Do not listen to your Whiptail, it will drain your mind."

Andra realized she had been drifting, "Yes, you're right, thank you," she said.

"If you must think of something, think of sky and water and earth, let Isarie guide you." He looked over as she wiped her brow under her helmet; _s_ _he is a strong woman._ He saw she was about to lift her helmet off, "Stop!," he said, "Do not take off your helmet."

Andra stopped and looked over at him, "It's hot and I just wanted to..."

"Never take off your helmet here," he said, "This is the home of the Sky-Riders."

Andra looked up at the bright sky, "I don't see anything?"

"The riders come out of the sun and they like to collect heads," he said, "Keep your helmet on."

Andra did as she was told, even though it felt like her head was cooking, like a field cabbage in a boil-pot. She looked around at the steep cliffs. _If anyone wanted to ambush us, this would be the perfect place;_ she thought. _Steep cliffs and no escape, we would be lake birds at rest, "_ Is there no other way to reach Omargash?" she asked.

The King smiled at her, "Yes but it would take far too long, we need to get to the caves of the Ergan-Mar, as fast as we can."

Andra wiped her brow again, "Well as long as it gets us out of this heat."

The King looked at her, "Heat?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "On my home world it got very hot in the during summer but it was nothing like this."

Arn had to chuckle, "This is not your summer, the Burning Time will soon come and then it will get hot!"

Andra felt the rays of the suns on her face, like the blast from a blaze cannon. She looked up at the two burning disks in the sky, she then over at the King. _If I had to fall in love;_ she thought; _why couldn't it have been on a cooler world?_ She rode silently for a time, then to take her mind off her burning brow, she tried to think of something cooler. Just as she was filling her mind with the thought of snowflakes, Arn spoke.

"Tell me about your world."

Andra did not really want to talk about her home, it brought back too many dark memories but she something inside, made her answer anyway, "Selcarie was a wonderful place, we had green valleys and wide oceans. There were great cities with many people and the air was fresh and clear," she said; _all that is gone now, nothing left._

"Then why did you leave?" he asked, "was the hunting poor or did you need more Grana?"

She gave a little smile and shook her head, "No, there was plenty to eat and no one needs Grana there."

The King turned to look into her eyes; _the heat must be hard on her, everyone needs Grana, "_ Is the King on your world strong?"

"We have no King, everyone votes, to elect a leader," she replied.

The King was not sure if the heat was affecting her mind, the idea of not having a King was very strange to him, "Without a King how do you keep peace?" he asked with a chuckle.

Andra thought for a moment, "Well we elect a group of representatives and they meet to discuss things and then they pass laws, to make sure that everyone is treated fairly."

Arn listened, letting the words sink into his mind, "What if those laws are unjust, do you challenge those responsible to fight in the pit?"

"No, of course not," Andra replied, "you can't go around, challenging anyone who mistreats you to a battle to the death."

"Why not?" the King asked.

"You have to press charges against that person, then it goes before a court, where a lawyer speaks for you. Then another group of people, decide who is telling the truth and who is lying. If you lose, you can file for an appeal, to try your case again," she said rather proudly, "It's how things are done on most worlds."

The King nodded his head, "Now I understand why you came here," he said with a smile.

At the front of the column, behind the warriors, the tribe's wagons moved ever on wards. On the right between two wagons carrying water was Osh's wagon. He calculated that there might be a slight temperature drop, out of the direct sunlight, between the two large water containers. It might have been true in theory but he still felt the same, hot!

He held the reins in sweaty hands, to give him some relief from the burning light, he tried to keep his head under the sun shade he had made. Beside him was a clay pot filled with a mixture of water and Po. He took frequent sips of the liquid, as he went over many calculations, about how much heat a thin body like his, could tolerate before dying. He came to the conclusion that the temperature had to raise several degrees more, before he would be in trouble. That made him feel a bit better.

He looked at the empty seat beside him. _I wonder if Endo survived the earthquake;_ he asked himself; _I wonder if he found food and shelter, I wonder if he misses me, I wonder?_ He stopped himself from thinking about the young Sandjar; _it_ _will do you no good, he is gone and you must forget him._ He looked back into his wagon, he saw baskets of shell necklaces and piles of Rimar horn. There were also many Sun-dropper claws and Sagar teeth, laid out on an ornate rug. He smiled, he knew that wagering was an activity frowned upon by most scholars like himself but he was glad he'd placed bets on Andra to win in the challenge pit. It made him one of the wealthiest men in the tribe, knowing that lifted his spirits, despite what his colleagues back home might say.

He took another small sip from his water pot, then he began to calculate all the different ways of winning at Chance-cards.

Agart did not ride beside his brother, his Whiptail was next his mother's wagon. She had taken the Seeda's death hard, she was resting quietly in the back of her wagon, while a Touch-tender handled the Trofar's reins.

Agart wanted to tell his mother that Seeda wasn't dead but he held his tongue. He knew it would ease her mind but he knew, it was the right thing not, to tell her that her only daughter had gone against the Laws of Isarie but it troubled his mind.

_If I tell her that Seeda is still alive;_ he thought; _she will want to know why, she made herself an outcast. Then I would have to say, her soul had fallen to the red crystals and she was doomed to the Pit of Marloon._

The Prince looked up at the bright sky above and at the blazing sun's. _If I look at the suns I will go blind;_ he thought; _does looking at the truth also make one blind?_

It was a question to which he had no answer; _I wish the suns would burn such thoughts from my mind._ He lowered his head and listened to the slow footfalls of his plodding Whiptail.

The High Priestess' wagon rolled through the Mountains of Kresh, being surrounded by Thungodra, there was no fear of an attack from the Sky-Riders. The dark armored guards scanned the cloudless sky for any signs of the reptile men, they kept close together, listening for the high pitch screeching that signaled their flying enemy was near.

Inside the moving shrine, Obec sat in her ornate chair, gently turning the pages of the Holy Book of Isarie. She carefully lifted each delicate page until she came to the listing of The Chosen ones. Here she would write the names of the dead, so future Outlanders would see who came before them.

Next to her were two young Handmaidens, they would be ready to serve the Holy Mother at her slightest gesture. They watched her take up the long Arrow-tail feather in her thin hand, then dip the end into a small gold jar containing the fluid of Rock-worm heart. The dark blood was used for writing and it was also a deadly poison.

The old woman began to carefully write the names in the Holy Book, what the Handmaidens did not know, was that not all the names of the dead were written down.

Obec looked at the book; _Morban, yes he believed in the Gods and followed their teaching;_ she thought; _his name deserves to be in the book._ She took the quill and wrote his name on the thin of Rimar skin page. Then another name came to her mind; _Valcar, no, he once said my punishment of his son was too harsh, his name does not belong in the book._

Another name; _Carmorgon, Carmorgon? Her voice was not the loudest at prayers but she did bare three strong sons and they now serve me in the Thungodra._ She wrote her name in the book and so it went down the list of names. Some written and some not, it was not the will of Isarie that left out the names, it was the cold heart of a vengeful old woman.

Anais rode very uncomfortably in Soffca's wagon, the constant rocking and bumping over the rough terrain made him even more irritable than usual. To compensate for his bruises, he drank down several tankards of aged Po. Now he lay back on his mattress and tried to think of something better than the oppressive heat and his sore back.

He tried the usual things, how he would torture several warriors who had teased him as a boy, telling him, he would never be a good warrior and end up an Outcast and a Waste-Wanderer. He pictured them screaming, as they were being staked out over a Blaze-ant mound, or being thrown to a Sand dragon. He would love to see the look on their faces, as they were dragged down into the sand, to their deaths.

It did not seem as much fun as it used to be, maybe he was getting bored with his cruel imagination, maybe it was time to make his fantasies real?

He looked over at Soffca, as she knelt naked, washing herself in a large iron basin. He watched as she lifted handfuls of clear water onto her face, then slowly rubbed the dust and sweat from her eyes and mouth. He smiled as she dipped her long slim fingers into the water once more, then touched her lips and forehead in a silent prayer to Dietas, the water God for her gift.

_When I am King, she will be Queen;_ he thought; _she will be the perfect Queen, silent and obedient._

He watched her stand up and take a silver brush from a small stool, to comb her long dark hair. Her body swayed with the wagon's movement and she seemed to know when to bend this way or that way, to meet the ups and downs of the rocky road.

Anais took a deep gulp of his well-aged Po, then closing his eyes, he laid back on his rocking bed. _When I am King;_ he smiled to himself; _w_ _hen I am King._

Suddenly the wagon jumped violently as it hit a large rock, the tankard he was holding, shifted in his hand, its contents spilling over him and the bedding.

"Artock!" he screamed, as loud as he could, to make sure the driver heard him, "Watch the road!" Then he lowered his voice, "Fools all of them, I live in a nest of fools!" After drying himself with a rough towel, he watched as Soffca braided her long hair. Any other time, he would have been happy to sit and watch her but for now, he concentrated on how he would torture the wagon driver, when he became King.

As the columns of Nomads moved up the steeply inclined road over the Mountains of Kresh, Andra thought she saw a large bird in the air. She watched it circling for a moment or two, then looked over at Arn, she was about to say something but he spoke first.

"Yes, I see it," he said, "Do not look at it."

Andra could see that his eyes were fixed straight ahead not, at the sky.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A Sky-Rider but do not let him know you are watching him."

Andra did as she was told and kept her eyes forward, "Will he attack?"

"No, they do not strike alone," he answered, "He is scouting, to see who invades their mountains, if we continue without provoking them, we will be safe."

It was hard for Andra not to look up, even when the shadow of a winged creature, passed over her face, still she did not disobey the King. Then she could stand it no more, she turned her head to one side and saw a strange creature, sitting on a large outcropping of jagged rock. Deep-set eyes looked at her without blinking.

It was a mottled yellow, bat like creature, with large leathery wings and a nightmarish face with long fangs. It had clawed feet and even from this distance, she could smell decaying flesh. She had seen similar things on other planets, creatures that could only have been made by the feverish mind of a tormented God. Then she noticed there was an even stranger looking thing on its back.

It was a human of some sort but calling it human, might have been stretching the word a bit to far. It was about three feet tall and had the same yellowish skin, as the creature it rode. It had a large bald head, set with dark eyes without pupils, its mouth was more of a gash in a formless face. There was no sign of a nose, just two large holes where a nose should have been. It sat on the back of the flying beast, in a makeshift saddle of bones and matted fur. It made no sound but stared at them with unfeeling eyes.

Andra slowly turned her head to look straight ahead but she griped her ax tightly and strained to hear the sound of any movement from the creature. It did not move, it just sat watching as the Nomads passed by and only one of them looked in its direction.

As Osh's wagon passed the rock it was sitting upon, he stared at the strange creature. _An arboreal reptilian species with a symbiotic relationship;_ he thought. _It must have a very substantial lifting power._ He wanted to stop, to make some measurements, until he saw the beast's huge claws and decided against further investigation.

After the Outlanders had passed, the Sky-Rider pulled on his Screecher's reins and flew upward into the cloudless sky. Dipping its parchment wings the Screecher moved easily through the warm air. Soon it caught an updraft, holding out its long wings, it rode effortlessly upwards. It flew over the ridges of rocky pinnacles until it was high above the Nomads and the pass to the high plains of Omargash.

The Screecher dropped from the sky like a falling star, then landed on a cliff jutting over the barren lands below, all around were weathered caves and hollows, homes to the Sky-Riders. The sounds of many Screechers, mixed with the hot wind blowing from the North.

The rider climbed down from his mount, he walked in an off balanced manner, until he was standing by a worn statue of some sort of demonic God. It was misshapen and had a mouth filled with dagger like teeth. The rider bowed before the stone idol, then moved into a darkened cave. He stopped and watched as a tall figure, wearing a dark robe and hood came forward. As the figure held up a hand, rotting flesh and claw like fingers could be seen.

The Darkman approached the Sky-Rider and spoke to him in the sing-song language of his kind, "She sawnas misssaroco etarray nich," he said, then pointed to the Nomads who were now just specks in the distance.

"meesh etarray nich ticar," was the Sky-Rider's response. Then the creature turned away from the Darkman and went into the cave.

For a few moments, the dark robed man stood, looking out over the Mountains of Kresh, He did not feel the hot wind on his rotting face, nor smell the faint hint of burning weeds. He just stood like an evil God overlooking his dead domain, he glanced across at a sharp mountain peak and into the Land of Omargash. _The great dome;_ he thought; _the place where the lies begin._

With a flourish of his robe, he turned and walked over to the great winged reptile that had borne him to the Sky-Rider's caves. He mounted the huge creature and pulled hard on the nose chain. The beast let out a long high-pitched scream, then it rose sharply upwards into the sky, carrying its rider away from the Mountains of Kresh and towards the Land of Omargash.

Far from the Mountains of Kresh and the lands of the Sky-Riders, Seeda and Almec were leaving the Pass of Moke and were about to enter the Greenland's. Both of them were riding Seeda's Whiptail, the Land-quake had shifted boulders in the pass and one had come crashing down, breaking the leg of Almec's mount. They had no choice, other than to destroy the beast. As well as their Whiptail, they also lost some supplies and all their water. With luck they would find more on the open planes laying before them.

Seeda pulled back on the reins and her tired beast came to a halt, it slowly pawed the soft ground and snorted, as the Princess scanned the surrounding land.

"The Earth-shaker has gone, it will be safe to travel," she looked up at the suns overhead, "I think we can cross several more miles before Sun-fall."

Almec pointed to a stand of Balbar trees in the distance, "Make for those trees, there is sure to be water there, then at Sun-birth we can head..."

For a moment, he was not sure, which direction to take, a feeling he had never known before, it lasted only a moment or two, then passed, "We will spend the night in the trees," he said finally.

Seeda dug in her spurs and her Whiptail galloped towards the Balbar trees and safety.

Three more days passed before the Almadra had traveled down the Mountains of Kresh into the lands they called Omargash. This land was unlike any other Andra had seen on Gorn. It was a wide expanse of sand and rock, large jagged boulders dotted the landscape and all about were the rusting hulks of gigantic machines. They were not Drop-ships, they were far bigger than anything, Andra had seen on any world. They were even bigger than the titanic Youngonrie tanks, she fought against in the war. They stretched as far as the eye could see, some had large holes in their armored sides, the result of blaze cannons or worse. Whatever battle had occurred here, it must have been incredible, a war to decide the fate of a world or even a galaxy.

There were as usual Rimar, grazing on the low vegetation that grew around the bases of the rocks and in patches over the rocky terrain. They were not the great herds of the Greenland's but enough to supplement the nomad's dried meat supplies and allow the warriors to use some of their pent up energy. There were wild Spike-backs, Whiptails and many of the other types of smaller creatures that were everywhere on Gorn.

As the wagons passed one particular wreck, Andra saw what looked like a giant claw, thrusting out of the ground. Its half-moon like fingers, could have easily picked up a dozen or more Whiptails and their riders, then crush them like a human crushing a Blaze-ant. Andra looked at the giant claw then turned to Arn, "Why do you call this place Omargash?" she asked.

"In the old language, it means the place of screams," he answered, "they say it is where Isarie killed her father, to gain control of the universe."

Andra pointed to the rusting hulks around her."What are these machines doing here?"

"Those are the play things of the Gods," he replied.

Andra remembered her toys when she was a girl, she had a small stuffed Horca and several dolls, her mother gave her a Fluff-kitten but it ran off.

She knew these machines were not toys, they were engines of war and destruction, how they got here, she did not know. They passed in the shadow of one of the huge machines and for a moment they were out of the beating rays of the twin suns. The shade felt wonderful, relieving the burning heat that was slowly building up. It was welcomed by all, as the Outlander's wagons slowly moved into the Land of Omargash.

Andra could see a marked change in the Nomad's attitude. The young warriors argued among themselves and many fights broke out, some ended in bloodshed and there were some deaths. The Elders of the Tribe kept the children in their wagons and everyone seemed on edge. Even the King was showing a restless mood and more than once, he yelled at Andra for what she thought to be a minor offense. Andra rode beside Arn but she was careful with her words.

"How long will we be here?" she asked, as she looked around at the rusting machines.

The King did not look at her, "Not long, the Burning Time is growing near and we must trade with the Earth-eaters before then."

"Earth-eaters, who are they?" she asked.

The King turned towards her and half smiled, "The Ergan-Mar, the people who dig the Grana, we call them earth-eaters. They are malformed and smell very bad but we must trade with them for the Salt of the Earth. Surely you have such creatures on your world?"

Andra shook her head, "No we don't, well we do have people who dig underground but they mine for precious metals and they look like me."

The King gave a small laugh, "Your world sounds very strange," then he looked at her, "but I'm glad you left there, to come here, the Gods must smile upon you."

Andra was not sure who was watching her, all she knew was their gaze was very hot.

#  Chapter 29. Anoc time

To all things I give a time.

Join together and be all that I am.

Dance and sing and laugh.

Share the life that I give you.

For that time be as one.

From the Book of Isarie.

The Nomads had made their camp near the Breast of Isarie, a huge broken dome on the Plains of Omargash. In design and construction, it looked very much like the dome above the pit in the Valley of Omar-Ran. Instead of bones and stone, this dome was constructed from massive iron beams. It must have been far stronger than even the Itarian steel of the Outer Worlds, needing massive strength to support its now broken roof.

Once again, the Almadra wagons were placed around the imposing dome. The heavy guns on the Spike-backs, were pointed outwards in case of attack, behind them were the Outlander's tents and the High Priestess' Holy Shrine. The Whiptails were moved to one side of the dome, with the Trofar held together on the other side. With the tribe's usual efficiency, everything was in place very quickly and all was made ready for the Time of Mating.

The Elders put their tents far away from the warriors and took the children and the Frail-legs with them. They knew that violence would come with the Mating Time and they wanted to keep the weak and helpless, safe from the fierce emotions soon to be running rampant.

Andra sat alone by her Washa, she listened to the beating drums. In her fire's soft light, she saw brilliantly colored Onyx birds against the night sky. They flew low over the camp and calling out in a high-pitched, piercing screech. In the moonlight, she could just make out the great machines around her, they looked like nightshade monsters, risings out of the ground to destroy all above.

She was a bit uncomfortable watching the tribe's young women, wearing their robes backwards. It reminded her of the body-peddlers on her home world, lifting their legs as they walked, to show off as much skin as possible.

Andra was not wearing her robe with the slit up the front, in this heat, she had very little on underneath, just a small band of soft Rimar skin, nothing more. It was much cooler like that but it also made her feel vulnerable. There was a tingling in her stomach that she had not felt, since she was in her middle years. A warm feeling that made her think of strong arms around her waist and kisses in the hidden forest clearing, near to her home.

She remembered the first innocent kiss and the promise of things to come. She started thinking of Arn once more and the vision made her touch her lips with a fingertip _._

_Oh my God?_ _Y_ _ou are a schoolgirl;_ she thought. She took her finger away from her mouth and took a long drink of Po.

_Stop being so silly;_ she thought; you're _not a little child anymore._ Shaking the images from her mind, she looked about at the warriors, around her.

The young men no longer wore heavy armor, instead they had a small piece of Sager Cat skin, barely covering their genitals. She also noticed that they needed very little encouragement from the females, before they were touching and kissing. The hot wind blowing from the North, only added to their excitement, the air was heavily perfumed with sweat and the overpowering scent of lust.

For a time, Andra sat watching, the emotions exploding around her. She turned away and took a long drink from her mug of Po but still she could not help but notice, two half-naked young people near to her, holding each other and kissing deeply.

Then she heard an old man's voice, "It is their mating time."

She turned, to see Osh standing next her, he held a thin scroll of Rimar skin and some writing implements. He looked at her, then sat down on a fallen log near the flickering Washa fire.

"Once every cycle, the Nomads come together for their Mating Rituals," he continued, "It seems their metabolism is geared to produce high levels of male hormones, while the females, emit a pheromone that is irresistible to the men." He began to scribble on the scroll, "There are a very high numbers of casualties, as a direct cause of the Mating Rituals, it is a life or death situation to them."

Andra took another deep drink of her Po, the sour liquid seemed to ease the uneasy feeling in her stomach, "Well I've heard of meeting a man you could die for but I didn't take it seriously."

"Oh it is very serious," the old Callaxion said, nodding his large head, "To a Nomad mating is very important and somewhat complicated."

"Complicated, how?" she asked.

The old man put his writing down and looked at Andra with a slight smile on his face, "Well you know that a couple can be mated if one brings food to the other and they take it."

"Yes, I know that."

"However if someone else wants the same person, he or she can take the food away. Then it is a challenge, they meet in a combat to the death, to decide who gets the right to mate." He said proudly, "If they do not fight for their mate, it is a sign of weakness and they are branded an outcast, they must leave the tribe. The person who is being fought over, cannot refuse until the following day, then the mating rights are ended and they are free to leave."

Andra nodded, "Yes it's a bit complicated," she took a sip of her drink and looked at the old man, "Have you..."

"Mated?" The old man looked a bit annoyed at the question, "Certainly not! Callaxions do not have sex, we find it all too random and out of control."

"Then how do you...?"

"Reproduce?" he asked. He watched as Andra nodded.

"Well that is very interesting, cells are taken from the most intelligent of our species, then divided into learning abilities and adaptations. Then we splice them with segments of stored genetic material, then it is incubated in a controlled environment until an embryo is produced. They are studied further for mutations and...."

"Yes," interrupted Andra, "It's all very fascinating but it seems a little...well."

"Complicated?" he asked, then he smiled, "It is strange but in all the worlds I have visited, when you ask about reproduction, they always say the very same thing."

Andra smiled and held up her drink in a salute to the old man, "Yes and I'll drink to that," then she took yet another draft drink of her Po. As she lowered her mug she saw Arn coming out of his nearby tent. His armor was gone and his hard muscular body seemed to glow in the light of the campfires, around his waist he wore a wide hide belt with a large gold buckle and twin daggers. His long hair was held back from his eyes by a narrow gold band and around his neck, a small gold chain held his Journey Nail.

For a moment Andra did not know what to do, go over and wrap her arms around him, then kiss him hard like her heart wanted, or should pretend she hadn't noticed him. _The old man was right;_ she thought; _mating is very complicated._

He glanced at her and after a moment or two, walked to where she was sitting, his movements were like a strong young Sager Cat, measured and purposeful, he held out his hand. Andra looked at him, then without saying a word she took his hand and together they walked away.

Osh watched them go, then turned back to his writing. He had to smile, he always suspected that Callaxions, were the most advanced humans in the galaxy and as Andra and Arn disappear into the night, he was sure it was true.

The Thungodra allowed Agart to wait at the entrance to the High Priestess' Holy Shrine. He had to wait some time before a Handmaiden came, she told the guards to let the Prince enter. He was expecting the delay, not because of some pettiness by the Holy Mother but because he knew there was much to be done for the Mating Ritual.

He stood waiting in Obec's chambers, being reluctant to sit down without consent. He started to pace back and forth, not his usual way of waiting but he had been feeling tense and angry lately. His head filled with thoughts, he did not want in his mind.

One thought above all, seemed to echo over and over; _Arn is not The Chosen of the Gods._ Upon hearing those words, spoken by his younger brother, he had become very angry. Now things were different, Arn's infatuation with the Half-Soul, was going to destroy the tribe and that must not happen. _I promised to help my brother;_ he thought; _but I must help my people more._

He turned to walk to the other end of the chamber, when a curtain opened and Obec entered the room. She was ornately dressed for the Mating Ritual, with a tall gold and silver headdress and a long flowing robe of blue, stitched with silver thread. On her thin wrists she had several dark stone bracelets and her long gray hair, was wound with cords of small gold chains, around her neck hung a necklace of peerless Sagar teeth. She looked at the Prince and smiled coyly, "What can the Gods do for you my child?"

Agart did not look her in the eye, he concentrated on a small oil lamp, hanging from a support beam, "Is Arn The Chosen of the Gods?" he finally asked.

The old women did not answer right away, she left the words to hanging, to give her time to respond. She went to her chair and sat down, then slowly smoothed out the wrinkles in her robe, "No," she said.

The words were simple and to the point but they cut into Agart'a heart like the edge of a war-ax. He tried not to show emotion and kept staring into the fervent fire of the lamp, "Then why did you proclaim him King?" he asked.

The Holy Woman sat back in her chair, she placed her claw like hands on her lap. "The Gods ask us to do many things, things that we do not want to do but our eyes are not, the eyes of the Gods and cannot see what they see."

Agart listened to her wise words, "I see the here and now and I see my brother being turned away from his people by a Half-Soul woman."

Obec saw the look in his eyes. _He is jealous of his brother and thinks the woman will force him to betray his people, I can use this for the will of Isarie._ She leaned forward and her words were soft and low, "The Gods made your bother King but that was in the past, for all things there is a time. It may be right for another to take his place."

When he heard those words, Agart stopped looking into the small flame and turned to look at the Holy Mother. _S_ _he wants me to betray my brother_ , he told himself. _She wants me to take his place and become King, can I do such a thing, can I choose between my brother and my people?_

The old woman toyed with the Sagar teeth around her neck, "Your brother is King but he is not The Chosen of the Gods. Now you must make a choice, to let a Half-Soul come between you and your brother, or save him from himself, to save your people."

Agart looked around the chamber, he could see many small icons of their Gods and deities. His gazed fixed on a golden statue of Isarie; _I must help my brother, I must save my tribe._ , "What must I do?" he asked in a soft voice.

With those words, his mind seemed to clear, there were no questions any longer, only a road that must be traveled, to a place only the Gods knew.

Obec smiled at the Prince; _I am the right hand of the Goddess and he will be my weapon._ She pointed to a chair, "Sit and we shall talk."

All was quiet around the Queen's tent, the warriors had gone to the great Dome and only a few Touch-tenders remained outside, in the event that Egmar needed them. To pass the time, the Touch-tenders sat telling stories of other nights and other Mating Rituals, they passed each other slices of warm Kasha bread, dipped in spicy fish sauce.

Inside the Queen was busy, tidying up and putting things in their proper place. It was well known, that she liked to have an orderly tent. When all was done to her satisfaction, she sat on a small wooden chair and rested.

As she looked around, she seemed to hear the voices of her children playing outside, she remembered how they would laugh and pretend they were being attacked by the Shadow-men and how.... She stopped reminiscing and closed her eyes. _So long ago;_ she thought; _so many cycles, where did they go?_

She did not know if she had fallen asleep for a moment but she heard a voice calling.

"Mother?"

She opened her eyes to see Seeda standing before her, she was dressed in her shining armor and holding her war-ax. Rather than being frightened of this ghostly image, the old woman smiled to see her lost child, "I am here," she said softly.

Her daughter held out her hand, "I will wait for you," she said.

Egmar smiled, then closed her eyes, when she opened them again, the image was gone. Although she was alone in her tent with only her memories now, she did not cry. She felt satisfaction, certain in the knowledge that someone would be waiting in the Golden Halls of Isarie.

In one of the broken tunnels that led into the Almadra Mating Dome, two lovers waited quietly. Arn and Andra, were out of view of the other warriors, who were moving into the giant structure to start the rituals. Andra sat waiting for the King to speak, she noticed his eyes seemed to be darting around, as if he was waiting for something to attack them. In the distance, she could hear the call of tribe's large drums, their beating seemed to coincide with the hammering of her young heart.

As she looked at the King, she suddenly felt afraid. Maybe it was the way his hand kept closing, then opening and then closing again, as if he was squeezing the life out of some creature or enemy. She saw the knots of corded muscle, rippling up his thick arms and knew he could snap her neck in an instant, if he wanted, she could run but where could she go? He would easily run her to ground, before she got any distance away, so as she looked at him, she put one hand on the hilt of her dagger.

Andra watched the King begin pacing back and forth, he turned to her, "What are the rituals on your world for being mated?"

Andra felt uneasy as she answered, "You mean when a man and a woman want to spend their lives together?"

"Yes," he answered.

Andra cleared her throat nervously, then spoke at a slow deliberate pace, while she tried to remember what her mother had told her. "Well, firstly the man takes you out for walks in the moonlight, then after a time there is kissing and hugging. Then more time until he asks you to marry him and then he gives your parents several Horca and a set amount of trade goods, depending on how much..."

She looked into his eyes as she talked, she could see, he did not understand a word she was saying. She stood up and moved over to him, her hands let go of her dagger and she felt a calm come over he. "On my world we love like you do, our hearts lead us and we follow," she said.

_There are no Half-Souls;_ he thought; _we are not The Chosen of the Gods, the Heart of Isarie beats for all of us, love is stronger than any law. The_ words of his mother, rang in his head as he took Andra into his arms, "I do not know your Gods or your ways," he said, "but I love you and I ask you to be with me."

Andra regarded his eyes thoughtfully and saw her reflection in them, she held him close, "I will stand with my King," she said softly.

Arn took her by the hand and led her out of the tunnel into the Great Dome. He walked a few paces then stopped, he looked up, through a large broken portion of the curved ceiling, at the night sky. He could see the moon called Ashsana and he pointed to it, "You see that moon?" he asked.

Andra looked up, "Yes, that's the moon you call Ashsana."

The King smiled, "Yes, when her face shines over the Great Dome, we choose our mates, I will choose you."

She suddenly felt her face become hot and the heat was not from the wind blowing from the North, it was her feeling for her love; _I am loved._ Under the night stars and the face of Ashsana, they were mated, at least in the mind of the Off-Worlder.

The King held Andra close and kissed her lips softly, they parted and he gazed into her eyes, "When the time is right, this is what you must do."

Under the Breast of Isarie, the Almadra Mating Rituals, were about to begin. The Handmaidens, had prepared the traditional feast for the warriors, they had killed the Malock, the Holy Spikeback, kept in a special wagon and not allowed, to walk. Over many months, it grew huge on Meadow grass and Kasha bread, now it had been ritually slaughtered, stuffed with a mature Flame-Crest, taken from open plains of the Greenland's. This in turn, was filled with nine young Burrow-babies, bathed in fish sauce. Then the whole carcass, was rubbed with Ulon spice and Grana and slowly roasted over an open pit in the middle of the Great Dome for a day and a night. The smell of the beast cooking, only enhanced the excitement of the already agitated warriors.

The females no longer wore their robes, only a tiny strip of Rimar skin to cover their genitals and a small belt to hold their Dragons-teeth. Their long hair was undone and moved like meadow grass in the wind. They still wore the Journey Nail around their necks but alongside it, hung a small golden bell. As they moved it tinkled out a little song, it was known as the voice of Shawcona. It was said, that its delicate chime could drive away a demon.

The young women formed into a group, near the cooking Malock, they swayed gently to the beating of the Mating Drums. They lifted their strong arms to the night sky and called upon Shawcona, the Goddess of Love to watch them dance. Their movements were soft and graceful, like sky birds on the wind. They closed their eyes and moaned softly, letting their firm breasts sway gently. They listened for a time to the chiming bells, letting their sweet sound fill their souls and call up the passion from their wanting bodies. After a time, they started moving their hands over their skin, then in time to the pounding drums, they lifted their legs high, then brought them down hard onto the ground. They did this again and again, until there was a gentle cloud of dust around their feet, at the same time they swayed gently and soft moans escaped their lips.

Eager men stood around the women, clapping their hands together or beating their fists against their naked chests. They grunted, ground their teeth and lifted their heads high, to cry out in an animal roar that echoed their emotions. They wore their Journey Nails around their necks and the Dragons-teeth in a wide belt. Only a band of Sager Cat hide, held their now eager manhood's in check, their eyes were filled with one emotion only, lust!

The Anoc time was a night of body over mind, a time of madness and desire, a time that knew neither love nor kindness.

Anais lay in Soffca's tent, he drank heavily of Po, until he was seeing small demons moving about the room. He could hear the faint beating of the Mating Drums but it did not fill his heart with lust or even warmth, all he felt was anger. _Fools;_ he thought; _silly fools, there are no Gods to dance too and the beating of drums will not make it so._ He took another long drink from his cup _. I am no fool and you will not see me, naked under the empty sky, like a Sin-Craver in the streets._ He turned over on his soft bed and fell asleep listening to his own unloving heart beating slowly, in a song no one would hear.

Obec had seen many, mating times and she knew that a new generation of The Chosen, would be born from this meeting. Surrounded by the Thungodra and her Handmaidens, she sat on a stone dais, high above the multitudes of men and women, soon to be in the throes of the Mating Ritual. Her heavy stone chair, was directly in front of a large copper gong that hung from a massive wooden beam, supported by two columns of stone. It bore a strange symbol of a large spider, surrounded by many figures, both male and female. The intricate design and workmanship, made it seem to have been made by a God's hand, not one of this earth.

The Holy Woman watched the warriors surrounding her, she knew they were almost ready to begin, she looked up at the night sky and the pale surface of Ashsana, it was almost directly overhead.

_The time is almost here;_ she thought; _I am the right hand and I shall hold the weapon._ She looked over at Agart, standing near the dais, she saw the look in his eyes and how his fist opened and closed. She could see his chest rising and falling and knew he was ready, to allow the seed she had planted in his mind to grow.

_How powerful the Gods are, Horcon chooses the roads we must take and I point the way;_ she smiled to herself; _I am the right hand of Isarie and I will do what must be done._

Arn and Andra, moved past the eager throng of lustful male warriors, who surrounded the females. As they passed, several young men tried to grab the Off-Worlder but a look from the King and a blow to the side of the face, soon put an end to their pawing.

Although Andra was frightened, she did not show it, she walked beside Arn, holding her head high. If an Outlander had seen her now, they would never have guessed that she was a Half-Soul. _Remember who you are;_ she told herself. _You are lieutenant Andra Oseira, first infantry division, Omega Five, Moonbud the flower that kills. Dance, take the food, do not let anyone take it from you._ She had rehearsed the Mating Rituals, over, and over in her head but there had been very little time. She hoped, she would remember everything she had to do.

The King and Andra moved in front of the warriors, he looked at her, his voice hardly audible above the surrounding noise. "Remember what I told you and all will go well," he said, then he smiled at her, "You are Moonbud, you are strong."

Andra took a deep breath, "I will remember." She walked away from him, towards the young women, after a moment's hesitation, she let her thin robe fall to the ground. Except for the small band around her waist, she stood naked _._

_Remember Arn's words;_ she told herself; _you are not a schoolgirl anymore._ For a moment she stood still letting the warm wind blow across her naked body and through her hair, then she closed her eyes. You are Moonbud, now dance!

Listening to the slow rhythmic beating of the Mating Drums, she lifted her arms up and started moving her hips from side to side. _You are strong, dance._ She listened to the sound of the drums, she could hear the small bells ringing, as warm bodies moved around her.

Ting, ting, ting.

_Listen only the bells;_ she told herself; _forget all else, only the bells._ She listened intently and her fears slowly melted away, she felt a part of everything around her, no longer an outsider. She was one of many, her small naked feet began to move and she could feel the warm earth underneath her toes. It felt good, it felt alive.

Arn watched his love moving to the sound of the Mating Drums. He let the weight of Kingship fall from his shoulders, he felt only the beating of his racing heart and the hot blood rushing through his veins. The entire world seemed to stop, there was no future or past, no Gods or demons, no Afterlife or endings, there was only the sound of the pounding drums. He began to clap his hands and beat his foot upon the ground, he let the pungent odor of sweat and lust around him, fill his nostrils and his soul, his mind filled with only one thought.

Moonbud, I must have her.

Obec watched carefully from her chair, she did not feel lust or love, she only felt a cold longing, a need for something she'd always wanted and she knew it would soon be hers.

Power!

She looked up at the night sky; _the time is now, let it begin._ She knew there was no need for talking, it would do little good anyway, her words would fall on empty ears. The warriors were now deeply into Anoc time, there was nothing to be said. She motioned to the Handmaiden beside her, "Let it begin," she said in a low voice.

Soffca came forward, she was completely naked, her body covered in red powder and her long hair was pulled back from her slim face by a gold ring. She was carrying a large wooden mallet. She bowed once then looked at her mistress, "As you wish," she said.

She went behind the Holy Women to where the giant gong hung and lifted the mallet. She struck the copper plate, with all the strength of her small frame, it emitted deep metallic sound that echoed everywhere. The sound drove hundreds of Night-criers that had made their home in the cracks and rain holes, out of the Great Dome. They swept low over the dancers then fluttered off into the star strewn night sky.

The beat of the drums became more intense now and the women warriors began to dance faster and faster. They lifted their arms high and moved their hips from side to side, thrusting them without care or thought. Their naked breasts were moist with sweat and they breathed the warm night air, in gasps of lust.

Andra danced under the night sky too, she forgot her nakedness and her mother's rigid upbringing and she let her inner self emerge. The wanton soul that had never been freed before, came out and moved her slim body, like a puppet-master moves his creation. She listened to the beating drums and forgot everything else, she forgot pain and sorrow, lonely nights and empty days, she forgot her past and all it had taught her. She let it all go and let the warrior's lustful scent and the beating of the Mating Drums, take their place.

Soffca lifted the mallet once more and struck the gong again. Bong! The sound of the drums went louder and louder.

Arn stamped his feet on the hard ground, he clapped his hands hard and listened to the beating drums. Around him, warriors shouted and cried out to the heavens and he did the same.

Soffca struck the gong again. Bong!

The drums beat even louder, the dancers moved faster and the warriors shouted like maddened Whiptails.

As the frenzy of lust and the sound of the drums reached their zenith, Obec lifted her wrinkled hand and called out in a loud voice, "Let it begin!"

The warriors cried out in one long animal scream. They moved as one, male, and female alike, raced to the fire pit and began ripping and tearing at the roasting Spikeback. Hundreds of strong hands reached out in a frenzy, they tore chucks of bloody flesh from the Malock carcass. When they were satisfied that they had enough, they moved away, holding their prize in clenched fists. It was like a Fang fish attack, wave after wave moving in and ripping at the huge animal.

Andra, was almost trampled by the mass of warriors, pressing in around the Spikeback. She stood her ground and managed to grab a fistful of half cooked meat, before moving back from the fray. She held the warm meat close to her body and more than once she had to defend herself from another naked female, who tried to take it, she was determined to keep what she had. Pressing through the mass of bodies, she went to an open space and quickly looked for Arn but she could not see him. A young male warrior hold up his prize of Malock meat to her.

_He is offering me food; s_ he thought; _d_ _o not take it._ She shook her head but the warrior made the offer again, this time she pushed him out-of-the-way and shouted, "No!"

She moved further away from the Malock and she looked around her once more. At last she saw the King, a short distance away. Feeling the lust swelling up inside her, she started pushing through the mass of naked warriors, holding the meat to her breast.

_Give the food to the King; s_ he told herself; _don't let anyone take it away._ She had almost reached the King, when she saw a young woman hold out food to him. For a moment, it looked like Arn would take the offering. _She is trying to take him from me, don't let her!_

Arn was deep in the mating trance now, he saw a woman holding out food to him, he could not understand why he should not take it; _take the food!_ Words pounded in his head, _mate, mate, mate!_

He reached out slowly and was about to take the bloody meat but Andra got there first, She said nothing but struck the woman hard on the side of the head, she went down like an axed Rimar. Andra looked at her, then turned to the King, "Who was that?" she asked.

The sight of his lover fighting for him, brought the King to his senses and he smiled, "Her name is Arie." Arn held out his hand, it held a small piece of Spikeback meat.

Andra looked at it for a moment _, it is not a Horca or trade goods;_ she thought; _but it is enough,_ she took the offering; _it is enough._ Suddenly someone took the meat from her hand, she turned to see Agart standing beside her. His eyes were filled with rage and his teeth were clenched so tight that the cords of his neck, stood out like bands of steel. He looked at her, "You are mine!" he said violently. He forced her other hand open and the food she had fought so hard for, fell to the ground.

Arn grabbed his brother by the arm and spun him around so he could look him in the face, "No! This woman is mine!" His voice was so loud, those warriors around him, turned to see who had made a challenge. They watched as Agart drew his daggers and planted his feet to face his brother, "If you want her, then you will have to take her," his lips were drawn back and his words came in short gasps.

Andra watched the King unsheathe his Dragons-teeth, then crouched low ready to strike. They moved around each other, trying to find a weak spot to attack. _My God!_ She thought; _they're going to kill each other;_ she did not know what to do. The frenzied warriors around them formed a circle and some began to shout for blood.

The King watched his brother's slow movements, he could see that this was not a joke or trick. Agart was deadly serious, so there was nothing to do but to fight and kill. _Can I kill my brother?_ Arn thought; _c_ _an I kill my brother?_ Hot blood pumped in his veins and he could feel the fighting madness, taking over his mind. Kill him, kill him.

He tightened his grip on the daggers and he was about to spring. He noticed his brother had lowered is right arm, just enough to make his neck an easy target, for a well-placed blow. _Kill him, kill him_. The words echoed over in his mind _. Kill your brother! The_ King's mind filled with visions of death and destruction, wave after wave of red ruin and chaos, he heard the screams of the dying and it was like music to his hears.

Kill him, kill him.

He raised his weapons and tensed his legs, ready to jump and drive the point of his blade deep into his brother's flesh; _k_ _ill him, kill your brother!_ Then he heard another voice, small and far away, it was like a faint echo in a dark cavern. _Your brother, he is your brother._

This was the time for which Obec had long waited, she rose from her chair and lifted her hand. The Handmaidens called out in one loud clear voice, "Hear the words of the Gods!" The Mating Drums fell silent and the dancers stopped dancing, they turned to listen to the Holy Mother.

The High Priestess looked down from her dais, torch lights flickered over the blue of her robe and flashed on the tall silver and gold headdress. Against the massive gong behind her, she looked small and fragile but her voice was strong and held the power of the Gods, "A challenge has been given, will the King of the Almadra fight?"

The warriors turned to look at their leader, their blood was hot and pounded in their ears. They waited for the King to accept the fight to the death, as any one of them would.

Arn looked at his brother's eyes, he could see the furious blood gaze, he had seen so many times before. The look was turned to him now and not their enemies; i _f I do not kill my brother, he will kill me;_ he thought. _Can I kill my brother?_ He gripped his dagger handle tightly and his fighting instincts began to take over; _k_ _ill your brother...kill him._

Time seemed to stand still, he saw the many days and nights when he and his brother, had sat beside the Washa fire, talking of their dreams and their adventures. He remembered the many times, they'd hunted together and the battles they'd fought side by side. He remembered all this in an instant, then he felt the weapon in his hand and saw his brother's face.

Suddenly he let the knife fall from his hand; _I cannot kill my brother, I am not the King of the Almadra._

Andra watched the blade fall to the ground; _h_ _e won't fight for me, I am not loved._

The old Priestess smiled as she saw the un-blooded dragon's tooth, lying on the floor of the Great Dome. She heard the gasp from the warriors, as they watched their King refuse to fight, she heard them grumbling and saw the scowls on their sweat stained faces. _The time is now._ She lifted her hand, "A challenge has been given and the challenge has been refused, Arn is no longer King, let all the Almadra now call him Outcast!"

Andra looked at the King, their eyes met but she could see no love there, only sorrow. She watched him walk away, she did not hear the men or women around her, crying out that the King had been defeated, she only heard the pounding of her heart and felt only the pain of each beat.

Obec watched as Arn walked away leaving the Half-Soul behind. _The Gods are wise;_ she thought; a _nd I am their right hand._ Her face showed a soft warm smile, it was not, meant to be seen by anyone, it was intended only for the Gods.

Arn moved slowly through the throng of warriors. He could hear them whispering and growling as he walked past but he did not listen to them or the curses that some of them uttered under their breath. It did not matter anymore, now he was an outcast, no longer a Nomad of the Outlands.

Andra watched him disappear into the mass of naked warriors; _I'm not loved;_ she thought. She turned to Agart who stood beside her, she looked him in the eye, "You will never have me!" Her voice was strong and did not show any of the pain that filled her young heart.

The Prince's face was no longer a mask of rage, he simply looked at Andra, "It does not matter," he said. He took her by the hand and they walked away from the Great Dome.

Away from the dome but near enough for her to hear the Mating Drums and the soft tinkle of the bells, Egmar stood quietly beneath the moons of Gorn. Her presence at the Mating Ritual was not required so she didn't wear the red robe or headdress of the Queen. She wore a simple brown garment, her hair pulled back by a golden ring. Her feet were bare, she only jewelry was the earrings, she had been given by Karn when they were mated and a small golden bell around her neck.

She was near to an iron beam, next to a cluster of large rocks, it was the place where she had first met her husband. She was just a young woman then and he was the son of a King. They had fallen in love just the same and when he brought her food while the warriors looked on, it was the greatest day of her life.

She looked around in the moonlight, for a moment, she thought she'd made a mistake and this was not the place of long ago. Then she noticed a symbol etched on the iron beam, it showed two figures holding hands. They were crudely drawn and looked like they had been drawn by a child rather than a Prince of the tribe.

_Karn was never good at drawing;_ she remembered.

She laughed a little and placed her weathered hand on the image. She held it there for a long time, letting her mind move back to those long past days, when she was loved and all the days ahead of them, seemed so far in the future _. I miss you my love. I have tried to be strong but the years have darkened my heart._ She took her hand away from the rusted iron and looked up at the night sky, "You and our daughter are waiting for me, you sit in the Hall of Isarie and sing the songs of our tribe."

Egmar walked a few paces and looked over at the Great Dome. She heard the slow beating of the drums and the soft tinkle of the bells, then she heard the loud sound of the gong being struck, once, twice, three times. The air was filled with the screams of the warriors and she knew that her son was mated; _our son has a strong woman by his side and she will help guide him when I am gone._

She looked up to the sky again, her eyes were wet with tears, "Forgive me Isarie, let me sit with those I love and let me hold them to my breast." _I miss the sea, I miss its soft sounds and its endless rocking._

The Queen mother began to dance, slow at first then as the sounds of the Mating Drums began to fill her soul, she danced faster. She heard the small bell around her neck calling out like a meadow bird in its nest, she moved faster and faster. She felt the years melt away from her aged body, now it felt like it did on the night she danced under the Great Dome for her lover. Her tears were soon dry, she smiled and started to sing the maiden's song.

Take me into your arms.

I am the wind and the rain.

You are the earth and the seed.

Together we are one.

Together we will grow.

She danced faster and faster, her naked feet glided over the rocky ground and she lifted her arms to the night sky. Her long hair flowed and sparkled in the moonlight, she laughed like she did when her heart was young and free. Her old body was no longer tired or afraid, she had shed her outer shell to let the newborn flower bloom.

Take me in your arms.

And let me feel your strength.

Let me dance in your heart.

As you will sing, in mine.

Together we will grow.

Egmar stopped and looked into the darkness, then as if in a dream, she saw a figure coming to her. A tall strong man holding out his arms, as he came close she saw his face, the face of her lover and King. She smiled and held out her arms to him, she spoke in a soft whisper that held all the love her heart had to give.

"Take me."

She watched as the figure started to change, her mind forgetting the image of the dead King, it was slowly replaced by the all too real figure of a tall man, dressed in a dark robe and hood. As he came closer she could make out the face under the hood, a face of horror and death, she opened her mouth to scream but a claw like hand covered her lips. As she looked at the man's dark dead eyes, she felt herself fall into the blackness of unconsciousness.

The Darkman looked at her face for a moment or two, then picked her up, like a man picks up a child. Silently, he carried her to his winged mount and they flew off into the night sky, leaving the dome of screams for the quiet home of the stars.

#  Chapter 30. The Oath of Blood

You are my children.

In you, flows the blood of my life.

Do not let that blood mix with those who are not my Chosen.

For their souls, are cut in two by their sins.

From the Book of Isarie.

Throughout the warm night, the Outland warriors danced and mated. The ancient Dome of Omargash, echoed to the frantic screams of men and women, as they let the heat of their passion, pour out into each other.

They devoured the pungent flesh of the sacred Malock and drank deeply of the Spikeback's red blood. They made frenzied love and danced wildly until they fell to the ground, utterly spent. The earth beneath the broken dome, was strewn with naked bodies, some living and some dead. Killed by the hand of their brothers or sisters, as the fire in their blood took control of their souls. Later when the veil of lust lifted from their eyes, they would mourn. They would be buried and songs sung in their honor but there would be no pity. It was their way and the way of the Goddess and it was written, that only the strong would survive.

When the last of the revelers danced no longer and their sweat-stained bodies were drained of all sensation, they closed their eyes and dreamed strange visions they did not understand. Their minds were filled with images of titanic wars and cruel death, they heard wailing screams in the endless darkness and flashing images of mysterious worlds beyond worlds. They fell through monstrous black holes of time and space, they danced on far away moons and brilliant stars and throughout it all they fought, they killed and were killed. Their hands were stained with the crimson blood of the worlds but they were not afraid, it was their life and their soul, nothing mattered but war and more war. The timeless universe was filled with unending death and they were the eternal reapers of that universe.

Through the crimson sky they saw an image, a figure moving in the turmoil of their minds, it came closer and then they saw its face. It was the face of Isarie smiling at them, they saw her warm eyes and heard the softness of her musical voice, she lifted up her hand and reached out and then she said, "The Gods will arise."

The Goddess reached out and touched their hearts, it warmed them in the darkness of eternity and beyond. As they stood feeling the warmth of a love that cannot be described, the image slowly broke apart and disappeared into the stars and there were no more dreams.

The night passed quickly and as dawn began to break over the Land of Omargash, the beating of the drums came to an end and all was quiet.

Obec had watched the Mating Ritual through the night, she saw her people choose a mate and fight to keep them. Around her, the Thungodra stood guard, even though they might be tempted to join the naked bodies around them. They had taken a blood oath, to protect the Holy Mother and they would keep it at all cost. They filled their ears with bark bee, wax so they could not hear the beating of the ritual drums, which would fill their blood with fire.

The Handmaidens also were unmoved, as the Almadra women danced and chose their mates. They had learned to control their instincts and passions and to obey the word of the Holy Mother. It was difficult for the young novices, to resist the call of their bodies. To keep their minds pure, they close their eyes, while repeating passages from the Book of Isarie. Still the lust was in them and it showed on their faces, sweat mixed with tears, as they stood through the night.

They did not dream or see the image of Isarie, holding out her hands to them. They did not hear she speak or see her loving eyes looking into their souls.

As the first rays of sunlight broke, the High Priestess rose slowly from her chair and stood gazing over the rocky ground beneath the Great Dome. She lifted her head high and in a loud clear voice she spoke, "Let it end." She turned to look at Soffca, who still stood, holding the large mallet.

The young woman looked back, "As you wish," she said. She went behind the Holy Mother, to the gong and struck it three times.

Bong...Bong...Bong!

As the gong's last echo died, the Holy Mother turned and walked from the dome. Her mind was filled with images, a vast sea of fire and steel. _I have done the will of Isarie;_ she thought; _I am her right hand._

The Touch-tenders reported that the Queen had not returned to her tent. They searched the entire camp, trying to find her but she was nowhere to be found, so they went to the King but he was missing too.

Before the first rays of sunlight broke over the Land of Omargash, Arn had saddled his Whiptail and left the Great Dome, with him went a dozen or more strong warriors. They had made a pledge to stand by their King and even though it went against the laws of the tribe, they gathered up their weapons and armor and rode out with their leader into the Wastelands.

Having no other choice, the Touch-tenders went to Agart and told him of his missing mother. The Prince immediately gave the order, for all warriors to search for the missing Queen. Though they had not slept, they obeyed their new King and rode out in all directions. They pledged to bring Egmar back with the heads of whoever took her.

Andra sat quietly in Agart's tent, the sunlight slowly filtered in, through the small gap in the entrance flap. She was wearing the same robe she wore in the Great Dome but her Dragons-teeth were not on her belt. She watched as Agart, poured a cup of warm Po, he walked calmly towards her and held out the small clay cup, "Drink," he said.

Andra struck out with her hand and sent the cup flying, it shattered against a support pole. She looked straight into the Prince's eyes and said, "If you touch me, I'll kill you," her words full of venom.

Agart moved a pace or two from her then said, "Unlike my brother, I would never mate with a Half-Soul."

For a moment Andra was confused; _he has me brought here but he doesn't want me, why?_

Agart poured a drink into a small gold cup, then turned back to face Andra, "You are wondering, why I would fight with my brother for you and then not want you."

The look on the Andra's face told him his statement was correct, "I challenged my brother to keep our people strong." He took a gulp of his Po, "You are a Half-Soul, no matter what name you are given or how many warriors you kill, you are not The Chosen of the Gods and never will be."

Andra stood up, "Then if you do not want me, I'll be leaving."

She headed for the entrance to the tent, when she lifted the flap, she saw two large warriors standing guard. They looked back at her and she could see from the look in their eyes, they were not going to let her pass. She turned around and went back to her chair.

"Arn will never let you keep me here," her words were strong but she knew they held nothing more than faith.

Agart took another drink from his cup, "Arn is no longer King, the laws of our tribe say that he is an Outcast, the Gods say that I will be the new leader."

Andra remembered what Osh had told her about being mated, "Then I challenge you!"

Agart came over and looked her straight in the eyes, "I will not toy with you like Ashra Doom, I will kill you quickly."

Andra did not know if he was bluffing or not but she knew his words held some truth. She decided to hold her tongue; _k_ _now your enemy;_ told herself; _find his weak spot then strike._

Before she could put any plan into effect, the Prince turned to her, "You are a Half-Soul and do not belong in the tribe of the Almadra, you and the old man, are free to go."

Andra did not ask questions, or wait for Agart to change his mind, she got up quickly and left the Prince's tent. She did not know where she was going, all she knew was that she could not stay with the Nomads any longer. She wished the Dropship, had crashed into the earth, rather than letting her live on a planet where she was not, wanted.

It had been three days, since Seeda and Almec had left the Pass of Moke, they'd traveled day and night since. On the evening of the fourth day, they were attacked by a large group of Sandjar. The little green creatures, had spotted the lone Nomads and set a trap for them, near a small water hole. When the Outlander's thirsty Whiptail came to drink, they sprung their trap and fell upon the two warriors. Their plan did not go as expected and their quarry escaped, killing several of them. They inflicted damaged on the humans and captured their food and supplies, it was a poor reward for their efforts but still something. The Sandjar watched the Nomads and their injured Whiptail, racing off towards the Grassland's and the Home of the Talsonar.

A day later, Seeda and Almec sat huddled around a small fire, built from a fallen Balbar tree and some Eul that was lying nearby. The night was very warm but they found the fire, very pleasant. They found a small rock outcropping, it gave them some protection against the wind and hid them from any creatures that might attack.

Seeda had a cut across her left arm and had several deep scratches from the Sandjar's sharp claws. Almec's leg was badly wounded, the injured was above his right knee but they were still alive. They sat treating their injuries with Rock-worm juice, Seeda squeezed the many-legged insect and watched as its juices dropped over the deep cut on Almec's leg.

"How does that feel?" she asked.

"Better," he replied and then he smiled, "You should have been a Touch-tender rather than a warrior."

Seeda picked up another dead Rock-worm that was lying nearby, she rubbed its fluid into her arm, "If I were not such a good warrior, we would be dead now."

Almec shook his head, "I am sure the Gods will say, I was the better warrior."

"What?" she replied angrily, "By my count, I killed six while you only had only four."

"Yes but I killed mine with one blow."

He smiled at Seeda and she realized he was just playing games, she made a grumbling sound under her breath, then continued to rub the Rock-worm juice into her arm. The soothing ointment slowly eased the pain in her limb and she laid back on a rock near to the fire, for a time neither one of them spoke, then Almec turned to her.

"How is the Whiptail?" he asked.

Seeda lifted her head and looked over at their mount, "She is injured but I think she will survive long enough for us to reach the Talsonar City"

"And if she does not, what then?"

"Then we will walk," she answered.

"And when we can walk no longer?"

"Then we will crawl!"

Again there was a long pause until Almec spoke again, "You should leave me," his words clearly and plainly spoken.

The Princess turned to her lover, "Your leg will heal quickly and you will survive, even if I have to carry you."

Another pause.

"We have no food and we are injured," he said quietly, "It is better that one should live rather than, two die."

Seeda did not look at him, "We will both live and no one will enter the Afterlife."

Almec turned his head away; _she will die if she stays with me, it is the will of the Gods that I die here._ He looked back at her, "You are a stubborn dull headed Spikeback that would rather fall into the Pit of Marloon, than admit she is wrong!"

When Seeda heard these words, she jumped to her feet, "And you are a weak backed Trofar that no longer gives milk!"

The two stared at each other for a moment but did not speak.

_He is trying to anger me;_ she thought; _h_ _e thinks I will leave him if he makes me angry enough._ She began to mumble under her breath, Almec heard her grumbling and knew why she was making such noises.

_She is trying to calm herself down;_ he told himself; _she needs more time to forget the feelings in her heart, "_ A Trofar would know better than to mate with you!"

Seeda drew her daggers and leaped upon the injured warrior, they rolled together over the hard ground, biting and clawing at each other. Then with a sharp movement of her legs, Seeda gained the advantage and found herself on top of her lover, with her knife at his throat. They lay there for a moment, each one glaring into the eyes of the other.

_Kill me and live;_ he thought.

_If I kill him I will die;_ she told herself.

She lowered her weapon, got off his chest and sat beside him, she laid back and looked at the night sky. She spoke in a soft quiet tone, "We have no home, we have no tribe, we only have each other," she looked at him, "There are no Other Worlds but you."

For a time they did not speak, they simply looked at each other. They found all they were looking for there. Worlds beyond worlds no longer mattered, they were too far away and too small to hold their love. They would find all they needed in each other.

Seeda took her dagger and made a small cut in her arm, carefully she directed a few drops of blood into Almec's mouth, "Our bodies are one, our souls are together," she said.

Almec tasted the blood and gazed into her eyes, "From long ago yesterdays and throughout all our tomorrows, we will be one."

They kissed, it was not the kiss of a man to a woman, or a token between to lovers. It was the kiss of two souls, who would stay together until their world was dust, throughout all space and time, until all the worlds beyond worlds were no more.

It was two days before the Almadra warriors returned to the Great Dome. They had searched the land far and wide but found no trace of their beloved Queen.

It was a painful for the tribe, to think they might have lost their Queen, as well as the King and the warriors who had chosen to go with him. There was nothing more to be done and they began loading their wagons, in readiness for their journey to the Land of the Ergan-Mar and then onward to the Hollow Hills.

Agart had not been officially crowned as King but he was the obvious choice, said the Holy Mother and no one wanted to challenge both the strength of the Prince and the power of the High Priestess. So the Elders of the Tribe, gave their blessing and bowed their heads to the will of the Gods.

The new King did not order a search for the Off-Worlder. She had gone with the old man, taking only her Whiptail and a Trofar to pull a wagon, full of supplies. The Callaxion acquired what they needed, by trading his vast fortune of Rimar horn and other items, for enough food and Grana, to keep them healthy for some time.

For Agart, it was better that way, he would be rid of the woman and the old man. He would not be blamed, as for his brother and mother that was a far different matter. He sat in a chamber of Obec's Holy tent and he started to question the wisdom of Isarie, "I did not want to become King, I only wanted to do what was right for my people."

Obec sat in her chair and listened to the Prince, as he told her what troubled him. She listened to every word but her wrinkled face, showed no sign of her feelings.

"If being King, means I have to see my mother and brother destroyed, then I do not want to be the Almadra's leader."

The old woman allowed a slight smile to show her face, "I have told you, we cannot see through the eyes of the Gods but I can tell you what they have told me. They say, Agart is King and that he will lead the Almadra in the ways of the Goddess."

The Prince tried to see beyond her words, into her heart but the old woman's eyes, were shut to him. _Is she lying to me and telling me only what I want to hear, can I trust her, can I trust her? "_ And what of my mother the Queen, is she dead or alive?"

The old woman closed her eyes as if to see the future, "The fate of the Queen is in the hands of Horcon but she is one of The Chosen and Isarie will smile upon her." _If the old Trofar isn't dead, she soon will be._

Agart listened to the High Priestess' words and her words seemed to comfort him, even though he didn't want them to. _I must trust in the Gods, they will guide me._ The prince slowly rose from his chair, "Thank you for your words. I must go now and see to my people."

The old woman lifted her hand, "Do not worry my child, her name and the name of your brother, will be written in the Book of Isarie, for all to see and to be remembered."

"Thank you your Holiness," he said, he bowed and left the chamber leaving the old woman alone.

Obec stood up and left her chamber, she walked past several Handmaidens, who were busy packing the sacred relics and making ready for the journey ahead. They bowed as she passed, then watched her enter the place, where the Book of Isarie lay on a stone pedestal. The old women went to the book and placed her hands on the golden inlaid pages.

"Talmec rasue etaris Isarie, I am your servant Isarie," she opened the book and looked at the names in the tribe's long past. "You made us The Chosen of the Gods, your book is the will of your heart and I will be your right hand." The old woman looked at the pages, which had the names of those who would be remembered. She did not pick up the writing pen or record any new names, she simply closed the book and left the chamber.

Andra and Osh, did not know where they were going but as long as it was far from the Almadra, they did not care. They headed North, or at least they thought it was North. They were heading in that direction when they entered into the Land of Omargash, so Andra figured it was as good way to go for now. She used a tall peak in the distance, as rough heading and guided her Whiptail towards it.

Osh had not had very much time, to make up his mind about leaving. He saw Andra hurriedly putting on her armor and loading her Whiptail, she said she was leaving the camp. He tried to question her but all he got was fragments of events and short answers, mixed with a great deal of profanity and her view of how untrustworthy men were. He could see that she was leaving and nothing would change her mind, so rather than be alone, he decided to go with her and leave his fate to chance.

Now as he sat holding his Trofar's reins, trying to match the pace of Andra's Whiptail, he calculated their odds on staying alive. _We are alone in a land we do not know;_ he thought; _w_ _e do not know where we are going, or what we will find when we arrive. We have no friends or any idea how to survive the Burning Time._ After he factored in all the variables, he decided their chance of survival was very poor, "Do you know where you are going?" he shouted out to Andra.

Andra pointed with the ax she held in her right hand, "Yes," she shouted back, "that way."

"And why would that way, be any better than the another?" he called out.

Andra turned in her saddle and looked at Osh, "Because I have a good feeling about it, trust me."

Osh thought about this for a moment, "Trust is a not very effective way of knowing, which direction," he said coldly, "It would be much better to have a precise heading before we undertake a long and dangerous journey."

He heard nothing more from Andra and decided that any further questioning would be useless, so he busied himself, trying to calculate how many ways a person could die.

As she guided her Whiptail, Andra watched the huge derelict machines around her. She knew they were wrecks and would never move again but that did not stop her from feeling anxious and a little afraid. It must have been the military training that kept her alive in so many battles, taking over and that was OK with her. Thinking about the past days and how her heart had betrayed her, only made her feel like an angry schoolgirl again. _How could I have been so stupid;_ she thought; _I let my feelings run my life, I should have been more careful, it won't happen again._

She could feel the intense heat on her helmet and was about to take it off, when she remembered Arn's words and stopped. _Maybe not everything he told me was a lie but from now on, I will not let my guard down._

As she rode on, she could not help but remember, the beating of the Mating Drums and the feel of the warm night air, on her naked body.

#  Chapter 31. Hunters and the Hunted

All the lands I give to you.

They are yours to rule.

But do not enter the Forbidden Lands.

For they are the home of Death.

From the Book of Isarie.

For three days and two nights, Arn led his warriors away from the Great Dome, into the Wastelands. They were Outcasts now, no Outlander would give them shelter or come to their rescue. No tribe would share their Grana or Kasha bread, their names would not be spoken or remembered in song, they were alone. The King knew he had gone against his people's laws but he could not have killed his own brother.

The Nomads who had chosen to come with him, were of the Almadra's best, strong, brave warriors who had taken an oath, not just to follow their King but to follow Arn wherever he ventured. They knew full well that their decision had branded them as Outcasts and that they could never return to their people. It did not matter, here they were and here they would stay. To them, Arn was still a strong Leader and a wise King, they were still his warriors and would stay at his side.

While Arn rode, his head filled with questions, questions he could not answer. _No more laws;_ he thought; _n_ _ow I have no home or tribe. I pledged to stay with Andra and I broke that pledge, now she is gone, I have forsaken everything, I am not a King nor a warrior._ He looked down at his silhouette on the rocky ground. I am empty now, there is nothing inside me, I am a Shadow-man.

The days were getting longer and longer, as the planet moved closer to the twin suns. Soon night was only a few hours long and it was little more than twilight, because of the glow from the horizon. It still gave some relief, from the heat of the seemingly relentless days. They traveled westward, without rest and little food, now they were about to enter the forbidden Poison Lands, a place of death and pain, the home of the Shadow-men.

As the King looked out over the barren plains, he could see the vast emptiness that lay before him. As far as his keen eyes could see, there was nothing, nothing but jagged rocks and endless sand, dotted with the broken remains of rusting machinery and the dried bones of ancient behemoths. He knew that entering the forbidden land, meant almost certain death. If not from the Shadow-men, then from the unseen demons that rotted your flesh and made you one of the walking dead.

_The Poison Lands;_ he thought; _t_ _he land of the Shadow-men, I belong there._

His powerful Whiptail pawed the ground and pulled at the reins, it could smell the danger laying ahead, it was eager to turn around and head back the way they came. It made loud grunting sounds and whipped its horned head to one side. Arn pulled hard at the sharp bit in the creature's mouth, quickly stopping its movements. It gave out a loud roar, then reluctantly settled down.

The King reached out and patted his mount's scaly head, "I know how you feel," he said under his breath. He turned to look back over his shoulder at the warriors who followed him. _They are brave and worthy to be called warriors;_ he said to himself; _but I cannot ask them to follow me into the Poison Lands, I must go alone._

He spoke in a loud clear voice, "You have come this far with me and no one could ask for more, I am no longer the King and your oath, no longer has meaning." He looked at the faces of men and women around him, "I am going on, those of you who wish to go back may do so and those of you who follow me, will be remembered by the Gods."

He turned and dug his spurs into his mount, the creature let out a roar and raced into the barren land ahead. After a brief moment, the Outcast Almadra warriors followed Arn into the Poison Lands and certain death!

Andra and Osh were hopelessly lost, they tried to go North but soon found the terrain impassible. Huge cracks in the ground and steep cliffs, made it impossible to go on, so they turned in another direction, hoping it might be easier. Now, they thought they were going East but they could not be sure, which way they were heading. Andra tried to make a crude compass out of some pieces of metal and a shallow basin of water but it proved useless. Osh had warned her that any type of directional device, would not work because of the Electro-Magnetic waves but she had to see for herself. Now they just kept moving in the hope that whatever lay ahead, would be better than what they left behind.

Andra felt like she was going to melt, with every hour the heat became more unbearable. Her armor was like an Iron-worker's anvil, it burned her fingertips if she touched it. She considered taking it off but once again remembered the King's words, instead she covered her back and shoulders with a robe. It stopped the rays from the twin suns from reaching her armor but it also held the heat in. Either way to prevent dehydration, she had to take frequent gulps of water from her canteen.

Osh was not doing any better, he did not wear heavy armor but his old body was showing signs of stress. He used the wagon's covering to keep off the sun and he made a small umbrella to provide even more shade. Even out of the direct, burning sunlight he felt as if he was being baked alive. _This is far worse than the time I spent on Relus;_ he reminisced; _i_ _t was much hotter than this but at least we had ice suits to keep us alive._ He noticed some small shelled, turtle like creatures, trying to burrow into the hard ground. _They are trying to get out of the heat, they know the Burning Time is coming and anything above ground will die._

He looked out over the barren land and saw the broken machines and huge animal bones bleached a stark white. _Those machines must have had, either a power supply of some kind, something unaffected by the Electro-magnetic waves, or they were here before the Electro-magnetic waves started to occur._ He shook his head, _that would make them older, than the planet itself, that was ridiculous and what about the bones?_

He tried to calculate the overall size of the living creature that the bones might have supported but the heat made even his disciplined mind, feel like a Rock-hopper on hot stones. After a short time he stopped thinking and dreamed of the frozen glaciers and ice covered seas on the far Off-World of Armende.

Suddenly Andra's Whiptail gave out a loud bellow and began to twist violently from side to side. The Callaxion watched as Andra held on to the saddle horn, she pulled back on the reins until the creature finally stopped its violent bucking.

"Is something wrong?" he called out.

Andra turned the beast so she could see the old man, "I don't know, he suddenly started to fight me." She looked around the barren landscape, "I don't see anything, maybe he can smell something we can't."

The old man sniffed the dry air, "I do not smell anything but the olfactory sensors of reptilian species, are many times more acute than those of a human. In fact I once had to calculate the potential of a Sillastine soldier and how far he could..."

There was another roar from the Whiptail, Andra barely had time to look skywards before a sharp claw hit her on the side of the head, "Yaaaaaaaaaa!" she yelled out and then she was fighting for her life.

A dozen or more flying creatures, fell out of the blinding sunlight, they were about a meter long and had thin parchment wings. Andra knew in that instant what had struck her, a Sun-dropper.

They swooped on Andra and the Osh, ripping at them with sharp claws. They also attacked the Trofar, it screamed in panic, then raced off, pulling the wagon with it, all the while Osh tried to fend off the flying death.

Andra held onto her reins with one hand and swung her ax with the other, cutting one of the bat-like creatures in two. She felt another strike to her back and twisted around in her saddle to strike another of the beasts. Her Whiptail joined in the fight, biting off one of the Sun-dropper's heads, its headless body fluttered for a moment then went limp.

Andra saw that her companion was moving away from her, she kicked hard at her mount's sides and raced after her companion, all the while flying beasts dived at her again and again. Her armor saved her life more than once and she killed two more of the creatures before they flew off to look for easier prey.

Osh tried to control the wagon but the Trofar's strength was too great, so he let the beast have its head. He watched the Sun-droppers circle overhead, then begin their dive towards him. He knew it would be useless to fight them, so he abandoned his seat and moved quickly into the back of the vehicle and hoped he was safe!

It was some time before Andra caught up with the wagon, it almost crashed into the large leg bone of some fantastic creature. Then the Trofar slowed down enough, for Andra to run ahead and block its path. A roar from her Whiptail, made the dim witted beast stop in its tracks and everything came to an abrupt halt.

Andra waited for the dust to settle and for her mount to settle down. She dismounted and went to the wagon, she could not see Osh and for a moment, so she thought the worst. _They've got him, I really am alone now;_ then she heard a soft moan. She climbed up into the driver's seat and looked into the back, She saw her companion's wrinkled face slowly emerged from under an overturned basket of Kasha bread.

Osh looked around fearfully, "Are they gone?"

Andra nodded, "Yes, they're gone, are you alright?"

Osh pulled himself up and began putting the loaves of brown bread, back into their basket, "Yes I am fine, I guess we were lucky."

Andra gave him a look, "I thought I heard you say that you didn't believe in luck?"

Osh looked embarrassed, "Ahhh well I do not," he grumbled, "I think being around you, has contaminated my reasoning."

Andra did not say anything but she couldn't hide a small smile, "I'm very sorry about that. Let's make camp here for the night and you can tell luck isn't real, just a random conjuration of events that sometimes converge, to give a person a favorable advantage."

Osh smiled at her, "You have a good memory."

"I guess being around you, has contaminated my reasoning," she replied.

It was Sun-fall, when Arn first saw signs that the Poison Lands were called the Death Grounds for good reason. He stopped his Whiptail on a small rise in the barren ground and saw a faint wisp of dust on the horizon. There was no wind so he knew the cloud came from something large, moving over the parched land. Outlanders would not venture this far into the Forbidden Lands, it could only be one thing. Shadow-men!

They could run but that was not their way, any Nomad who ran from an enemy, would not find a table waiting for them in The Great Hall of Isarie. A coward would spend all eternity in the Pit of Marloon, never to see the face of the Goddess, to a Nomad running away was unthinkable.

As the King watched the dust cloud coming towards him, he lowered his head. _I have forsaken my mate;_ he thought; _I have lost my mother and my sister, I have led my warriors into the Forbidden Lands, I am not a King._ He looked at the dust cloud, fast moving dark figures could be seen; _i_ _f I am to die, then let it be with my tooth in my hand._ He turned to his warriors, "We have come a long way and traveled many roads. You have stood by me and I am grateful, now only one more thing needs to be done, will you follow me into the Golden Halls of Isarie?"

There was silence for a moment, then Arn raised his battle-ax and shouted loud enough for the Gods to hear, "Will you stand with me?"

The warriors held up their weapons and cried out as one, "We stand with our King!"

Arn swung his heavy ax over his head, "Fire, earth, air, death!"

Again the warriors spoke as one, "Fire, earth, air, death!"

"Death! Death! Death!" the King screamed.

He turned his Whiptail and raced to meet death, like a lover seeking his love.

Slaughter fell upon the Poison Lands, the Nomads were like wild beasts as they met their foe. They crashed into the dark men like a wave on the rock of the Western Sea, they gave no quarter and asked for none. They hacked and slashed with blows that would kill a Rimar. They screamed Isarie's name as they died.

The Shadow-men wore no armor to speak of and their weapons were made from pieces of metal and bone. They had crude bows and arrows, which made them a strong foe. The Nomads considered the bow, a weapon for the weak, they preferred to meet their enemy face to face, then let the Gods decide who lived or died.

Arn fought side by side with his warriors, he wielded his battle-ax with deadly accuracy, cutting down a Shadow-man with each swing of the heavy blade. He was soon covered in blood and sweat, several arrows were stuck in his armor, luckily none penetrated the hard metal. Even if they had, it would take some time before the poison overcame the Nomad's strong immune systems. He smiled as he felt the warm life of his body run down his powerful limbs. He cried out to his warriors, to kill and kill again, they obeyed. The fighting madness was upon them, it did not matter who stood before them now, they would kill anything in their path.

The Shadow-men rode on their dark armored Spike-backs, creatures unlike those that carried the Almadra cannons, these were misshapen monsters their thick skin was covered with sores and rotting flesh. The Shadow-men shot poison tipped arrows at the Whiptails but they fought back, using their massive jaws to tear chunks of flesh, from Spike-back and Shadow-man alike.

It was now clear to see how Whiptails got their name. Their dagger filled jaws and the huge ripping claw on their smaller front limbs were ferocious but the creature's horned tail was their main weapon. They swung it in wide sweeps, the sharp horns did the rest. Its power was tremendous, when a Spikeback received a direct hit, it would be lifted high off the ground, to land bleeding and roaring in pain with broken bones or shattered skulls.

The Nomads were no more than twenty, the Shadow-men a hundred or more, soon their sheer numbers started to take its toil. One by one, the warriors went down, their bodies riddled with arrows and cuts, blood ran from them in crimson streams. Some died with their teeth sunk deep into the neck of an enemy, while some fought on with a missing arm or leg. The sandy ground was soon colored dark red from the blood and gore, eventually there were only three warriors who remained standing.

The Shadow-men pulled back to take stock and to gather their forces for a final assault on the Outlanders.

On Arn's left stood a tall female warrior and on his right, a shorter massively built Nomad, they standing shoulder to shoulder they faced a ring of dark robed enemies. The King looked left, he recognized the face, even though it was covered in blood from a cut above her right eye. Ardendra was a great warrior, she once killed a Sager Cat with only a dragon's tooth, now she wore the striped skin over one armored shoulder. Arn smiled at her, "You will have a place of honor in the Halls of Isarie," he said between gasps.

She smiled at him, "I do not think there are any Sager Cats in the Great Hall but I am sure there will be something to pass the time."

Then the King turned to his right, he recognized Brawl-Lacar, known to all the Almadra as a lover of food, fighting, and women. He saw a large cut across his right cheek exposing broken teeth and there were three arrows sticking out of his chest but still he managed to smile.

His words were slurred but still understandable, "I hope they have good food in the Afterlife."

Arn nodded, "Yes, I hear they serve fat Rimar dipped in fish sauce, in the Great Hall every night and the women are always eager to please."

Brawl grunted his approval and with blood caked hands held up his ax.

The King watched the circle of Shadow-men slowly tighten around them. Arn always thought, his last memories would be of his family and his people but as he stood waiting for death to take him, his mind was filled with Andra's face. He saw her eyes and her soft smiling lips, he did not know if they would meet in The Great Hall of Isarie. He would still think of her, even if he had to spend eternity in the Pit of Marloon.

_Andra;_ her name echoed in his mind. He heard the screams of the Shadow-men and all became madness and death.

By Sun-fall, Andra was starting to think there was no such thing as luck. They had wandered through the rusty machines and bleached bones of the Poisoned Lands and found nothing. Whenever they stumbled upon a water hole, it was filled with a red moss that smelled like ten-day-old Rimar meat. They saw Sun-droppers circling high above them, waiting like death angels. Large spiders the size of eating bowls, built webs among the fallen pieces of metal and skeletons.

They sat around a small Washa fire and nibbled on dried Kasha bread, washed down with a cup of warm Po. They also swallowed small Grana crystal, it made them feel much better, luckily Osh had traded for a good amount of the precious mineral before they left the Almadra. It took all, of his accumulated wealth but what good were riches if you were dead?

The Whiptail was pawing at the ground, he had not had meat in some time, making him even more dangerous, twice, he almost bit off Andra's leg. There was not very much Rimar meat left and Andra was saving it for themselves rather than give it to the hungry beast, it would prove to be a fatal mistake.

Andra and Osh sat near to the wagon, they tried to enjoy their meal, "Tell me again how you mind say?" she asked.

Osh looked at Andra and took a sip of his Po before speaking, "Well it really is rather simple, first you connect with an import line here." He pulled back his stringy hair to show the small metal fitting on the side of his head, "Then you transfer your mind's data into the data-comp and start Interworking."

Andra chewed a bit of dried bread as she spoke, "You mean your thoughts go into the computer?"

"Oh it's a lot more than that, when a Callaxion Interworks, we become the computer," he said proudly, "To us it's like another body."

"I admit it, I don't have a lot of experience with data-comps," she replied, "But you can't just leave your body and go into a metal box filled with wires and flashing lights, then come out again."

_Metal box and flashing lights? She really does not know about Data-coms;_ he thought _._

Osh was about to give her a long speech, on the transmutation of brain waves into directional data fragments that can be intermixed with bio-mechanical data storage and Callaxion genetic engineering. However, he knew Andra would find it very boring, "Well perhaps you're right and I am just a silly old man who does not know anything," he took another sip of his drink.

Andra swallowed the piece of bread in her mouth, then washed it down with the sour wine, "You're not at all that silly, in fact I think your parents raised a very fine man."

Osh gave a little chuckle, "Oh, I do not have any parents that would be very silly."

Andra gave him a strange look, "You don't have parents, then who raised you, who took care of you?"

Osh scratched his neck and shrugged his thin shoulder, "Why the mother of course."

"Mother, you said you didn't have a mother?"

"Oh I was referring to the interactive bio-mechanical nurturing unit. It provides nourishment and transmits appropriate data and learning techniques to selected infants, until they are complete and ready to start connection functions." He took another small drink, "I know it's a very long explanation, that's why I call it mother, I can change the name if you like?"

Andra shook her head, "You can't just change a name and expect it to mean something." _He is very clever but I don't think he knows a lot about how things work._

Osh looked across the fire at his companion and smiled, "Take yourself, first of all you were called, little girl, then young lady, then lieutenant, then prisoner, then captive, then warrior and finally Moonbud, have you changed?" He watched Andra's face while she stared back at him. _Andra is clever;_ he thought; _but she has a lot to learn about the universe_. Osh finished his bread and sat back against the wagon wheel that he had placed behind to his seat. "It's strange but after all this time, I do not know anything about where you came from, or who nurtured you."

Andra pretended not to hear.

"If you prefer not to talk about it, then I will not ask any more questions." Osh said.

Andra waited for a few moments, then looked up at the stars, "You can't see my star system from here but it's near the Praxus Nebula and has several planets. My world, Selcarie, is the fourth planet from our sun, it was a wonderful place, so green and the sky was so clear, you could see forever, it's all gone now."

Osh saw the sad look on Andra's face, " I am sorry," he said quietly.

Andra looked at him with a half-smile, "Don't be, things come and go, it was, our time that's all," _It was my fault, I should have fought harder, now it's gone, all gone._

Osh was about to start a lecture on the precise meaning of time and space and how they do not apply to certain segments of the universe and that time is not a constant. He let it pass, "And what about your family, who were they?" he asked.

Andra didn't want to answer but she decided, talking about them might ease her pain, "My mother was called Niana, she was not born on Selcarie but came from a planet called Nargoon. She was a strong woman and she had soft hands, in spite of all the work she had to do, to raise me and my brothers. Of all the things I can remember, her soft hands and how they held me, are the most memorable."

Osh let the words sink in for a time, then spoke, "What was your brother's name and what was he like?"

"His name was Simon, he used to tease me a lot but he was a good brother." Andra looked off into the night sky, "He got beaten up once, by the school bully for coming to my rescue."

Again Osh waited for a moment before speaking, "What happened to him, was he captured in the war?"

Andra shook her head, "No, my bother didn't believe in war, he remained on Selcarie while I went off to fight and I don't blame him for that, he was too kind."

She looked off into the surrounding darkness. _He was my brother and I let him die, I failed him and my world._ She looked back at Osh, "It's all right, it's all over and gone now, there is nothing anyone can do."

Osh paused before he spoke, when he did, his voice was low and filled with more emotion than he had ever known, "Your family sounds very nice, I would gladly trade the Datacoms for a pair of soft hands."

Andra smiled at his words, then looked up at the sky again. _I'm sorry mother, I let you down;_ she thought; _forgive me brother, I miss you._

Osh could see that his companion was feeling very down, so he tried to change the subject. "Well I've been doing some rough calculations and I can say with some certainty that we have survived longer than any other Off-Worlder in this wasteland."

Just as Andra heard him, there was a roar from the Whiptail and it tore away from its mooring, it headed for the Trofar and it circled it. The Trofar made loud bellowing sounds and prepared to be attacked.

"He's going to kill it!" Andra shouted, she grabbed her ax and set about rescuing the only thing that could pull the wagon.

The Whiptail lowered its massive head, then opened its huge jaws, ready to rip and kill. It moved forward but before it could attack, Andra swung her weapon and struck the monster on the side of his head, cutting deep into the scaly skin.

The beast let out a roar and turned to bite Andra but she ducked. Andra and Osh watched as it raced off into the night, disappearing behind the metal wreckage that could be seen silhouetted against the light from a rising moon.

Andra turned to Osh, she spoke with laughter in her voice, "Well, it looks like I'll be riding with you."

Far to the North and beyond the Poison Lands, the Almadra made their camp, near a large stone they called the finger of Solus. It was a huge outcropping of solid stone that reached straight up to the night sky. The Nomads believed it was a part of the hand of a great God, pointing the way to the Golden Hall of Isarie. Solus had lost a hand, when he fought with Isarie, in the great battle of the Gods. She cut off his right hand and it fell to the earth so that all might know the power of the Goddess.

They knew a route across the broken land that avoided the places were the Shadow-men lived. There were other ways to Koto-Car and the Grana miners but each of the Outlander tribes had their own traditional route. The Madrigal, traveled via the Great Stone and they were glad to see that their journey would soon be over.

The Almadra did not put up their tents as usual, they would only be staying one night, moving on in the morning. They slept in their wagons or around the Washa fires, keeping a keen eye out for Shadow-men. Instead of singing cheerful songs or dancing under the night skies, they were sullen and their music was the music of despair.

Their strong King was gone and with him their beloved Queen, many of the best warriors were also missing and there was little hope of seeing them again. The Elders painted their faces red and scolded the children if they laughed or sang. The warriors sat quietly around their fires and told stories of the bravery and strength of their missing comrades. They lifted tankards of Po to the night sky, then poured it on the ground as an offering to the Gods, to hasten their journey to the Golden Hall. Their belongings were burned, some cried when they saw the flames rise into the night air.

There was no time to do more, at any other time, they would have stopped to perform all the rituals that the death of a King or Queen demanded. They would have sacrificed a dozen fat Trofar and spent many days and nights, singing songs and listening to the words of the High Priestess, as she read from the Holy Book of Isarie. There was no time to stop now, they would endanger themselves too much. They knew what had to be done and they did it, there would be a time for rituals later, for now they had to keep moving.

One person did not care if no one ever sang or danced again. Anais sat sullenly in the High Priestess' small ornately decorated traveling tent. It was erected every night for the Holy Mother to sleep in and commune with the Gods, Now it housed, if only temporarily the young Prince. It made Anais feel safe, surrounded by the Thungodra, he knew nothing could harm him.

He sat on a heavily embroidered chair, taking long drafts of Po to quench his thirst. It did no good and he was in an even fouler mood than usual. He looked at the old woman who lay back relaxing in her high backed chair.

"You promised me I would be King!" His voice was angry and somewhat slurred from the sour drink.

Obec sipped a cup of hot Deep-root tea, even though a warm wind blew from the North, the dark drink made her feel relaxed. It eased the distaste she had for dealing with the foolish young Prince.

She managed a small smile and spoke in a calm voice, "And so you shall but the time is not right. The Gods have plans for you and they will know the time for a new King to rule the Almadra. _" Such a dull minded fool, I have plans and you will follow them._

Anais took a long gulp of his drink. _I know this old woman, she thinks I am a fool, well let her think it, my time will come._ He put down his cup and looked over at a small shrine, the Priestess kept in her chamber, "Tell me the truth, is there an Afterlife?"

"For some yes," Obec replied, "for others there is only the Pit of Marloon." She took a small sip of her tea. _A place is waiting there for you._

The young Prince stretched his arms and yawned a little. He liked playing these little mind games, "Well I do not believe in any dark pit or golden hall, I would rather enjoy the things around us now, than play Chance-cards with the Gods."

The Prince's words made the hairs on the back of the old woman's wrinkled neck stand up. _Must I tolerate this piece of Trofar dung? He will know the power of the Goddess soon enough. S_ he managed a little smile, "We will let Agart rule for now, he will take us to Koto-Car, after the Burning Time, the Gods will know who is the Almadra's rightful leader."

Anais nodded to the old woman; _there are no Gods but I know who will be King._ He got up and went to the small tent's entrance, he stopped and looked back on the old woman, "Good night Holy Mother, I have to practice being King with a Handmaiden of the Gods." He gave a little chuckle and left.

Obec sat motionless apart from sipping her tea, when it was empty she lay back on the soft chair. _Foolish man, I would love to hear your screams from the Pit of Marloon but I will be sitting at the right hand of Isarie and listening to her praises._ She closed her eyes and let the sound of the warm wind sing her to sleep.

Agart was alone in his wagon, the guards posted outside were told that he was not to be disturbed, he laid on his sleeping mattress. He closed his tired eyes but sleep did not come to him. His mind was too full of thoughts to sleep.

He saw his brother's face of over and over, he looked at his eyes and saw the look of betrayal in them. He heard his bother's words, asking him why? He had no answer. So after a time he got up and sat with his back propped up against a wooden box. He stared at a small statue of the Goddess. In the past, seeing this idol gave him peace and filled his mind with the power of The Chosen. He no longer felt that way, gazing at the image all he felt was emptiness. _What have I done?_ He asked himself; _h_ _ow could I betray my own brother, my King, how could I leave my mother?_ As if to answer these questions a voice sounded in his head, the voice of the High Priestess.

"Arn is not The Chosen of the Gods."

Agart turned his head away and closed his eyes; _can the Goddess be wrong but if Isarie is not Isarie, then I cannot a prince because she could not choose, perhaps I'm not, maybe I'm nothing?_ He stopped thinking, opened his eyes and looked at the statue again. _No, I can feel my mind and I can see through my eyes, they may not be the eyes of the Goddess but they still see. I must lead our people, I must show them the way, Isarie is Isarie and only through the will of the Goddess may we see her face._

For all his words he did not feel any better, he felt small and afraid, like a small Burrow-baby in the jaws of a Whiptail.

#  Chapter 32. The Shadow-men

Forgive us for our sins.

Forgive us for our lies.

Forgive us for our weakness.

Forgive us in your name.

Prayer of the Almadra.

Arn slowly emerged from the darkness, he seemed to move up a dim corridor, leading from the black world that engulfed him, into another place of life and movement. At first he did not want to awaken, the dark world holding him was peaceful, without the painful reality of the world he knew. He wanted to sleep forever, held in the grip of cool night and silence.

Then he saw something moving in the darkness, a figure, it came close and he saw a face, dim at first then becoming more recognizable. Although he did not want to look, he had no choice, it was the face of the woman he loved and betrayed and in his mind he spoke one word, "Andra."

He watched as Andra came closer, he saw her clearly now, her body like witch-fire, she held out her hand, then she smiled and whispered softly to him, "The Gods will arise." He saw her engulfed in waves of golden color like Gorn's rising suns. Then he felt the pain.

First an agonizing sensation throbbing in his wrists, like an Iron-worker's hot steel, had been driven into them. He knew there were demons in the dark pit beyond life, that would torment you for all eternity. In his mind he thought this was his punishment for betraying his love and leaving his people without a King. If that was his destiny, then he would bare it. More pain came and he opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.

He opened his eyes. This was not the Pit of Marloon but it was torment just the same. He found himself hanging two meters off the ground, nailed to a section of iron plate. He was supported by two jagged spikes of metal, driven through the flesh of his wrists. His armor had been taken off and he wore only a strip of dirty Rimar skin, around his waist. His body was caked in his own blood from numerous small cuts and scrapes, also blood and gore from the battle with the Shadow-men

He looked down, in the golden light from the setting suns, he saw a mass of dark robed figures looking back up at him. Many of them were held long spears in their bony hands and he could hear them laugh as they jabbed him with the sharp points. He felt a rusty metal tip bite into his right side and he clenched his teeth, then it was twist backed and forth like the jaws of a gigantic Rock-worm. Although the pain was excruciating, he made no sound, he ground his teeth and pulled at the metal supporting his weight. There was more laughter, then the spear tip was removed, he was able to catch a lung full of hot air.

Despite his pain he looked around, the severed heads of Ardendra and Brawl-Lacar impaled on two rusty metal beams close to him, he could also see the remains of his warriors. Their bodies had been dismembered, he knew that in hard times, the dark robed creatures would eat Nomad flesh. He was appalled to think that the brave warriors who had followed him into the Forbidden Lands, had become food for the dark men.

He felt the sharp stab of a spear point in his back and he gritted his teeth in rage. The pain ripped up his spine and down his legs, he pulled at the iron spikes at his wrists once more. He felt one of them loosen but he stopped when he felt the spear's metal point being removed. His mind swirled with images of red fire and death, through his waves of anguish, he heard one of the Shadow-men speak, his words were slurred as if spoken through broken teeth but the meaning was clear.

"I say we kill him now and take his head."

"No, let the night crawlers have a feast," said another.

"Yes, then when daylight comes, the Sun-droppers will finish what they leave."

Ignoring the agonizing pain, Arn pulled at the spikes again, he felt his flesh tearing but still he kept pulling. He felt the jab of another spear and paused in his efforts, more words but his head was spinning too much for him to understand. After a few moments, blackness overtook him once more and he heard nothing.

The twin suns of Gorn had long vanished, the Poison Lands were now the domain of the night creatures. They crawled out of their burrows to hunt for food to keep them alive. It was not an easy, there was very little to sustain them in this place. They had learned to dig for anything that might be of edible and they fought for any scraps of flesh or eggs left unguarded by other creatures. Their instincts told them that the Burning Time was almost here, they would need to store fat in their grotesque bodies, to keep them alive. They spread out over the bleak landscape, like a dark army hoping to find anything edible for their ever-hungry mouths.

In the huge eye socket of a bleached skull, the size of three tall Nomads, two Off-Worlders, an old man and a young woman sat trying to rest. The skull's usual inhabitant, a large insect like creature with many legs and a pair of pincer claws, lay roasting over a small fire. Andra poked at it with a strip of sharp rusty metal.

"I think it's just about done," she said proudly, then tore of one of the large claws from the creature. She broke it open with the end of her ax, then prized out some pinkish flesh, she held it out to her companion, "You want some?"

Osh took a look at the strange meat, then shook his head, "No thanks, I will have this," then he took a bite of stale Kasha bread.

"Suit yourself," Andra replied, then she took a bite of her meal.

If she had been alone, she would have spat it out there and then but it was her idea to cook the thing after she killed it. She did not want to look foolish in front of Osh so she chewed for a bit longer, then forced a smile onto her face, "Hummmm very good." Then she turned her head and spat out the remaining pieces into her hand, she tossed them away with disgust. When she looked back at Osh, he was also smiling.

"You see," he said, "I told you it would not be palatable, you may be a very good warrior but you know nothing about food."

Andra had to admit, he was right but it had been three days since the Whiptail ran off and they were as lost as before.

The Trofar had not been harmed and although there was nothing for it to eat, Andra knew the beast could go for many days without food or water. The milk it could supply, would help to sustain them. Osh calculated they had a very slim chance of survival, Andra simply hoped for the best.

Now the twin suns had gone down, they stopped for a short rest. They would have preferred to travel at night but they knew many predators preferred the cooler darkness, than the light of day. So they decided to take the heat, rather than the teeth of a creature of the night. They made the huge skull into a temporary shelter and they put their wagon and the Trofar, under a large metal plate protruding from a machine, half buried in the sand. Now they laid back and tried not to think of the heat.

Andra tried to eat a bit more of the roasting creature. She hoped the insect's soft belly might be less revolting than its claws. She bit into the soft mass but it tasted even worse. She flung the remaining blackened body parts out of their skull home, then sat back and took a sip of Po.

She looked at the Callaxion and saw the smug look on his wrinkled face, "Very well," she said reluctantly, "You were right and I was wrong, happy now?"

Osh continued to smile, as he looked around the giant skull that was their temporary home, "This skull, looks a lot like the ones dug up on Planet Nine-Six in the Orgalus system. They were much smaller and did not have wide ocular placements like this one. There is no mention of anything like this, in the records of Valcarus, Vandrous Yar of the Otarus Moon. Although they do seem to confirm research by Crydonus the Twenty-Third of Tricar Prime. I would have to say that I might have discovered a brand new species of Terra-giagantus."

Andra just sat staring at her old friend; _here we are staring death in the face and he goes on and on about finding new creatures, "_ So what? Do you really think anyone will care a thousand cycles from now?"

Osh rubbed the import hole on his head, "Well of course they will, a thousand years is a very short time from the standpoint of eternity."

"A thousand years," she scoffed, "That's too far off to worry about now."

The old man gave a little laugh, "Not really, you see the past and future, are connected by what we do now, recording it will tell those to come that we were here."

Andra could find no fault with the Callaxion's words, "Then I'm sorry you don't have your writing materials to record it."

"Yes," he replied, "I would have liked to mind-locked it."

Andra took a small sip of Po, "Mindlocked, what is that?" She knew that she might have made a mistake, another long-winded speech was sure to follow.

"I am glad you asked me that," Osh settled back against the smooth surface of the skull, "You see when Callaxions write something down, or mind say it to a data-comp, we remember it until we die. The words are imprinted in our minds and can be recalled anytime, as necessary. Leaving my writing equipment behind was unfortunate but not crucial, I wanted to make a record in case something happened to me."

"Are you saying that you can remember everything that's happen since we've been here?"

"Of course," he smiled, "Can you not?"

"Well not everything," she replied shaking her head.

"That's why my people so important," he said proudly, "We can recall everything that happens, every word, every sound, every small detail, it is in our minds although we must be interfaced to a data-com. Then all we have to do is open our Mindlocks and everything is recorded. It's really rather simple but I have to admit, as I grow older it's becoming harder and harder to remember it all."

For a moment, Andra let the images of their past days flood through her minds eye. She saw Arn'a face and remembered the night under the Great Dome, she saw him walking away, leaving her alone.

_I remember;_ she thought; _b_ _ut I don't want too._

She shook her head and looked out at the night sky and the silhouettes of the great machines against the bright stars, they seemed like monsters from her childhood nightmares. Huge beasts ready to snatch her out of her warm bed and drag her screaming into the dark night. Then she remembered her mother's bedtime song.

Sleep and dream in crystal caves.

Where emerald birds fly on the wind.

No shadows of night will find you there.

Only softened kisses of one who cares.

She looked over at Osh, "Do you think anyone will remember me?"

Osh gave her a reassuring look, "Only time knows the answer to that and time is relative, it doesn't mean the same thing to everyone."

Andra looked and him and smiled, "You said, doesn't"

Osh gave her a questioning look, "Did I?"

"Yes you did, it's the first time I've ever heard you use a contraction," she laughed.

The Callaxion scratched his large head, "Well it seems that being in close, proximity to you has contaminated my language."

"Oh that's alright, it does not matter," Andra replied.

"You said does not instead of doesn't," he said, then he laughed, "It seems we are both undergoing a change."

"Yes we are," said Andra; _change is what I want._

Egmar did not know how long it was since she was taken from the Dome of Omargash. The last thing she remembered was a dark figure coming towards her, then a bony hand being forced over her mouth, the smell of rotting flesh and then nothing. She awoke to find herself surrounded by luxury but unable to remember how she got here or why? She still wore the robe she was wearing when she was taken but the small bell was missing.

She sat on a bed made from animal bones and covered with the thick fur of a Hagar Beast. The walls were stone and she surmised that she must be in some sort of cave. There was a table and chairs, also made from bones, with pieces of rusty metal and wire joining them. There were some crude bowls and cups on the table and a small bowl of Grana. Apart from the foul smell, it would have made passable quarters for a Queen.

She looked at the steel door separating her home from the outside world and waited quietly. She'd finished the plate of overcooked meat, given to her by a dark robed female who didn't speak. She tried to engage her in conversation many times but she said nothing. She took the empty plate away and refilled the jug of water, set on the bone table. Egmar thought she was female because of her size and the way she moved. The heavy hood was pulled over her head so her features remained hidden. She had the hands of a woman but they were ghastly, skeletal hands with mottled skin and pieces of flesh slowly rotting on the bone. Whatever face was under the hood, the Queen knew it must be one of horror. Egmar knew all about the Shadow-men, she had seen their bodies lying dead on the battlefield after an attack. She had never seen a live one, this close before. She prayed to Isarie, hoping this was not the Pit of Marloon and that she might see her children again.

Egmar heard a creaking sound and the heavy door opened, a small dark robed figure entered the room and went to the empty plate on the table. She picked it up and was about to leave, when the Queen rose from her bed, "Tell me your name?" she asked.

The figure stopped then turned in her direction.

"Please tell me who you are?" she asked again.

Egmar was certain she was about to answer, when another figure entered the room. This one was tall, she knew there was a strong man under the dark robe. He pointed a bony finger at the robed woman and then at the door, "Go," he said.

The woman left the stone chamber quickly, she shut the door behind her. There was a long pause while the Queen and the Darkman, looked at each other.

Egmar could not see his face, like the woman, he wore his hood up, covering his features. She watched him walk to a chair and sit down, still he did not speak. The Queen sat down on the bed and stared at the figure. _W_ _hat does he want;_ she thought. _If he wanted me dead, he would have already killed me, he wants something but what?_

She watched the dark figure take out a small bell, he held it up and shook it. There was a soft, ting, ting, ting it filled the room, then he put the bell down on the table.

"Does that sound please you?" he asked.

The Queen said nothing, the dark figure spoke once more, "Does the sound fill you heart with love, does it remind you of warm nights and the promise of new life?"

His words had a sharp edge to them, they made Egmar feel afraid. Like all Queens, she held onto her fear, her face showing nothing, other than calm, "Yes" she said, "The sound pleases me."

The Darkman laughed softly, "I see you are a woman who is easily pleased." There was another pause, as the robed man picked at a small patch of rotting skin on his left hand, "And do you find comfort in reading from the Book of Isarie?" he asked.

_He knows our ways;_ she thought; _how does he know our ways?_ "The words of the Goddess bring me peace, it pleases me to know she cares for us," she said.

"And does this please you also?" the Darkman asked, pulling his hood back.

Egmar could now see the well hidden face, in spite of herself, she had to turn away. It wasn't from disgust, it was from pity. _Poor soul;_ she thought; _p_ _oor soul._ She turned back to look into the face of horror, "No, it does not please me," she said softly.

The Darkman laughed softly, "I suppose you are going to pray to Isarie and ask her to grant me mercy and heal my wounds?"

Egmar nodded, "Yes, I will pray for you."

At those words, the Darkman rose from his chair and shouted, "Liar!" He moved closer to Egmar and pointed a thin finger at her face, "You are filled with nothing but lies, you pray to empty Gods and make offerings only to yourselves, you and your people are nothing!"

He calmed himself, then started to walk around the cave, "Tell me, do your quarters meet with your approval?" he asked.

The Queen looked around for a moment, "Yes, they are quite acceptable."

The Darkman bowed slightly, "Thank you, I hoped they would be to your liking, after all a Queen of the Almadra must be treated with respect."

_He knows who I am, he is a Shadow-man but he knows._ Egmar asked a question, "Why have you brought me here?"

The Darkman did not look at her, he continued to check her surroundings, "I thought you might want to be with your people."

Egmar tried to understand him but she knew Shadow-men had strange ways, their actions were sometimes unpredictable, "If you want me to be with my people, you should have left me where I was," she said.

The Darkman turned to her, "Look at me, do you know who I am?"

The Queen shook her head, "No, you are not known to me."

The Darkman walked towards her, then he bent down and spoke quietly to her, "Don't you know me mother, I am your son." He reached out and touched her arm with a cold hand.

To Egmar, it felt like a piece of rotting Rimar meat, left out in the sun for too long. The Queen looked at him, "You are not my son," she said flatly.

The Darkman moved back and stood looking down on his captive, "We all have to make choices, yours was to forsake your child. Mine was to find the mother who abandoned me to the Wastelands."

She looked at his face again, she began to see beyond the dead glow of his yellow eyes. She reached out with her mind and her heart, moving into the Darkman's soul. She felt something, something she had not felt since she was a young woman. The feeling mother has for a lost son.

The Darkman turned from her and went to the door, "We will speak again," he said. The Darkman disappeared from sight.

Egmar sat on the bed not moving or showing any sign of the cold terror filling her heart. She wanted to pray but could not remember any words from the Book of Isarie. All she could see, were the cold yellow eyes set in a face of horror.

After the unpleasant meal in the giant skull Andra and Osh got back into the wagon and continued their journey. Andra knew it was best to travel at night, to avoid the blazing sunlight. The moons of Gorn were high overhead as Andra and Osh made their way across the barren land. After a few hours of listening to nothing but the footfalls of the Trofar and endless discussions about where they were, they decided to stop and take stock of the situation.

"I think we should head in that direction," said Andra, pointing to an immense rock on the star backed horizon.

"And what makes you think we would be any better off going that way?" asked Osh, gesturing to a mass of huge bones in the distance.

Andra looked at the bones then back at the great rock, "Well nothing really but I have a good feeling about it."

Osh wiped his wrinkled brow, "A good feeling? That doesn't sound like a scientific way of making a decision."

Andra removed her small backpack, "Well if you have any better ideas, I'd love to hear them." While she waited for the Callaxion to reply, she took of her heavy helmet and ran her hands through her hair. Osh cleared his throat, "Well it seems to me that your way would expose us to undo danger, while my way would at least take advantage of the natural surroundings and enhance our chances for survival."

_He has no ideas any better than mine._ She nodded, "How about a compromise, we head that way." She pointed to a cluster of rusty machinery and large dried bones, directly ahead.

Osh could barely make it out in the darkness but he had no reason to disagree, "Very well, we will head that way."

He started to calculate the odds in his head but the difference between one direction or the other was too small to matter, so he stopped calculating. Instead, he busied himself remembering his time on Alcon Six, when he had to calculate the number of sand crystals on the shores of the Vermilion Sea.

Arn had been hanging from the iron plate, where the Shadow-men had nailed him for many hours. He awoke to intense pain, it moved up his arms, into his shoulders. He tried to move his hands but they felt like balls of fire on the ends of his arms. Through blurry eyes, he looked up at the night sky and the moons overhead, he tried to remember their names, as a distraction from the anguish burning in his mind.

He looked around again, his warrior's bodies were gone now. No doubt taken away by the Shadow-men, to be feasted upon later. His only companions were the severed heads of Ardendra and Brawl-Lacar. They looked at him with cold lifeless eyes. _Why did I lead them to their deaths?_

He felt a great anguish, knowing he'd done this to them. Then he felt something else, he looked down and saw several large sand beetles slowly crawling up his torso. They were as long as his finger and had a hard black shell. Their front legs ended in two heavy pincers, perfect for ripping small chunks of flesh from the bones of creatures they found, dead or almost! En mass they could strip a fully grown Spikeback clean, in a single night. Fortunately there were only a few of them. It would take them several nights to remove the flesh from a human.

Arn watched as they climbed up to his neck, they probed his face to find his eyes, this was where they would start to feed. Arn opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue. It took all his will power to stay still while one of the large insects crawled onto his mouth. Suddenly, Arn clamped his jaw shut, there was a loud snapping noise as the creature's shell, split open. Its warm fluids poured down Arn's parched throat.

Arn let the liquid from the insect relieve his thirst, then he chewed the remains, it made him feel much better. He felt another beetle cutting into the flesh of his back, he forced his body sharply backwards, crushing the creature against the plate behind him. The insect's body fell to the ground and the other insects started to eat the body of their comrade, giving the human a temporary respite.

Arn let his rested head back to against the plate, he looked at the metal spikes holding his arms. _If I stay here the suns will kill me;_ he thought. He closed his eyes _. I have been a weak King, I do not deserve mercy, I should die._ The pain in his arms it ripped through his mind again and he let himself fall into the dark cool world that dwells between this one and the next. He drifted quietly into the Netherland free of all want or need.

_How quiet it is here, no questions, no answers, no laws._ He listened to the words in his mind and it gave him peace. He heard another voice, it was like a dream within a dream. There were neither words nor sounds but something told him, he could not let his life end, he must fight, fight to survive, live another day and fight, then he saw some images.

Earth, Wind, Fire.

They moved across his inner eye, on top of the images he saw a face, the face of Andra. With the images burning into his soul, he began to pull with all his might, hot fire burned in his limbs but still he kept pulling. He opened his mouth and cried out to the moons and the stars, he pulled with all the strength of his body and soul. The cords of muscle on his arms, stood out like bands of steel. Blood began to flow from his wrists, where the metal spikes pierced them.

With the sound of ripping flesh, he tore his right arm free. Without stopping he grasped the spike that pinned his left arm and ripped it from the giant bone. He fell forward onto the soft sand and lay there gasping for breath. After a few moments, he turned over to look up at the night sky, then he rose painfully to stand unsteadily on naked feet. He did not know what the Gods had in store for him next but he would meet it standing.

#  Chapter 33. The Angel of Death

To all things I give a time.

Live and dance and sing.

Fight and kill and weep.

Ask and wonder and believe.

And when you have done all this.

Rest and be still.

From the Book of Isarie.

Andra held the Trofar's reins, she rocked back and forth on the wagon seat. She was very tired and although she tried not to listen to the soft beat of the Thundra beast, she found herself being lulled to sleep. Her head fell back and she suddenly jerked herself into alertness. She looked at the old man beside her, he was sleeping soundly. Even though she would have dearly loved some company she decided to let him rest.

She gazed at the horizon and saw the dim rays of light rising up over the rocky hills. She thought they were going West, she used the stars to guide her but somehow it did not make sense. The sky seemed to change or maybe it was her? Osh had warned her, there was something unique about Gorn, something that could not be calculated or shown by any graph or data-comp screen, something Off-Worlders could not see. After becoming hopelessly lost, Andra knew navigation was impossible.

No matter how hard she tried, she could not use the stars, not even to follow a simple route. As a soldier, she had been trained how to find her position, whatever world the war was on. The massive guide stars of the Outer Rim were always there to take a heading from. On this world everything was misaligned, the sky changed with each passing night. The orbit of Gorn, caused the Pole Star to move erratically and even the moons overhead wavered in their movements. It was like some great galactic dance that could not be stopped and could not be understood by an Offworlder. Maybe it was just the way things were or maybe it was the will of the Gods.

_I don't believe in Gods;_ she thought; _and even if there were such things, why would they care about me?_ The first rays of sunlight broke over the distant mountains and a wave of intense heat suddenly hit her face. She pulled her robe's hood down to shield her from the harsh sunlight. Then she turned to her companion, reached over and shook him, "Wake up, we need to find shelter," her words were soft but firm.

Osh made some grumbling sounds, then opened his sleepy eyes, "Yes what is it?" he asked half asleep.

"Come on, wake up, you're dreaming," she said, shaking him once more.

Osh sat upright and rubbed his wrinkled face, he winced a little as he stretched his arms and legs, then he turned to Andra, "I wasn't dreaming, Calaxions don't dream, that's a fact."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, "Everyone dreams."

The old man shook his head, "Not everyone, there are many species who do not require a dream state and we are one of them."

Andra gave a little chuckle, "Come on, you must dream, it's what keeps you sane."

"Ah yes, there are many species who lapse into madness if they cannot dream. Calaxions eliminated the need to dream but we never lose mental control," he said proudly, "During rest we coordinate our thoughts into waves of mental corridors, they enhance our abilities during waking periods."

Osh was not, telling the truth, when he closed his eyes, he saw images in his mind. They weren't dreams but he saw Endo's face during the darkness of rest. _Where is he now, does he think of me?_

His thoughts, were interrupted by Andra's laughter, "No sex, no dreams, what do your people do for fun?"

Osh was about to answer when Andra lifted her hand, "Never mind," she said, "We don't have time, the suns are coming up and we must find somewhere to stop."

She scanned the barren land again, she could only see more broken iron hulks and bleached bones, then she noticed something on the ground, footprints! "Look there," she cried out, pointing to the tracks.

She could see that a great many Whiptails had recently passed this way. She did not know how many but any trail was better than none. They might be Almadra or one of the other tribes, she knew the Outlanders always knew, which way to go. She decided to follow the tracks and worry about the Nomads later.

She traced the footprints along the ground, she followed them to a cluster of metal and bones in the distance, "They're heading that way," she turned to Osh, "Well do we follow them or go our own way?"

Osh knew how Andra felt but he also knew that without help from the Outlanders, their chances of survival were almost none existent. He also knew that the tracks might lead them into danger. He tried to estimate their chances but he could not, come up with anything that put fate on their side. So he uttered a short prayer to the Theordian God of travelers and pointed towards the bones, "That way," he said.

Andra snapped the Trofar's reins and their wagon lumbered off, by the morning light they following the footprints.

As Sun-birth broke over the Finger of Solus, the Almadra gathered to say their farewells to the Frail-legs. The entire tribe stood around the great rock, they sang songs to the Elders who no longer heard them. They dressed in their finest robes and held their Ancestor Chests, small children stood beside their mothers and fathers, trying to be quiet.

The warriors surrounded the great stone, waiting patiently for the ritual to begin. Over their clean armor, they wore a thin cloak to protect their shoulders against the burning heat of the rising suns. The Whiptails and Spike-backs had been fed and the Trofar were made ready to restart their journey, as soon as the ceremony was completed.

At the base of the stone stood Obec, surrounded by the Thungodra, with her Handmaidens around them. There had been some grumbling from some warriors, about the way the High Priestess had allowed Agart to take over the tribe's leadership. According to the Law of the Nomads, all Kings should undergo a challenge but the Holy Woman did not call for one. She simply allowed the King's brother to ascend to the leadership. Many of the tribe thought it was wrong to have done it that way. Obec knew of their disenchantment, so she surrounded herself with her trusted warriors. Just in case anyone was foolish enough to go against her and the Gods.

The Holy Mother had dressed in a black robe to mark a solemn occasion. She wore a small Sagar tooth necklace and the silver and bone Headdress of the Dead. She grasped the carved wing bone of a Screecher in one thin hand.

The Handmaiden's naked bodies were painted with dark Safic berry juice and they rubbed earth into their hair as a sign of mourning. They held a small Moonbud flower in their hands, they were careful not to touch the pain inducing petals. They moved their bodies to the slow rhythm of soft ceremonial drums.

Anais was standing with his brother but while the faces of the Almadra showed sadness and regret, his face showed a slight smile. As he waited for the twin suns to break over the pointed mountains to the west, he looked around at his people. _They are such hypocrites;_ he thought; _They pray and moan but in their hearts they're glad that it's not them. Silly people, fools bearing more fools._ He could not stop himself giggling a little, covering his mouth with one hand, he tried to hide his amusement.

Agart turned to look at him. _The Gods are wise;_ he reassured himself; _but why did they give me such a brother?_ He looked up at the sky, now turning from black to crimson; _but still, he is my brother and I am King, I will care for him._

He watched the rays of light move over the mountains, onto the finger of Solus. The Frail-legs were sat on the ground in a circle, as the sunlight rose, it cast a long shadow over their faces. They did not seem to notice their sons and daughters standing around them, nor did they hear the sound of the drums or the sad moaning of their people. They sat looking into the place, no one could see but them and listening to the soft music only their ears could hear.

Obec knew the time had come, she had seen this many times before but even her cold heart was moved, if only a little. She looked at the faces of the old men and women before her, many of them far older than she. As the morning light illuminated an age worn face, she remembered a woman's name. _Rina;_ she thought; _once my breast mother._

Rina's face was an ancient land of deep furrows, almost transparent from the many years of her long life. She had once been a Handmaiden of Isarie, she helped to raise Obec when she was a girl. For a brief moment, the High Priestess' mind returned to those happier years and the games they used to play.

You cheated at Hand-clap but I always won. The moment passed and she was back in the present time. She turned her gaze to another Frail-leg, a bent, bald headed man, now quite blind. _Edan-anoon, you were once the mightiest of the warriors;_ she thought; _you wished to die in battle but you still live, may the Goddess smile on you._

For all her thoughts, she really did not care, if the Gods smiled on the old man or not. He was of no further use now and he had not really believed in the Gods. He trusted in his own hand and the ax that it held.

Obec looked at the tribe's strong young warriors; _they are the future, Fire and Steel._

She raised her hand and held up the white staff for all to see. "It is written, when the time comes, we shall all stand before Isarie and she will ask us three questions."

Do you know my book?

Do you follow its teachings?

Do you believe?

She pointed to the Frail-legs, "The Almadra who now sit before the Great Stone have followed those words. Now it is time for them to rest, to travel to the Golden Halls of the Goddess. There, to sit at Isarie's feet and she will smile upon them, so it is written."

She motioned to Soffca, who stood at her side. Without a word, she picked up a small black box trimmed with gold and silver. There was a curious symbol carved on the lid, a dark spider with eyes the color of blood. The young Handmaiden and carried the box to the High Priestess who placed her hand on the lid. Then in a loud clear voice she said. "To all things I give a time, live and be free, dance and be alive, sing and be my Chosen and when you have lived and danced and sung, rest and be still."

She opened the box and reached into it with her claw like hand, she grasped a handful of its contents and then held up her clinched fist, "Give thanks to Isarie for life and for death!" Her words echoed in the air, hearing them, the warriors lifted their weapons and the Almadra spoke as one, "Thank you Isarie for life and for death!"

The warriors struck their battle axes into the ground and began to moan. The Elders of the Tribe put their hands to their faces and softly uttered prayers for their mothers and fathers. The children put their small hands over their mouths and closed their eyes.

Soffca put the box down and held up a small golden bowl. Obec put her hand over the bowl and opened her fist, small black crystals made a soft tinkling sound, as they dropped into the golden vessel.

Agart watched the young Handmaiden move serenely towards the Fail-legs, she handed the golden bowl to a dark robed Touch-tender. _The Angel of Death; he thought_. Agart watched as Soffca bowed to the woman, then she put out her hand and touched her lips. _T_ _he kiss of mercy,_ he thought; _Isarie is kind, she will watch over them._ He held up his hand, "Let us go, to live the life Isarie has given us and in the days to come, let us remember who gave us life and whose names will be written in her book."

Again the Almadra spoke as one, "We will remember," the warriors pulled up their axes, the Elders stopped praying and the children looked up to see the morning sky.

"It is finished," said Obec. With her Thungodra marching on either side, she left the finger of Solus and went to the Goddess' moving shine.

The Nomads walked back to their wagons, climbed into them, then took up the Trofar reins and continued their journey. The warriors were the last to leave, making sure everyone was safe. The Frail-legs were left behind, the Nomads did not weep or look back, they knew what had to be done, it was necessary. It was their way, the time of rebirth was coming and the time of the Frail-legs had passed.

They would not suffer, they would not feel the sun's heat on their weak shoulders. They would not have to sit in torment as their bodies burned, that would be too cruel. Tral, Black Grana, the Mercy of Isarie would take them from this world and the finger of Solus would point their way into the Golden Halls of the Afterlife.

One Touch-tender remained behind, her name was Aliyun, a tall woman with a kind face and gentle hands. She had offered herself as their companion and their salvation, she looked up at the rising suns and knew the burning heat of day would soon find her. She gazed at the people who had cared for her, now she would care for them. She sat on the ground and said a small prayer to Isarie.

You are the giver of life and I am the door to your Golden Hall

Show mercy to our makers and let them see your face.

Aliyun finished her prayer and watched the last of the wagons disappear into the distance. She looked down at the golden bowl and its ebony contents, she rose up and picked up one of the small dark crystals. She moved to a Frail-leg and gently touched his lips, when he opened his mouth she placed the black crystal onto his tongue.

She whispered softly, "I am the angel of death but do not fear me for I bring peace." words into ears that no longer heard. She watched as they closed their eyes then lay back on the soft ground, she covered them with robes of the finest cloth. Then she placed small bowls of Grana on one side of their heads and small loaves of Kasha bread on the other side. She went to the last Frail-leg, she bent down and gazed into the woman's old eyes, she had seen those eyes many times. She had been cared for by her mother and now it was her time to care for her mother.

She put a crystal into the old woman's mouth and another into her own. She sat down and took her mother into her arms. _I will hold you;_ she thought; _I will hold you as you once held me._

They sat together and watched the sunlight filling the sky. She felt her mother's head press against her breast, then she heard a soft sigh. She looked down to see her mother's eyes looking into hers, it had been a long time since she had seen that look, the look of forgiveness and love. Then she heard her mother whispering to her, "The Gods will arise." The words echoed in her mind and a warmth filled her soul, like the touch of a soft hand, then the light dimmed and all was darkness and peace.

Arn had come a great distance, he had walked all through the night, each step was like an eternity. Sun-birth was coming and he knew he was nearing the end of his journey. Any Off-Worlder would have died a long time ago, from blood loss and pain but a Nomad was bred for strength and endurance and that kept him going. Even so, the relentless suns and Gorn's unforgiving landscape would soon break even a super warrior like Arn.

He could hide in one of the many broken machines and scavenge for food, eating the night crawlers or sand beetles, they might sustain him for several days or more. He would only become a Waste-wanderer, forgotten and alone, with only his memories and Screels for company. It was better to die a Nomad, than live the rest of your days without a home or a tribe, an Outcast.

He looked at his hands, he could feel his fingers but when he tried to clench his fists he felt no strength. He'd found some small Rock-worms to ease the pain, although his head still pounded like a war hammer and his vision was blurred. In spite of all this, he kept walking, he did not want to sit down and let death take him without a fight. He would rather meet the Soul Taker on his feet and he might find enough strength to battle the dark one before feeling his icy grip.

He walked past a half buried land craft of some kind and noticed a jagged piece of metal hanging from an exploded armor plate. Its size and shape resembled a warrior's ax, he went over to the steel fragment, then clutching it with both of his hands, he pulled with all his strength. A fiery pain, shot up his arms but with a tremendous effort, he tore the steel away.

He inspected his reward. _A weapon;_ he thought; _when the Angel of Death comes, I shall meet his challenge._

He continued to walk, many of the Poison Land's small creatures watched him pass, they did not attack, they preferred to wait for him to fall, then they would move in for the feast. He looked up at the morning sky, it was streaked with red and gold. _No Sun-droppers, too early for them;_ he told himself; _but they will be out soon and they will be hungry._

He continued walking, step by step, he kept a lookout for any sign of Sand Dragons but he saw nothing. He was heading East, towards the Hollow Hills, it was a long way on foot, he knew there was little chance of reaching it in time but he kept walking.

He came over a small rise in the land and he was hit with the full heat of the morning suns. It was like standing beside the Iron-worker's forges, heat and more heat, waves of heat hitting him again and again. He stopped for a moment. _Death is waiting for me and it will be a good fight._ He carried on holding his rusty weapon and laughing softly to himself.

Andra had lost the tracks when they came over a small rise, the sand ended and then it was hard ground, the footprints disappeared. As a young girl she tracked small animals, abundant in and around her farm, once she came face to face with a Horde-wolf. That was a long time ago and now she had to face the fact that they were lost once more.

She looked back at the twin suns as they rose and felt the heat. She knew it was going to be even hotter than yesterday and the sooner they found shelter the better.

She looked over at Osh who was sleeping next to her; he had placed several woven mats against the wagon's hard wooden seat and laid back to rest. Looking at him, she decided there was little need to wake him, to tell him the obvious. It was better to let him sleep and keep going. She took another bearing on their last known heading, towards a very large iron structure and gave her Trofar a sharp snap on his hindquarters, the wagon began to roll once more.

Near the titanic hulk of a fallen Light-ship, the outcast King of the Almadra staggered like a drunken warrior. He licked his parched lips and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, he looked out over the landscape, then at the ground. He tried to shake off the dull pain in his mind but when he shook his head, it made the world spin around. He swayed on his feet and almost fell but he caught himself and stood upright once more.

He looked around again, he could see the spaceship's huge bulk in the distance, it seemed like a gigantic monster or an Earth-shaker? In his fevered mind, it was a call to battle, to fight one last time before he died. He lifted his rusty weapon, then called out in a loud voice, "I am Almadra, kill me if you can!" Then he laughed as only a Nomad can, deep and full of defiance, " I am Arn, outcast King of the Almadra, come, let us fight!"

Wearily he walked towards his enemy, still laughing to himself and the Gods. As he walked up a rise, around the bones of some forgotten creature, he heard a voice, one he had not heard for some time, his father's.

"Where are you going?" he asked his son.

Arn turned his blurry vision to see a spectral image of his father walking next to him, he was dressed in fighting armor and as always held his head high. Arn looked at the dead King but did not answer, he kept walking, until his father spoke again.

"A King always knows where he is going, he has to know where to lead his people, where are you going my son?"

A moment passed as Arn tried to shake the image of his father from his eyes, when it remained, he had no choice but to answer the man he'd killed.

"You are dead," he said softly, "You sit in the Halls of Isarie."

The image of his father looked at him hard, "Are you sure?" he asked.

Arn gripped the broken steel in his bloody hands, "Yes, I killed you."

"Yes you killed me, you followed the laws of our tribe and became King," the specter replied, "Now you have broken those rules and you walk alone towards death."

The outcast warrior pretended not to hear and kept walking but he heard his father's words again.

"I thought I'd taught you everything, I died thinking I had given my people a strong King but I was wrong."

Arn closed his eyes, "Leave me alone."

"I am ashamed to sit in the Halls of the Goddess," the old King said.

"Go away."

"Do you hear laughter, it is the Gods laughing at you?"

"Stop!" Arn swung his weapon but there was nothing solid to strike, the ghostly image remained.

Then the old King smiled at his son, "Do you know my book, do you follow its teachings, do you believe."

The outcast heard his father. _The three questions._ _Do I believe? do I believe? Do I?_ he thought.

He turned to his father but there was no one there, only air and a land of emptiness and pain. He wiped his eyes again, trying to clear them of the ghostly images then he looked back to a shape filling the sky before him. _A giant monster come to do battle,_ _a_ _monster from beyond._

He forgot his father's words of and his mind filled with the killing madness. He would meet this monster and fight, he would kill it and keep killing until the end. He began to laugh once more and then shouted as loud as he could, "I am Arn, once King of all the Almadra, I no longer believe but I will fight, come and we shall do battle!"

He swung his weapon over his head in defiance and looked up at the burning sky, then he cried out again. "Do you hear me laughing Isarie, I will answer no more questions, I follow no more laws, I am free, send your Angel of Death, you cannot kill me, I am already dead!"

Against the dark body of the colossal iron monster ahead of him, he saw a small shape, a shimmering outline of something coming towards him, as it grew nearer, he could make out a vague outline, a woman. The Angel of Death!

He stopped and stood holding his weapon, he braced his naked feet on the hard ground then threw back his head and shouted, "Do you hear Dark Angel, I am dead!"

He staggered and his vision began to fade, he grasped the jagged steel in his hands, squeezing it hard until the blood from his wounds began to flow once more. His breath came in short gasps and he struggled to remain conscious, he lifted his jagged weapon so he could die with it in his hand. He knew he would not find his way into the Golden Halls of the Afterlife but he wanted to die in battle just the same.

He watched as the death demon came towards him, the last thing he remembered was the Bringer of Death holding out her hand to take his soul.

Sun-fall had long since passed and now the sand and wind blew relentlessly over the vast emptiness of the Poison Lands. It came in great gusts like the hot breath from a racing Whiptail. Many creatures would normally be out under the night sky, now they took refuge whatever they could. Some dug deep underground, while others crowded into cracks in the earth or the remains of the giant broken machines that dotted the land. Only the huge Shell-backs could withstand the raging wind but only for a short time. They too would seek shelter, then wait for the morning sky to begin their wanderings once more.

Like those creatures, humans had to find a place to hide too, while nature vent her fury. In the cracked hull of the fallen Light-ship next to their wagon, Andra and Osh sat out the storm, they tried to save the life of a man who once saved theirs.

Andra looked down on the outcast King of the Almadra's bloody body, she had mixed feelings. On one hand she wished he would die for leaving her at the Dome of Omargash and breaking his promise, on the other she took pity on the horrible wounds to his wrists and body. Perhaps it was her soldiers training or maybe she still felt some love for him? She continued to clean his injuries with Po, mixed with water, then she tied strips of soft clean cloth around his writs. She found some Blaze-ants in a ground nest near their camp and used their strong jaws to clamp many cuts on his body. She let the insects bite hard then pulled their heads off to make a crude suture. Then she noticed Osh preparing a kettle of Hagar soup.

She was thirsty rather than hungry, then she heard a faint rumbling in her stomach, telling her she'd not eaten in a long time. Suddenly the smell from the cooking pot seemed very good.

Osh added another disk of dried Trofar dung to the Washa fire, there was no Eul to be had. He stirred the soup a few more times, then lifted a wooden spoon to taste his concoction. _Not bad;_ he thought; _a_ _bit more Ulon spice and it will be perfect._ He looked over at his companion, "How are his life signs?" he asked.

Andra looked down at Arn and drew a clean cloth over one deep puncture in his side, "He'll live," she replied.

She heard the Trofar bellow loudly, she looked across to make sure he was not in danger and was still tied securely to their wagon. Andra knew the fallen ship's heavy steel plating would keep out most of the wind and sand, they would be safe for the time being. The creature still made grunting sounds but she decided to ignore it.

Osh tasted the soup one more time, then took two clay bowls and filled them with hot soup. He walked over to Andra, sat the bowl down beside her, then rested himself on an iron beam that lay half buried in the ground. He settled back and took a mouthful of the hot soup, he swallowed it, making smacking sounds with his mouth, then turned to Andra, "Come on, eat or it will get cold" he said.

Andra took one look at the steaming bowl and shook her head, "How can you eat that now? It's like an oven in here and you want me to enjoy a hot bowl of soup."

The old man smiled as he took another mouthful, "It is a well-known fact that eating something hot, makes you feel cooler."

Andra shook her head, "I don't know where you get such ridiculous information." She watched as Osh was about to go into one of his long winded explanations, when she heard a faint moan from the unconscious King, he opened his eyes.

For a moment, Arn thought he had been wrong and his soul had found its way into the Golden Halls of Isarie. In the glow from the Washa fire, Andra's face seemed like the vision that filled his mind when he wandered in the Poisoned Lands. As his eyes refocused, he knew he wasn't dead and his journey was far from over. He looked into her eyes and wanted to say many things. He wanted to tell her, he still loved her and that he'd been wrong when he turned away from her in the Great Dome. He wanted to say, he would never leave her again, these thoughts passed through his mind in seconds but he looked at her and could say nothing.

When Andra saw him standing delirious in the Wasteland, she watched him raise the jagged piece of iron, as if to do battle, she wanted to take her ax and drive it into his unfaithful heart. When they lifted him into their wagon and carried him to the shelter of the fallen Light-ship, she wished he wouldn't wake up, then she wouldn't have to hear him lie to her again. Now she decided her wishes weren't doing any good, so she leaned over and looked him in the eye.

"What you bring out of the Wastelands is yours," she said coldly, "I saved your life and now you belong to me." Then she got up and walked away.

Arn watched her go, he wanted to call after her but he was too weak and there was nothing to be said.

#  Chapter 34. The Hollow Hills

There are many things that dwell in the darkness.

Some give life and some bring death.

Walk carefully when you leave my world of light.

For in the darkness I cannot see you.

But I will hear your voice in prayer.

From the Book of Isarie.

Daylight found the Almadra nearing the towering mountains of Koto-Car and the Hollow Hills, the home of the Grana miners. They would trade the wagons of stone bread, dried Rimar meat and the iron digging implements for the precious green salt. After an offering to the Gods, they would travel to the deep caves of the Crystal Spiders, where they would stay through the Burning Time.

They had weathered the windstorm and now continued their seemingly endless journey. The Nomads had traveled mostly at night, spending the days in their wagons out of the burning sunlight and intense heat. Although the Whiptails and Trofar could endure high temperatures, they were still kept under sunshades if possible and given extra water when needed. It was still very hard on the tribe's members and they longed for the cool caves and the long sleep.

Agart had led his people as best he could but he was being haunted by the memories of his brother, sister and his mother who was no longer with them. Day after day, he thought about how he had listened to the Holy Mother's words and how he had betrayed the King to save his people. He was torn between knowing if following the laws of Isarie and his tribe was right, or if he had somehow betrayed everything he once loved.

Riding his Whiptail under the night sky he looked up at the stars, in the past they had always made him feel content. He felt nothing, his heart was filled with a great emptiness that nothing could fill. He looked at the small moon Eka, coming up over the horizon, the moon's steady movement past the stars gave him comfort, a feeling he was a part of a universe with order and a purpose.

_How small;_ he thought; _follow your brothers and sisters, they will point the way._ He looked back at the long column of wagons and warriors, who now put their trust in him. _W_ _here do I lead them now. do I know the way?_ He looked straight ahead and did not look at the night sky again.

Far back in the mass of warriors, surrounded by the Thungodra, Anais lay in Soffca's arms. Safe in their wagon and out of sight of the tribe's scornful eyes. To make his journey as comfortable as possible, Anais had insisted on bringing soft bedding and pillows. He still found the mattress a bit too hard and the burning scent sticks in a small brazier weren't the right odor. Bored, he watched a swaying oil lamp, its soft warm light shimmered over everything.

The only thing that made his journey tolerable, was Soffca's warm body next to him. If she had not been there, he would be shouting for Touch-tenders, to see to his every need. He ran his fingers over the tattoos on Soffca's perfect forehead. The sunburst pattern was an Icon of the Gods, Anais did not know its meaning but all Handmaidens bore such a mark. He ran his hand down her back and touched her dark hair, it lay loose in ebony waves. She smelled sweet, like a freshly cut field flower and it made his heart pound with pride.

_I have fooled the Gods;_ he thought; _I have fooled them all, the old witch thinks she has me in her hand but I will show her that I follow my own way._

He felt a stirring and watched as Soffca opened sleepy eyes. He watched her and saw his own reflection in her dark eyes.

"Once you were the plaything of the Gods, now you are mine," he leaned over and kissed her soft lips. They were warm and yielding to his advances, he kissed her hard then looked at her again, "Tell me, do the Gods give you as much joy as I do?"

The young woman smiled and shook her head, "No," she said softly.

Anais smiled and closed his eyes; _I have taken from the Gods, I will take what I need and then I will take more._ He let the wagon's motion rock him to sleep. He did not think of his lost brother or mother, his head was too busy with images of himself, standing before the tribe, watching them bow to him.

In the moving Shrine of the Goddess, Obec sat alone near a golden statue of Isarie. She'd sent the ever present Handmaidens away, to chant prayers and do the small but necessary things to keep the Gods content. Now alone and out of the view of prying eyes, she took out the small chest she'd shown to Egmar. She opened it and took out the icon that had caused Egmar to become so frightened. She held it in her wrinkled hand for a moment, then placed it on the low table next to her chair. She reached into the box again and took out a small colorless crystal, it was very clear and sparkled like a bright star in her hand. She placed the crystal in her lap, closed the chest and turned back to the statue of Isarie.

At the base of the idol was an iron bowl, a small fire burned there, she placed a handful of sweet smelling incense into the flames, its perfume swirled into the air. She breathed in the pungent fragrance and let it wash over her senses, then after a moment or two, she opened her eyes and looked up at the face of Isarie.

_I am your right hand;_ she thought; _g_ _rant me life so that I might do your will._ Reverently she put the crystal into her mouth. A few moments later, she picked up the small-carved icon and placed it into the fire. _Let those who do not see your face be forgotten._ Obec closed her eyes and let her soul rise up from the withered body in which it lived, to a place only the Gods could know.

It had been two days and one night since Andra found Arn. They sheltered in the great hull of the fallen Light-ship, to give the outcast King's wounds time to heal. During that time, Andra did not speak to him, she let Osh take food to him and change his dressings.

Arn had exchanged the small strip of Rimar hide for some, body armor. It was not the armor of a King but it would suffice, Osh had traded for it before they left the Nomad camp. The chest piece, leg armor fitted well and so did the helmet, it lacked the elaborate horns and markings identifying a King of the Almadra. As for a warriors ax and the dragon's teeth, he would have to do without those. A Nomad would not, trade his sacred weapons for any amount of Sagar teeth or Rimar horn.

Osh was amazed to find Arn's flesh had almost healed, what would have taken weeks for any other humanoid had only taken a few days for the Nomad. He'd read that the recuperative powers of the Outlanders was amazing but up until now, he put it down to exaggeration. After he examined the warrior's arm, he knew it was the truth. Osh had put large amounts of Green Grana into the King's food, perhaps that helped with the healing process too. Whatever the reason, most of the people of the Outer Rim would have called it a miracle.

"I think you will have a full return of your tactile functions, in a day or two," Osh said, with the air of someone who'd trained in the Academy of Healing on Delberon Three.

Arn squeezed his hands into fists and then looked at the old man. "Yes I will be fine," he said quietly and then he looked over at Andra, who was busy giving the Trofar some water from a large clay pot.

Osh nodded his head in approval, "Yes I'm sure you will. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions concerning your miraculous healing capabilities and the effect Grana has on your metabolism, first of all...." Before he could continue Arn got up and walked towards the wagon, where Andra was using a jug to water the Trofar.

"Very well," the old man called out, "We can continue our discussion another time." He looked around at the fallen Light-ship's hull plating and decided to investigate its history.

Andra heard Arn's approaching footsteps, she was wearing armor and kept her ax close to hand. She'd learned that danger can come at anytime and she'd gotten used to the metal skin, now she felt defenseless without it. As the footfalls came closer, her anger began to rise, she put the water jug down and reached for her weapon.

When Arn was only a few steps away, she took up her ax and spun around to face him. "Stay away," she said coldly, she held up her weapon as a warning, she would back up her words with action.

Arn stopped, he stood looking at her, he saw the anger in her eyes and by the way her body tightened, he knew she meant what she'd said. "I have no weapon," he said, holding his hands up, to show they were empty, "I do not challenge you."

Andra lowered her ax a little, the rage in her eyes lessened but she still did not want him any closer. Arn lowered his hands and walked carefully around Andra, "Once I gave you a name," he said calmly, "Moonbud, the flower that kills, I can see that it was a good name and you no longer need my protection."

"No, I don't," she replied, "I don't need any more lies or betrayal from you, I will go my own way."

Arn stopped and looked at Andra, "Where will you go?"

Andra thought for a moment, then held up her head proudly, "Anywhere I like, somewhere beyond wars, death, and pain."

The King shook his head and looked up, "That place lies beyond this world," he reached down and picked up an iron bar from the ground. About a meter in length, one end had a mass of metal embedded with broken bolts and pieces of wire. Holding it in his hands, he looked at Andra, "You took me out of the Wastelands and I will do as you command. Shall I send you to a place of peace?"

Andra stood still, her mind filled with thoughts and images, she'd kept buried in the dark corners of her memory for so long, visions of war and death and pain. She saw her comrades lying dead, burned alive by enemy Blaze-canons. She heard them scream and call out for help. She saw the faces of her defenseless mother and brother, burning as they huddled together in their home. She saw herself as a prisoner, tortured for the pleasure of her captors. All these images welled up in her, like a cone fire on her home world and she let it take her.

She lifted her ax and swung it with all her might. Sparks flew as Arn caught the blow on the soft metal of the iron bar, he struck back with a glancing strike to Andra;s side armor. It did little damage and Andra wheeled around to swing at the Nomad's head but he ducked away just in time, the ax blade found only empty air.

Again and again, the two combatants struck, then moved back, circling each other and looking for an opening to strike. The sound of weapons hitting against each other filled the fallen Light-ship's hull and echoed over the Poison Lands like a war drum.

From a distance Osh watched as the pair battled, he thought about intervening but there was little he could do. It was better to let the conflict run its course, then see to the combatant's wounds. Osh could see that Arn wasn't using his full strength, he was merely defending himself, letting Andra vent her rage, rather than trying to defeat her. He decided to stay where he was and let them settle their differences.

After several minutes of intense fighting, Andra was breathing very hard and her blows were losing some of their power. She moved back and observed Arn's eyes, she was hoping to find them burning with hate but to her annoyance they showed nothing. This made her even angrier and she swung her ax with all the power left in her tired arms.

Arn dodged the blow and suddenly reached out to grip her wrist, he forced Andra backwards until she dropped to her knees, then he twisted her arm until her weapon fell to the ground. Arn bent down and took her into his arms. "Shall I sent you to the Afterlife? Or will you stay? We can share our pain, together."

Andra let all her emotions pour out, she did not consider her future. She saw neither tomorrows of sunlight and joy, nor darkness and pain. All she felt were the strong arms of someone who cared. She closed her eyes and held her man tightly, "I will stay," she said softly.

Egmar had lost all track of time. Without the suns or stars, she could not be sure how long she had been held captive. She counted the coming and going of the dark robed woman, who brought her food and drink. She slept well enough but in the darkest recesses of her mind, she saw horrific images. Dark robed faces leering at her and burning eyes that filled her soul with terror. She heard voices and screams, then she would wake with a start to find herself alone.

She sat on the fur covered bed and prayed, she asked the Goddess for peace and understanding. She recited verses from the Holy Book and made an offering of the Grana Salt they had provided for her but her heart was still troubled and her mind was filled with questions.

The Darkman's words still echoed in her ears; _I am your son;_ and the feelings she had when she first saw his eyes and thought; _you are my son._

_Is this a punishment for betraying Isarie, for not letting my son die?_ Egmar opened her eyes and looked around the small room; _am I to stay her through all eternity, is this my world now?_

She closed her eyes again and let her thoughts move through the years of long ago, back to when she was just a young woman holding a small boy in her arms. She saw herself walking over a dark and barren land, she looked up at the stars and heard a soft voice singing a song to a young son.

You will always be a part of me.

I will always see your face.

We will always be together.

Wait for me for I will always come.

More images of wind and sand, a dark crystal, cries in the night, then weeping and a hand reaching out for her. More wind, a young boy screaming, a mother turning away, the pain of a thousand nightmares, then darkness.

Egmar opened her eyes, the room was still there, as it had been before. The table and chair were still in place, all was the same, nothing had moved. _I am still here, there is no one waiting for me._

She heard the harsh scraping of metal on metal, the iron door that led into her dimly lit room, slowly opened. Three dark robed figures stood looking at her, they were small and she was certain they were female. Their faces were all but hidden by their hoods but the Queen could see small patches of rotting flesh and dim eyes looking at her.

One of the figures made a gesture and said, "Come."

For a moment Egmar was unsure if she should go with them or stay where she was. She realized it would be useless to try to stay if they wanted her to come with them. They could easily take her against her will if necessary, even drag her out of the room. Something the Queen could not allow, with her head held high, she rose and walked across the small room, she stood before the dark robed women.

"I am ready," she said with all the dignity of her rank.

The women moved apart and they left the room, one of them led the way into a long, dimly lit hallway, then they walked down a long corridor. She passed a number of corridors and could hear soft sad moaning and whimpering, glowing eyes watching as she passed. The smell of rot and decay became stronger, the foul odor of rotting meat or the smell of boiled Rimar skin, hung out to dry at a tannery. From each dark corner came the strong smell of death, it took all of Egmar's willpower to keep control of the feeling of sickness as she followed the dark robed woman. Eventually the twists and turns of the tunnel came to a larger chamber.

Egmar could see a stream of sunlight pouring through a hole, at the top of a domed part of the rock, she was glad to see daylight again. The finger of light went down to a carving on the chamber's floor. A huge astrological symbol with markings and Signs of the Zodiac, the writing was unknown to her. She only recognized a few etchings, a spider, an Earth-shaker and other creatures of Gorn. In the center was a carving of a man and woman, standing side by side and holding weapons in their hands.

The chamber was huge, almost half the size of the Great Dome of Omargash. The ceiling, high above them was supported by massive iron beams and numerous cross members. There were countless tubes and conduits of all sizes and shapes, they ran down the walls into metal casings and machinery, the Queen didn't understand the purpose of any of it. She saw large chunks of rock that had fallen from the roof, now strewn about the floor.

There were wide cracks in the floor and as Egmar passed over, she looked down to see more strange machines. They were silent and looked like they had been unused for centuries. There was layer upon layer of them stretching into the dark depths. Why they were here or their purpose, the Queen did not know, she simply put it all down to the will of Isarie and thought about it no more.

The Queen was led to the center of the vast chamber, she saw a circle of stone steps leading up to a dais, several meters above the floor. On top of the dais was a large stone chair and a half circle of columns, each the girth of a warrior. Two were broken, the rest intact, they looked strange to her, although covered with rock, inside they were metal, with wires and supports in strange configurations. Each was topped by a glass globe, two of which were broken, inside these she could see more intricate mechanisms that must surely have been made by the Gods. As she got closer, she saw a figure standing by the columns, she recognized the tall stature and black robe. It was the Darkman.

The blacked robed Handmaidens stood before the stone stairs, then they pointed to the dais. The Queen understood, it was an invitation to join the tall man at the top. Egmar waited for a moment, then carefully climbed up the cold stones until she was standing next to the creature, who said he was her son.

The Darkman pulled back his hood, in the sunlight she saw his face clearly but this time she did not draw back in horror, this time she observed his cold eyes.

"Why have you brought me here my son?" she asked.

The man took a step forward, "My son," he said, it was not a question, more of an answer to himself. She watched him close his eyes and say the words over and over again, then he looked at her, "You know the truth then?"

Egmar came closer to him, "Yes, I know now that what you said is the truth."

She held out her hand to him but he drew back, "No, do not touch me," his words were not a warning, they were more like words of anger, "I do not want your pity," he said softly.

The Queen moved closer still and put her hand on his cloaked arm, "Is pity that painful to you?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied and then his voice became angry. "Did you pity me when you left me to die, did your heart feel pain or did it sing as you walked away, listening to my cries for you to come back?"

She took her hand away from his arm and turned from him, "I did what I had to do, what the laws of my people told me to do," she said softly.

"Your laws?" he asked, "Your laws told you to kill me but you just left me in the wastelands. You left me to wander alone under an unforgiving sky and a dark endless night. You are the one without pity, look what you and your false Gods have made of me."

The Queen turned to him with tears in her eyes, "You are my son, I tried to give you the dark crystal, I tried to send your soul to the Halls of the Goddess but I could not."

"So you left me alone," he spit out the words as his eyes shone with a deep fire, "You left me alone!"

The Queen fell to her knees and put her hands over her face. "Yes, I left you," she sobbed, "I once sang you songs, I told you I would never leave you, that I would hold you throughout eternity but I lied, I lied." Egmar let the pain she'd carried for so many cycles flow out of her in bitter tears, the chamber echoed to her regretful sobs.

The Darkman stood over her, "Yes you lied but your dream of bearing a King came true, my brother leads our people while I hide in the shadows, I am the nightmare in the dream."

Egmar took her hands away from her face and rose, she looked at her outcast son and placed a hand to his tormented face. "No, you will always be in the sunlight of my heart," she moved her fingers over the rough dry skin, "Will you forgive the Gods, will you forgive your people, will you forgive me?"

The Darkman took her hand from his scarred face and shook his head, "Do you think a few words can replace a lifetime of suffering. I will never forgive the Gods, I will never forgive my people and I will never forget what you did to me but there might be a way to ease your suffering."

He lifted his ruined hand high, the Queen heard the sound of feet in the darkness, she watched dark robed figures entering the chamber.

They came from their tunnels to the vast openness of the underground dome. Like a dark army of Blaze-ants, the sound of their marching feet filled the air. Some adorned themselves with robes, while others wore small iron or steel plates, laced together with strips of Rimar skin to make battle armor. Others held shields and maces or makeshift axes and swords, there were bowmen and spear bearers, all wore battle dress. They numbered in the thousands, men, and women, all with rotting faces and torn bodies, some were missing hands or arms, others were without eyes or lips. They were an army of the walking dead, warriors from the dark Pit of Marloon, they were the Shadow-men.

Egmar watched them fill the chamber, she knew there were many others, beyond the dome who could not come inside. She wondered how many there were, it would be a formidable army by any standard, with the dark people standing motionless before the dais, the Darkman turned to the Queen.

"These are the forgotten people," he said, "they are your Goddess' outcasts. We have no names or Gods or future, we have no King or Queen, no mothers or fathers, we do not live, we survive." He moved a few paces towards the edge of the dais and looked out at the mass below. "There were other mothers too, who could not grant mercy to their children, they also left them to the Outlands, some die but others survive. We find them and bring them here, we multiplied but we were cursed, this land is not the Great Plains of Darmock, nor the Golden Hall of Isarie. This is a dark place of forgotten souls, here all is poisoned, we eat Green Grana and live but our lives are a walking death." He turned to looked at his mother, "Is this the mercy, your Goddess gives to her chosen?"

The Queen did not answer, she just looked at her tormented son, she saw him gaze up at the shaft of light coming into the chamber.

"We live in the shadows, we listen and learn, we see and understand, we don't whisper prayers to, or ask favors of the Gods and we don't make sacrifices to them. Soon all of Gorn will know our power and they shall bow down before us."

He motioned to a small figure who was standing next to them on the dais. The woman's face was all but eaten away and she only had one eye. She held an ebony box in her bony hands, she moved over to stand beside the Darkman, he opened the box and reached inside. Withdrawing his rotted hands, he held them out to his mother.

"In your book of lies, it says, Isarie gave you the Salt of the Earth." He opened one hand to show her the green crystals of life, "In this hand I hold the promise of the Goddess." He opened his other hand, "In this hand I hold our God."

Egmar looked, dark crystals, _Tral;_ she thought; _B_ _lack Grana, the Mercy of Isarie._

She heard her son speak again, "On the day of choosing, you were supposed to give this to me, to let me die while my brother lived to rule but you did not, you just left me. Now the crystals are our mother and father, they keep us alive but without hope. You were once a Queen with many choices, now I give you only two, you can take the dark crystals and go to whatever Afterlife is waiting for you, or you can stay with us and share our pain. You will be one of us, our forgotten Queen, now choose."

Egmar looked at the hands before her, one held an end to all her misery, she could put the dark crystal into her mouth and let all days and nights slowly drift away.

_Karn will be waiting in the Golden H all for me, I will sit with him and Seeda will be at_ _my side for all eternity._ She looked at the green crystals. _If I stay I will feel the dark hand that holds my son._

She looking into his eyes, she saw hate and pain and terror there, she looked beyond his eyes into a place that only a mother could see. She saw a small boy who she'd left to die in the emptiness of the Wastelands. Could she turn her back on her son once more? Could she walk from this world into the next?

She remembered the Song of the Maidens.

No shadow will find you, all will be in your dreams.

The moons will see you and they will smile.

In the arms of your birth you will rest.

Till the night sky is empty of stars.

I will still hold you.

She reached out her hand and took a small green crystal, "Once, I walked away from you, I will not do so again." She put the gift of Isarie into her mouth, then she turned to the mass of dark figures below and spoke in a loud clear voice. "You are no longer forgotten, I was once the Queen of the Almadra but now I am one of you."

There was silence as the Darkman came forward. He looked down at his people, "We have no Gods, we follow no laws, we live in the shadows and hide from the light of day. We have no names but we call each man or woman, brother or sister. We don't pray, or read from a Holy Book and we do not have a King." He turned towards his mother, bending his knee, he bowed to her, "Now we have a Queen."

With these words the Chamber of the Shadow-men, erupted into great cries, weapons pounded the stone floor and women screamed as they beat their breasts. They began to dance and the sound of drums mixed with the shouts of joy. The dark men and women moved around the dais as one. They did not care about tomorrow or the days beyond that. For a brief moment, they let the pain of their pitiful lives fall away, once more feeling the warm arms of a caring mother, holding them and their unloved hearts.

#  Chapter 35. Lords of the Underworld

Travel all the lands that I give to you.

They are yours to live in and be free.

But the lands below your feet are not yours.

They are the Kingdoms of the dead.

From the Book of Isarie.

The great herds of Rimar marched steadily across the barren lands of Koto-Car, their numbers uncounted. A great mass of wandering life, their pounding feet made the ground shake and make the air thick with dust. They came from as far away as the Southern Borders, past the Great Pyramid cities near to the Haunted Jungles of Yung. They came from the Great Western Sea, where the Giant Leviathan's swam as Gods of the Oceans and the Wave Riders lived in fear of their wrath. They came from beyond the Land of the Nomads and out of the dense forests of Caltarine in the East. They came from the sky hung mountains or wind swept desserts, their instinct guided them to the Hollows Hills, where they would find safety from the burning skies, soon to engulf their world.

With them prowled fierce Whiptails and many fell to the carnivore's powerful jaws but they were so numerous that their existence, was not threatened by the carnivores. It was nature's way, old and the weak perish, the species would remain strong and vibrant.

Along with the Tundra-beasts were Loppers and Dawn-callers, Spike-backs and Death-roamers. All the Great Beasts of the Outlands that could not withstand the Burning Time, sought shelter in the massive caves of the Hollow Hills.

Only the Earth-shakers were immune to the blazing heat, their massive bodies had thick shell backs and they had ability to sink into the ground, keeping them safe from the flames and heat. They would rest and sleep through the inferno, to wake again when the cooling rains came.

With the beasts of Gorn were the humans, who had recently been made Outcast, now they made their home in the Outlands. As Sun-birth was about to break over the jagged mountains, the wagon of an Off-World woman, a Callaxion and a Nomad, trekked across the rocky ground.

Arn held the reins tightly, his hands now healed, he watched as the Night-criers winged their way across the breaking skies, back to their homes in sheltered caves, high in the mountains, there to wait out the daylight. The Nomad sat quietly, remembering when he was a young boy, driving his mother's wagon. He imagined he could hear her singing as she prepared the evening meal. He remembered how annoying his younger brothers were and how his sister poked him in the back with her wooden ax, then ran to her mother's side for protection.

Arn looked up at the sky and saw the many moons overhead. _Y_ _ou are the family of the heavens;_ he thought; _you will be together for all time._

He looked at Andra sitting beside him, in spite of all her efforts, she had fallen asleep and now rocked slowly from side to side with the wagon's motion, over the uneven ground _. Let her sleep;_ he told himself; _s_ _he will need all her strength for the time ahead._

From the back of the wagon, he could hear the old man's loud snoring.

Try as he might, he couldn't fully understand the Callaxion. His stories about other worlds and vast mechanical devices that could answer any question, seemed ridiculous. To think of such a weak Off-Worlder, commanding these machines to his bidding, was surely the blabbing of a madman.

_He must have eaten too much Boda, or cooked his mind in the midday heat;_ he thought; _but h_ _e is a harmless old man, perhaps the Gods will smile on him. Then his mind raced to the future and the caves in the Hollow Hills._ He remembered something else; _the lurkers in the darkness, the glowing eyes of Isarie, they will welcome us, they will give of their strength even to Outcasts._

The wagon bounced over a large rock and Andra opened her eyes, she looked around and could see light breaking over the mountains, she had slept through the night.

"You should have woken me, so I could take my turn at the reins," she said as she rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms.

"You needed the rest and I wasn't tired," Arn replied.

Andra took the reins from his hands, "I'm not tired and I don't need rest." She snapped the reins as if to punctuate her words, Arn didn't say anything, he let her have it her way.

They sat without speaking for several minutes, the last few days had been hard for them. Andra still did not trust Arn fully and he felt remorse for what he had done. They knew that with time, they could overcome the past and look to the future. The light from the mornings suns began to advance and the first rays hit them.

To Andra it felt like the branding irons used by Horca breeders, on her home world, "We'd better find somewhere to shelter fast or we'll cook," she said.

Arn looked up at the sky and paused as if he was listening to an inner voice telling him where to go. He pointed to a range of hilly of rocks in the distance, "That way," he said, "We can reach those hills by midday, it's where we want to be."

"Midday?" Andra asked, "By then we'll be brunt to a crisp!"

"We have no other choice, we must reach those mountains if we are to survive."

"Why can't we setup camp here and make the journey tonight?" she asked.

Arn shook his head, "We are in the path of the migrating Whiptails, if they find us, they will kill us, we must keep moving."

Andra could tell that this was no idle statement, she decided not to waste more time and gave the reins another snap to hurry their Trofar towards their goal. The huge animal gave a loud grunt and went where it was directed. Andra could see that the creature was in pain, the strain of the pulling the wagon was taxing its strength to the limit. There was unfortunately, no other choice so she urged the beast onward.

Far to the North, the Almadra had reached their objective, they had at last, arrived at the home of the Ergan-Mar. The mole like Earth-eaters, the people who dug the Grana Salt and gave life to the Outlanders. Their homes were scattered throughout the Hollow Hills, each group traded exclusively with one Nomad tribe in exchange for the precious green crystals.

The Almadra moved their wagons against the rocks and outcroppings of the scarred mountains away from the light of the suns. They put up the sun shields and moved the Trofars and Whiptails into some, of the many caves in the mountain. As always the warriors made a circle around the Elders, the weapons on the Spike-backs were pointed outward in case of a surprise enemy attack. They knew that by midday, it would be far too hot for any human to be out but their fear of the unknown kept them alert.

The Holy Shrine of the High Priestess was placed in the most secure cave and surrounded by the Thungodra. There it would stay, until negotiations for the Grana was complete. Then the tribe would make the last leg of their journey to the Crystal Caves, their refuge during the Burning Time.

Agart and a small group of his best warriors walked warily into the great cave of the Ergan-Mar. The floor outside the entrance was scattered with bones and artifacts covered with earth. Excavated by the miners, they were of no value, so they threw them out. There were the skulls of creatures unknown and pieces of fantastic machines that not even an Off-Worlder could understand. To the Nomads it was worthless junk, forgotten playthings of the Gods. They had more important things on their minds, if they did not acquire the precious Grana, their lives would soon end with the sickness and they would have nothing to trade. They did not like the Ergan-Mar, or Cave-Carvers as they were sometimes known, to them they were a sub-species, much like the Sandjar. Their ways were strange and it was suspected, that they practiced obscene rituals in the deep bowels of the earth. In the same was as with the Talsonar, they had no choice but to trade with them. If the miners wanted something they had, then they would come to some sort of arrangement.

With Agart at the head the warriors, they went further into the great cave until the blazing sunlight was all but gone. They carried their weapons and a small basket of stone bread. When they were far enough in from the entrance, they stood for a moment, to let their eyes grow accustomed to the darkness.

A short time later, they heard a rustling in the darkness, then the sound of padded feet, from the shadows came several figures. They moved to the edge of light, then stopped to look at who had intruded into their dark realm.

They resembled the ape creatures of the Jungles of Yung but unlike those savages, they were virtually hairless. Their skin was pale with rough protrusions that looked like there were horns sticking out of their flesh. They were short and muscular, with strong arms and legs. Their heads were wide, with a broad heavy jaw and a protruding forehead. They had no eyes to speak of, just tiny slits in a bulbous face. Their small ears were alert to the slightest sound and piggish noses could detect a Rock-worm from far away. Their pale skin was very dirty, their elbows and knees were covered with metal plated Rimar hide, caked with earth and dust. They carried digging implements that could easily be used as weapons. While they stood waiting, they grunted in their strange language and made gestures to each other.

The leader, a bit taller than his comrades lumbered forward, he held a digging bar in one great hand and spoke in broken words that could hardly be understood.

"Trade?" he said in a short grunt.

Agart stepped forward, "Yes, trade," he said.

The leader rubbed his dirty face with his thick-fingered hand, "Food trade?" he said.

"Yes, we have bread and meat for trade," the King replied. One of the warriors gave him a small loaf of the over spiced stone bread, Agart tossed it to the miner.

The Ergan-Mar leader picked up the bread and sniffed it, then stuffed it into his mouth, he chewed then swallowed, "Good," he said, then he rubbed his stomach, "Trade for food and hard."

The King nodded in approval, "Yes, trade for food and hard." He was about to turn and go when the miner grunted loudly, Agart turned back to see what he wanted.

The dirt-covered creature made a signal with his huge hand but the King did not understand it. The miner spoke, "More trade," he said.

"Trade?" asked the King.

The leader tilted his head to one side, "Trade for soft," he grunted again.

Agart understood what he wanted, from time to time, the miners asked for a woman of the tribe as a trade. What they did with her in the dark reaches of the earth, no one knew or wished to know, they knew that the women were never seen again.

_Filthy creatures;_ he thought; _t_ _hey are the dung of the Gods but we have no choice, "_ Trade for soft," he said reluctantly.

This made the diggers very pleased, they grunted and beat their tools on the ground.

Agart left the darkness and returned into the light with his warriors.

Far from the Grana miner's cave, the daylight held no mercy for Arn and his companions who looked down at their dead Trofar. The creature had tried its best to reach the mountains but the heat and lack of food and water, took its toll. With a loud grunt it fell to the ground, never to move again. Now there was no way to carry all of their supplies to the sanctuary of the Hollow Hills, some difficult choices would have to be made.

Arn turned from the dead beast and looked out over the barren ground, he could see Rimar and other beasts moving towards the hills but no Whiptails, that made him feel more confident. He looked up to see the blazing suns, he could feel their merciless heat through the sun robe covering his body. He turned to Andra and Osh, "Take only, food, water and salt, leave the rest," he said.

Andra understood what he said, as a soldier she had been in similar situations. Once on Kaylon Six her company had to leave all their weapons behind so they could reach a Mega fort before the enemy counter attack but Kaylon was a cold planet and not a land of burning death.

She nodded, "I understand," she said, she looked out over the shimmering landscape, "Do you think we can make it?" she asked.

The Nomad shrugged his shoulders, "Only the Gods know." _I have forsaken the Gods, they will not see me._

Osh stood listening to the conversation, he'd made a rough calculation of the distance they had to travel and the time it would take. He included the amount of water their bodies would need to make the trek, then he estimated the temperature and threw in the chance of meeting a Whiptail. He came to the conclusion that the chances of them surviving the journey were very slim. He decided they would have a far better chance without him, "I think I'll wait here, you can come back for me later," he said calmly.

Andra knew that he was just making a noble gesture and she wasn't falling for it. "I'm not making two trips," she smiled a little, "and besides if we meet something hungry, we can always use you as a diversion, we can get away while he's eating you."

The old man had very little sense of humor but it did not take a Laugh-Clown to know when she was making a joke. "It wouldn't take long to eat me, then it would come after you," he said with a small smile.

Arn did not understand what they were saying, if they met a hungry Whiptail, it would surely kill them all, then eat them at its leisure. "There is no time," he said, "take what food and water you can carry, then follow me."

They took what they could out of the wagon. Andra carried her ax and Arn had fashioned a mace from a some wood and a piece of iron he'd found. They took several large loaves of Kasha bread in a sack, also a carry skin of water and their Grana. Osh was reluctant to leave his treasures behind but there was little choice. In the end he stuffed some Rimar skin scrolls into his robe and carried a small sack of dried meat over his shoulder. In a few minutes they were trudging over the baking earth, hoping they would not end up like their Trofar.

Agart watched as they loaded the wagons with the precious Grana Salt. They had successfully exchanged the stone bread and a goodly amount of dried Rimar meat for what they needed. There were wagon loads of digging implements, "The hard," asked for by their leader. They also traded some clay pots, the Ergan-Mar had no skill in making metal tools or vessels. In the past they simply dug by hand but with the Nomads came iron and steel, which made the work much easier. They did not know why they wanted the clay pots, they did not appear to store anything and ate hand to mouth. It did not matter, if they wanted them they got them.

The bread was what they really loved, they mostly ate Rock-worms, Night-criers, or other underground creatures, uncovered by their digging. Eating a Rock-worm would kill any Outlander but it did not seem to bother the cave dwellers. A constant diet of worms made them crave for something different and the stone bread was a special treat. The last of the wagons were full of the green crystals, there was only one more thing to do.

The King turned to a group of Handmaidens who had entered the dim cave. They were dressed in black robes and held small candles in their hands, at their head was Obec. She also wore a dark robe with a headdress made from small animal bones. In her thin hand she held an ivory rod with a human skull at the top, beside her stood Soffca holding a small silver and gold chest.

There was a contingent of Thungodra with the High Priestess, their black beetle like armor made them look like dark insects of the underworld and that was exactly how they wanted to look. They knew the salt miners were superstitious, they worshiped dark Gods that never saw the light of day. Their armor made them look like dwellers of the underworld, it sent a shudder through the minds of the Cave Carvers.

The King made a gesture with his hand and the Handmaidens moved forward with the Holy Woman, when they reached the edge of the ring of daylight from the outside, they stopped and waited.

Out of the darkness, the Ergan-Mar's leader lumbered towards them. When he and several of his kind saw the women, they began to grunt and move about in excitement and drool flowed from their flabby lips.

Obec stepped forward and looked at the earth digger's pale faces, "We give you one of our own," her words were slow and deliberate. "Take her and return to the darkness, she will be your light and share her life with yours." The old woman motioned to a young woman in the center of the Handmaidens, who had been out of view. As she came forward, the King saw it was Yogoon, daughter of Nartack and Ubanie, she was beautiful and had skin the color of fresh Trofar milk. She was naked and her long dark hair hung down her back to her waist. She had only been a Handmaiden for two cycles but she had taken her vows, now she stood quietly, trusting in the Gods.

_She will be remembered;_ he thought; _her name will be written in the Book of Isarie._

The High Priestess looked at the young woman and began to speak, "You are their Light of Isarie, your name will be remembered and the Gods will smile on you."

The young woman bowed to Obec, then walked towards the creatures of the darkness, while she walked the Handmaidens chanted softly.

"You are the Light of Isarie, you will bring light into the darkness below. We will remember your name and sing your song, our tears will water the earth and you shall drink from our memories. Ertock maroon, claartie mayrala, we weep for you."

The young woman, was taken by the Ergan-Mar and led into the shadows, the Handmaidens wept bitter tears.

Osh lay on the ground motionless, beside him Andra sat upright supporting herself on one weary arm. Above them was a sky of fire and light that seemed to burn into their very souls.

"Leave us," Andra gasped weakly, she put one hand over her eyes trying to shield them from the constant glare.

Arn stood looking down at his companions, he saw Osh's chest slowly rising and falling so he knew there was still some life left in him. As for Andra, she was still conscious but he could see she was suffering. He lifted the water skin bag, only a small amount of water was left, he handed it to Andra.

"Drink," he said.

Andra took a few gulps of water then lifted Osh's head, she poured what was left into his gasping mouth. The splash of water wakened the Callaxion, he looked up through his sun robe and spoke quietly, "It is no use, to old, too much heat," and then his head dropped and he closed his eyes.

Andra turned to Arn, "Go on without us, it's the only way," then she too fell to the ground.

For a moment Arn stood looking at the hills, they seemed so close but so far away for the Off-Worlders. He wasn't even sure if he could make it before the relentless suns brought him down. He picked up the water skin and emptied the last few drops into his mouth then he tossed the empty bag away.

_They are weak_ , he told himself; _leave them and go on._

It was the right thing to do, his tribe would do the same to him if needed. There was no pity for a warrior who had outlived his time and who would surely cause the death of others. If they had been with the Almadra, the Touch-tenders could care for them but they were alone, outcasts, forgotten. There was no other choice, it was the natural law of Gorn.

Arn took a few steps towards the distant hills, then stopped. _No more laws;_ told himself; _I am free, free to choose._

He went back to his fallen companions, throwing his makeshift mace away, he picked Andra up and put her over his shoulder. He grasped the old man under one arm, then picked up Andra's war-ax with the other. He headed off over the burning ground with an Almadra marching song on his parched lips.

We are The Chosen of the Gods.

Our way is the way of truth.

As one we march. As one we die.

We stand together under judgment sky.

By late afternoon Arn could no longer see. The bright daylight had robbed him of his vision but not his determination. His strength was waning but he kept moving ever onward. He licked his dry dust caked lips and tried to shake the sweat from his eyes. He tried to see what lay ahead but all he could see was colored lights in a dark vista, even this did not deter him from his path. Unlike the two humans he carried, he did not need his sight to know where he was going. Nomads had the power to know where they were day or night and right now, Arn was using that power to its limits.

He closed his useless eyes and trusted to his instincts, with his inner vision, he could almost see the landscape. His ears were attuned to any noise coming his way and he was grateful that all he heard was the sound of his own footsteps on the hard ground. From time to time he stopped and sniffed the air, he knew well, the pungent odor of a Whiptail or a Spikeback. If any of those creatures came upon them, he wanted time to make a defense. All he smelt now was the drying earth and a faint whiff of death.

He shifted the load on his shoulder and gripped the old man's body as tight as he could. He could make much better time if he let go of the Callaxion. He also knew it would cause great pain to Andra, knowing her companion was dead and he had caused her enough. He uttered a profanity and continued on, he climbed up over a small rise and stopped for a moment to get his bearings, as he did he heard the voice of his mother.

"Where are you going my son?" she asked.

Arn tried to see her face but all he saw was darkness; _there is no one here;_ he told himself, he still answered her question.

"I am going to the Hollow Hills," he said.

"What will you find there, a new beginning?" the voice asked.

For a moment Arn did not know how to answer, "I do not know," he finally said.

"I gave you birth and you drank from my breast, come to me and let all your burdens end," she said.

The King shook his head, "I cannot," he said coldly, then he started to walk, hoping to leave the voice behind but to his dismay, it continued to follow.

"Your father and I are waiting in the Halls of the Goddess, come to us."

"No."

"You are no longer King, your people do not need you anymore, the woman is gone, there is nothing left for you here, come to us."

"I cannot," he said through clenched teeth, "I betrayed her once, I will not leave her again."

The phantom Queen spoke again, "You have forsaken your people, you have betrayed your mate and you led your warriors to their deaths. You are no longer a King, you are Outcast, without a home, let it end and come to me."

"No," he said and continued to walk like a man in a dream, in his mind he heard voices, the voices of his past. They called out to him, to come to their side, to leave this world and walk in the next. They called in a never ending roar, like the waves of the Western Sea, they beat upon his soul until he bit his lip in rage, when the din became too great he called out to the heavens, "Stop!" The voices stopped.

Then he heard his mother speak, "Out of the darkness and into the light, the Gods will arise."

The relentless light continued to shine down on the lone Nomad, like a great burning hammer pounding into the King's mind, slowly breaking his will to live. Where other men would have died, Arn continued on, he heard no more voices only a soft humming that called to him, to stop and rest, to put his burden down and rest, rest, rest.

_No rest;_ he told himself; _with rest, comes death. I have given death to many, he knows my name._ He stopped dead in his tracks and sniffed the air, he knew that death was coming. Carefully he put his two companions down on the ground, then he gripped the battle-ax handle tightly. He smelt the air, hot dusty air filled his nostrils it also filled his heart with fear, "Whiptail," he uttered.

His muscles tensed and his heart began to race with the anticipation of battle, all his senses were fixed on the approaching creature. Arn realized it was useless trying to wake Andra and Osh, there was little they could do and to see their death coming would be too cruel. He let them be, when the beast's jaws found them, they would be without fear and their souls would pass to the Afterlife quickly.

Arn waited, he heard the padding of large feet on the hard ground and then low grunts from the creature. Arn knew those sounds, they were as familiar to him as his own voice and as he listened he realized there might be a chance to survive.

_A young one;_ he thought; _if I strike quickly, I might kill him._ He was going to ask the Goddess for her help but then he remembered his own words, "No more laws," a warrior without laws stands without the help of the Gods, he stands alone. He moved stealthily away from his comrades, then listened, the sound of the feet moved faster, he knew the beast had found him.

_He will come with his head low;_ He thought to himself; _move fast and strike hard._ He heard the Whiptail grunting and the ground shook as it raced towards him. Arn looked for his enemy but there was only darkness, so he set his feet and made his weapon ready. _Move fast, strike hard;_ before he could stop himself he thought something else. _Isarie, help me._

There was a rush of wind then the Nomad moved in a blur of speed. The beast's head went past his face missing it by a fraction of an inch. He felt its teeth rake his armor and smelled rotting flesh on the beast's breath, as it passed Arn struck out with his remaining strength. His ax blade bit into the flesh of creature's neck, he heard a great roar and his body was covered in warm blood.

With a mighty leap to the side Arn hit the ground hard. He lay there listening to the Whiptail's cries pain, he heard one last roar and a loud thump as the scaly body hit the ground. There were a few more grunts, then silence. Arn remained where he was for a moment, there might still be some life in the monster and one swipe of its horned tail could easily break an arm or leg. He heard no further sounds of movement or breathing and he knew the creature was dead.

Arn staggered to his feet and went to the dead beast, he felt his way using the end of his ax on the ground until he found the dead creature. He probed its lifeless body until he found the wound, where its blood was pouring out. He placed his dried lips on the wound and drank deeply of the blood that had once given the Whiptail life. The blood would give Arn new strength and a chance of survival. In spite of himself, Arn gave thanks to the Goddess for her gift.

When he had drunk his fill, the Nomad stood up and wiped his face with the back of a bloody hand. He picked up his ax and returned to his two companions, with renewed strength he picked them up and continued his journey across the baking earth of Gorn.

The Whiptail's blood kept him moving and his head clear of visions but he still could not see. He started to feel the heat from above and his feet became unsteady. _I will not fall;_ he told himself; _I will not fall._ With each step he knew his strength was leaving him again. The weight of two humans was wearing him down, each step was a trial of agony but he kept moving.

His head began to spin, he did not know if his eyes were open or closed, there was only blackness. Then he recognized something in the darkness of his world, a dim light glowed. It moved back and forth in his mind then grew larger and larger, it took on a shape that he recognized. A small moon floating in an endless sea of stars, moving with the winds of the heavens, as he watched it, he heard strange music. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, a soft ringing, like mating bells mixed with the lullabies his mother used to sing to him, it called to him.

He forced his feet to move even though there was no strength left in his legs. He let the music fill his soul and lift him up from where he had fallen. There was no more pain or suffering, there was only the song of the stars.

So a lone Nomad carrying the burden of his heart entered into the open arms of the Hollow Hills.

#  Chapter 36. The Crystal Spiders

Against her mother's wishes, Ileesha followed her lap kitten into the dark earth burrow and suddenly found herself in a strange new land. It was filled with crystal rainbows and dancing springs of apple water and when she looked around she saw a great spotted web knitter hanging from a tread of golden silk. As she watched, it took the ivory smoke-pipe from its mouth and looked at her with its large yellow eyes.

"Where are you going?" It said to the little girl.

"I don't know" she replied sadly, "I am lost."

From the Tales of the Underground, Selcarie Home World.

When Andra opened her eyes, she thought she was in the fairyland of her childhood stories, all about were shimmering crystals, of all the colors of the rainbow. They covered the walls and were embedded in the great stalactites that hung from the curved ceiling. As she looked further she saw more crystals on the floor, next to them were the mummified bodies of long dead warriors.

Their shriveled bodies were covered in dark armor and in their clawed hands, they held weapons, war-axes and some killing devices that were unknown to Andra. The workmanship of the armor was wonderful, black metal, inlaid with gold, silver and bronze. The helmets were fashioned to look like fantastic creatures, Rimar, Spike-backs, Sand Dragons and demons of the dark world. The bodies lay side by side in rows and beside each of them were offerings. Bowls containing green crystals and gold and silver trinkets, there were also piles of Rimar horn and Sagar teeth.

Looking at the mummies Andra knew this place was more than a simple cave. _This is a crypt;_ she thought; _a resting-place for the dead._ She held her aching head and turned to see a shaft of golden light streaming in from a small opening, it filled the room with a soft luminescence. She heard the faint tinkling of water and felt a cool breeze on her face. She thought she might be dreaming but the pain in her head and an overwhelming desire to drink, soon convinced her that she was alive.

"Here," someone said.

She looked up to see Arn holding a small turtle shell. She took it from him, it was full of clear water, eagerly she drank it down. Nothing had ever tasted so good in her whole life.

She emptied the shell then handed it back, "Thank you," she said. She still felt thirsty but she knew that drinking too much would not do her any good. She ignored the yearning for more and looked at her surroundings, "Where are we?" she asked.

"We are in the Hollow Hills," he replied, "We will be safe here."

The words filled her with relief and the water eased the pain in her head. She motioned to the bodies, around her, "Who are they?"

"They are the fathers of our fathers, Outlanders of the ages past, they were placed here to rest."

Andra nodded in approval, "Soldiers need a place to sleep," then she remembered the old man, "Osh, where is he? Did you...."

The King shook his head, "No, he is well," he pointed to a corner of the cave.

Andra could see the old man lying quietly on the ground, near to a small shallow pool of water, "Well it looks like you saved us, so we belong to you again?"

Arn was about to say something, when he noticed the small grin on Andra's face. He returned her smile, "For now," he said, then he handed her a small piece of what looked like raw meat, "Eat this," he said.

Andra took the offering and smelled it, then closed her eyes in disgust, "What is it?" she asked.

"Food," he said, "Eat it, it will help to get your strength back."

Andra saw there was no choice and rather than ask where the raw meat had come from, she decided to trust him and put it into her mouth. It was not the worst thing she had ever tasted but it was bad enough. She wanted to spit the horrible flesh out but she remembered the words of her drill sergeant, "Eat what you have, it may be your last."

She swallowed the bitter food, giving a little shutter as the raw meat slid into her stomach. Arn's gave a slight smile, "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better," she replied. So well in fact that she got up and moved over to a rock outcropping and sat down.

Arn watched her then he glanced around the cave, he went to the pool of water, sat down next to it and washed his eyes.

With her head much clearer, Andra took in their surroundings once more. It was not a large cave by any means but it had a tall ceiling and was out of the burning sun. A soft moss like vegetation on the walls and rocks glowed, augmented the light from the opening. It did not give out much light but it was enough to see. The many, different colored crystals reflected the light, making the inside of their new home a wonderland of soft hues and delicate images.

Andra looked at Arn again, he was wearing his armor and she noticed it was stained with blood. She went over and sat down next to him, he continued to wash his eyes, "I don't remember how we got here, was there any trouble?" she asked.

Arn shook his head, "No, no trouble" he answered, wiping his face clean.

Andra was going to ask about the blood but she held back her question. She had another look round, "How long are we going to stay in this cave?"

Arn gave her a strange look, "Until we wake from our sleep," he said calmly.

It was an odd reply but she was tired and did not want ask any more questions, so she just smiled, "Well its quiet in here, I'm sure we'll sleep like babies."

Once again the Nomad gave her a questioning look, "Babies?" he asked.

"Yes, babies, you know very small children, babies," she laughed. She looked at him and could see that he did not understand. She made a gesture with her arms, as if she was rocking a small child, "Babies, tiny infants that grow up to be..."

Then something in her mind connected, looking back, it all seemed strange that she hadn't seen it before. In all the time she spent with the Outlanders, she never saw a small baby? She remembered boys and girls who looked about five or more years old but she could not remember seeing any babies at all? With that realization, the look on Arn's face, was not so strange.

Her smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of astonishment, "You've never seen a baby before?" she asked.

Arn laughed, "Of course I have, I've seen Trofar offspring and those of other creatures of the Greenland's. Everyone knows the smallest Rock-worms hold the least poison but the Almadra or any of The Chosen people do not have babies, it would be wrong."

Andra sat staring at him for a moment, he had to be wrong but the more she thought about seeing a small child in the tribe, the more she realized it was true. _He's right;_ she thought; _t_ _here are no babies but how can that be? How do they reproduce?_

The Almadra had left the Ergan-Mar behind, now they went towards the Hollow Hills as fast as they could. There was hardly any night now, just a dim twilight and the ever rising heat. There was no singing while they journeyed, they needed to preserve their strength and singing was considered a waste of energy. They did pray however, they prayed for the Gods to ease their journey and carry them into the protection of the Hollow Hills.

Along the way, they lost many of the tribe, some Elders succumbed to the heat and died in their wagons. They could not stop to bury them or perform the usual rituals when an Outlander died, they had to keep going no matter what. So they wrapped their dead in clean robes, then they tied a loaf of Kasha bread to one hand and a small amount of Grana to the other and. Their bodies were lowered to the ground from the moving wagons, left to the mercy of the earth and the sky.

Small children who died were treated the same way but their parents also placed small toys and a few stalks of Meadow-cane to sweeten their journey into the Afterlife. The Wailing Women wept for their loved ones and for their mothers and fathers who must live with the heartache.

It wasn't just the old and weak who died, warriors were also lost. Some died defending the tribe against the hungry Whiptails that were always lurking, waiting for a chance to take a Nomad. The tribe did not stop moving not, even for a warrior, if they died during a fight, they were left where they fell. They knew the Gods would guide them to the Halls of Isarie, they died with a weapon in their hand and they could not, be refused entry. If their Whiptail survived, it was recovered by the tribe and passed on to a young warrior who was eager to defend his people.

Chanting came for the Holy Mother's moving shrine, surrounded by the ever present Thungodra, the High Priestess led her Handmaidens in prayer. She made offerings to the Goddess for a successful passing to the low mountains to the South east. Handmaidens lifted bowls of burning incense while uttering the ancient words from the Book of Isarie.

They crowded around a strange icon, normally hidden from the tribe, it would be put on show when they had reached the safety of the Hollow Hills. The statue was carved from a massive bluish crystal, it was the shape of a giant spider with a wedge shaped head. It was set with red stones to mark its eyes and had eight delicately fashioned legs. The workmanship was magnificent, it must have taken a long time to cut the hard stone. It sat upon a tall gold plated pedestal that bore inscriptions only the High Priestess could understand.

As the women prayed Obec moved over to the crystal spider and put her thin hand on its smooth back. She wore the white Robe of Rebirth and the gold and silver Headdress of The Chosen. She stood quietly for a few moments then she began to speak in a soft low voice, a voice that only she and the Gods could hear.

"Togasttra emo entralac, give to us your strength." Then she turned and looked at the Handmaiden's faces. _The Burning Time is near;_ she thought; _then Rebirth and the Choosing._ A small smiled crossed her lined face; _fire and steel, the time is near._ She closed her eyes and let the sweet smell of incense fill her senses. _Fire and steel._

Agart rode quietly at the head of the Almadra tribe, his body armor was covered in a thin but necessary sun shield to keep the pounding rays from turning his metal skin into a oven. He took regular sips of water, mixed with well-aged Po from the small Burrow-baby skin hanging from his saddle horn. He had been adding Po to his water for some time now. Drinking it seemed to ease his burdens and let his mind free of the visions of his outcast brother and sister. It also stopped him questioning High Priestess' words, when she said his mother would be cared for by the Goddess.

He rode with his warriors at his side but he felt alone. In the past he had always found solace in the words of the Holy Book, now it did not ease his mind or his heart. Too many dreams filled his nights, too many questions without answers.

_Where are they now?_ He asked himself; _where is my brother and sister, are they alive or in the Halls of Isarie?_ He took a sip from his water skin; _and if they are with my mother and father, will they be pleased to see me when I join them, or will they turn away?_ He took another drink; _I promised to help my brother but I chose my people over my kin._

There were other questions but he continued to drink from the skin until he no longer cared.

So with Agart leading the way, they went alongside the great herds of Outland creatures to the Hollow Hills. There they would enter the crystal caves and sleep the sleep of rebirth.

Andra was not sure how long it was since they'd entered the crystal cave. The light through the small entrance grew brighter and then dimmed but it was never dark. There were no nights now only twilight that passed quickly then the sunlight returned.

They had enough water from the underground spring and there was food of sorts, the small entrance to the cave allowed small creatures in but kept the larger dangerous predators out. Twice they heard a hungry Whiptail roaring and the sound of his middle claw digging at the rocks, as it tried to get in, to eat the humans. A few wild cries from Arn and some well thrown rocks from Andra sent the beast on its way with an empty stomach.

With food and water, Osh soon regained his strength, the life of a Nomad was putting a great strain on his already tired body, he would not, be able to make anymore long journeys. Osh knew it too but he put on a brave face and busied his restless mind gathering information about their surroundings.

He told them, "The glowing vegetation was an organic life form that generated light, by a chemical interaction that allowed the moss to grow in an otherwise dead world. This type of light producing plant was known on several other worlds." He proceeded to name them all and their relationship with the life forms on the different worlds. He stopped when he saw that Arn and Andra were not, showing any interest in his lessons. So he just examined the different rock crystals and kept the information to himself.

Arn never told them about his blindness or the fight with the Whiptail, since he'd survived and he could see as well now as before, he found no reason to tell the story.

They sat near the small water pond eating raw Nightflyer meat. A small group of the flying creatures were using the cave as a home and it was easy to knock them down from the ceiling with a well thrown rock. The taste of their flesh wasn't too bad, once you got over the pungent smell. They had no Washa fire and there was nothing to burn anyway, so they had to eat what found raw.

"It's not the Will of the Gods, it's the elliptical path around the primary sun that determines the climate." Osh took a small piece of the Nightflyer, then waited for a reply.

Arn shook his head, "No, the heat and the cold are the Breath of the Goddess, it is her way of testing our strength." He handed the old man another piece of food, "But you are a good man, so I will not hold it against you for not knowing any better."

Osh straightened his back, "I will have you know that I have Mindlocked enough information to fill a complete Info-cast of a Tollacian Datacoms and I can recall Headings in over thirty eight sections of File Banks!"

The Nomad shook his head and just sat staring at the old man; _I was right, his mind is frail._

Osh turned to Andra, "Will you help me to explain, why belief in a something does not necessary make it true. There are precise and undisputed facts needed to support a belief. How can he say it's true and not just a fantasy handed down through the ages, without a scientific investigation?"

Andra looked at him for a few moments as she chewed on a mouthful of Nightflyer, she swallowed and then looked at Arn, "How hot will it get?" she asked, deciding not to concern herself with Osh's question.

"The Breath of Isarie will kill all who do not find shelter," he replied, "Those who get into the Hollow Hills will be safe there, they will sleep and be reborn."

Osh could not remain silent, "You can't sleep long enough, for Gorn's orbit to take it far enough away from its perigee to Karus for the temperature to drop to a survivable level."

The King did not answer, his face showed that he did not understand what Osh was saying, "The lurkers in the darkness will give us sleep," he said.

Now it was Osh's turn not, to understand the Nomad's words, "What are the lurkers?"

Arn pretended not to hear; _it is better they do not know, they are not ready._

Andra ate the last of her food then took a sip of clear water, "Well I see no lurkers, I think it's just a story to frighten children."

Arn rose suddenly and began to gather up the few things they'd brought with them, "Come, we have to go deeper into the cave now."

While Andra and Osh were busy gathering up their belongings, Arn went to a darker section of the cave. He looked at the strange rock formation and their coloration, then he picked something out of a rock crevasse. He returned with it in his hand, "Here, swallow these then come with me."

Andra looked at the small brownish fungi that he held out to her. It looked like Brillcap, it grew near her home but they were smaller and had a slight greenish tint to them. She remembered them in a tasty soup her mother used to make but she really did not care for them raw, "Thanks but I'm not really hungry," she said politely.

Arn gave her a hard look, "These are not for eating this is Boda, it is for...." his voice trailed off, then regained its authority, "Eat!"

Andra did not want to argue and she knew from his voice that it would be a useless gesture. She took the Boda and ate them quickly, they tasted bitter, not at all like those in the nourishing soup of home.

Arn went to the old man, "Eat," he said.

Osh took one of the small brown fungi and held it up for closer inspection.

"This is a fungus not unlike those on Carcarus Prime," he said, "You can tell from the small round dome structure on top and the thin support but this one seems to be of a much more..." Before he could elaborate further, he saw the look in Arn's eyes and put the fungus into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Afterwords he washed it all down with as much fresh water as he could drink. Andra picked up her ax and Osh drew the hood of his robe over his head, then they followed Arn into the darkness of the cave.

It grew dimmer as they moved away from the light at the cave's entrance. After a time their eyes grew more accustomed to the pale glow given off by the glowing moss that Arn called Starfall. It allowed them to see where they were going.

The cave became a series of twists and turns but one thing was certain they were not entirely natural. The walls were jagged and there were more stalactites hanging from the shadowy ceiling, the colorful crystal was still abundant. However the configuration of the tunnels were far too precise to be just the work of nature. They were too level and sometimes there seemed to be steps of a sort. Broken and rough now but at one time they must have been smooth and placed with the intention of making it easier to move from one level to the next. Where the walls were not broken or covered in moss, they were upright and made of smooth metal, there were pieces of machinery and conduits. The Hollow Hills were more likely created by some human intelligence than by the will of the Gods.

All this was not lost on the old man's curious mind, "This is some kind of underground passageway, at some time it must have been used to travel inside these mountains." Then he scratched his head, "Someone built them to escape the sun's heat." _Where are they now?_ He asked himself _, Did they die or leave, maybe they are still here, whoever they were, they had great building skills, perhaps they also built the pyramid cities?_

Osh noticed that his thoughts were changing. It was almost unnoticeable at first, just a small buzzing like that of a Dotfly or a Whisperwing. It seemed to be all around him and more than once, he tried to brush the noise away but there was nothing there. Then to his delight, the buzzing turned into soft music, it flowed over him and all his apprehension melted away. He no longer cared if they were in a cave or what may lie ahead, it was all perfectly well with him. Then he understood, the small fungus he'd eaten was not all it seemed _._

_A sedative;_ he thought. Then as the light in the cave became a more intense coloration and the rock formations began to move as if alive, he knew there was more. _A_ _sedative and a hallucinogenic._ He was about to make a long and somewhat complicated explanation of the chemical make-up of mind altering drugs. Then he saw the walls turn a very lovely shade of blue and the rocks began to dance and he no longer cared.

Andra's mind was also far away, she walked in a dim netherworld, she thought of her carefree childhood and the long summer days in the quiet sunlight near her farm. The cave had changed, there were soft sounds and the smell of freshly cut field grass. The path before her was no longer rocky or hard, it was the green fields of her home world. With it came the soft wind that used to blow down from the red streaked hills to the North. It made the tall stakes of furrow wheat move back and forth, like carnival dancers. She could hear the scarlet sparrows, as they chirped out a warning for others to stay clear of their nests.

She looked up at the once dark ceiling but now she saw flocks of Sky-birds soaring lazily over her. It's _strange;_ she thought; _how could there be Sky-birds here?_ The sound of their cries and the feel of the cool wind on her face made her forget all reason, letting her heart sing. She smiled to herself and thought of the stories her mother used to read to her. _How my brother and I used to argue, over which story she should read;_ she thought. _H_ _e always wanted the one about Star Pirates._

She heard her mother's voice, reading to them at bedtime, wonderful stories of adventure and faraway lands. Her mother began to tell her one of her favorites, the tale of little Ileesha and her adventures in the Dark World of the Underground, "Yes that's a good story," Andra said out loud.

Arn looked back to see her smiling, he knew he'd done the right thing. _It will be better for them;_ he thought. Then he continued leading them into the darkness.

Andra moved forward carefully, she listened to her mother's words, about dancing blooms and singing Carol-birds that lived in the Underground. She looked around at the shimmering crystals and the glowing moss, it seemed like, she had become the heroine of a fairy tale and all around was just a dream. _Maybe I will wake soon?_ She thought.

_T_ _here won't be any caves or nomads or war, I will be back on our farm and my mother and brother will be alive, waiting for me._ The thought that her family was still alive lightened her heart. Although her mind told her, there was nothing to go home to, her heart wanted to believe it was true. As she walked along, she thought more about the fairy tale. _Will I end up like the girl in the story and run off with the Gentlemen Frog and live forever in the Emerald Forest._ It was a silly story but it made her forget the darkness, around her.

Something crossed her mind. _Maybe I'm dead?_ She looked around once more, she saw the tunnel ahead and many, different corridors leading off into darkness. _T_ _his could be the Home of the Life Sinners;_ she told herself. _Maybe I died in the Outlands and was sent here for my failures, now I will spend eternity in this dark world._ She looked at the Nomad she was following; _maybe he isn't Arn, maybe it's a trick of the Soul keeper?_

Her mind filled with images from her childhood nightmares, she saw the Souls of the Dammed being led into a silent world by Orin, the Trickster God of that black painful world.

_If I am dead and this is the land of the dammed then it's right, I should be here._ Suddenly her thoughts made her feel better; _this is the punishment I deserve, it is where I belong._ The war-ax she carried seemed very heavy now, she considered throwing it away. _Why do I need a weapon here?_ _Orin is already dead and you can't kill a dead man._ Her mind moved on, the nightmare changed into a world of soft light and peace. She let herself fall into the soft dark land; _I belong here,_ she continued walking.

Maybe it was just her human instinct to find out what lay ahead, the drive to see what lies over the next mountain. It had driven humans to look up at the stars and wonder what lies beyond and to travel to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Maybe it was just plain stubbornness. Whatever the reason, Andra wanted to see what was waiting for her in the dark tunnels ahead. She stiffened her back and trusted to her instincts but she still kept a firm grip on her ax.

If this is the black world and that is the Soul keeper, then I will fight, I will fight.

Next to her Osh wasn't thinking about the tunnels or trying to calculate how far they had come or how far they might have to go, he was thinking of Endo. _What will become of him when the fires come;_ he mused. _Will he survive, or will he die, maybe he's already dead?_ The image of the green Sandjar lying dead and forgotten made his heart ache. He tried to reassure himself that Endo's species were born and bred to survive the harsh conditions of Gorn. The Sandjar would be able to hide or dig into the soft sand to escape the Burning Time. _He is still alive, he is smart, he will survive._ No matter how much he told himself, a nagging thought was still there. He had left his son to die, he was to blame and he would never forgive himself for that. Something sticky touched his face.

Osh gave out a girlish shout and pulled the substance from his face, "What is this?" he asked.

Arn stopped and spoke in a calm voice, "We are here."

They all stopped and looked around, light from the Star-fall was very dim, it seemed that the walls and ceiling were ghostly images without sharpness or defined corners. Andra strained to focus her eyes on the vaulted ceiling, she realized why the underground room seemed indistinct, it was covered in a thin gossamer like substance hanging in great curtains from all surfaces. There was a slight breeze in the darkness, it made the thin veils move slightly, making them look eerie. As Andra and Osh stood looking at the weird hangings, Arn broke the silence.

"We will sleep here," he said. Then he began to take off his armor, laying the metal plates neatly on the ground.

For a moment Andra did not understand, then she remembered what Arn said at the cave's entrance. _Lurkers in the darkness._ She looked at the soft webbing above her and the walls that seemed like a mist shrouded world, then the words hit her. _Lurkers in the Darkness. Spiders!_ She heard her mother's words, "Don't let them bite you. _"_

Time seemed to stand still now, it could have been a day or a week or an eternity. She found herself standing naked and looking up at the flowing strands of webbing. She thought she saw movement in the darkness, glowing creatures moving stealthily towards her. She saw Arn's face looking into her's.

She saw the Soul Keeper lifting her hand, she saw the flash of a dagger and a pricking at her hand. _H_ _e is taking my blood;_ she thought; _I cannot fight him, it is where I belong, "_ Are you the Soul Keeper?" she asked, "Have you come to take me to the Dark World?"

The Soul Keeper did not answer, so she looked over at the old man who had made the journey with her, "Will you help me defeat the Marchers of Darkness?" The old man did not answer either. She looked down at her hand; _h_ _e has given me his ax, I can battle the Black Soldiers with it and save my world._

She tried to lift her weapon but it seemed to fall from her hands, then she saw glowing orbs moving closer. _How lovely they are, so warm and inviting, they want me to touch them, they want me to hold them._ She put out a hand and one of the glowing orbs came to her.

_How warm it feels, how warm._ She watched more orbs come to her, they climbed up her body and touched her face, they filled her body with a warm sea that seemed to move into her very soul. _How warm;_ she thought; _how deliciously warm._

She felt her naked body, being touched by gossamer fingers. She looked down to see that the orbs had given her a white garment to wear, so soft and so light it seemed like nothing at all. it went up her arms and legs until it touched her face, she felt herself falling, falling into a warm pool of light and peace, she had never been so sleepy. Closing her eyes she let her mind go to the place of childhood dreams, where all is possible and all is safe.

Osh lay back and let the soft glow from the walls cover his thin body, he did not think of his childhood, there were no stories to fill his head. That did not matter, to him it all seemed unnecessarily foolish, he did not try to understand the creatures that were slowly covering his worn frame in thin strands of webbing. He no longer tried to record their intricate movements or the way they worked, cocooning him in a shroud of soft filaments. He did not feel them as they sank their fangs into his flesh, it all did not matter, he just let it happen. _M_ _uch better to forget and sleep, yes sleep._ Warm forgetting sleep that would hold him like the mother he never knew. He did not feel the small cut to his hand or notice when Arn smeared his blood over his chest, he was too far away and other things filled his mind _._

_It is strange;_ he thought; _I hate spiders, yet they seem so friendly, so intelligent, perhaps they know the answer to all things? If that is so, then they can tell me everything, all I have to do is ask but it's strange, so strange, I've forgotten the questions._ Then he closed his eyes and forgot everything.

Arn stood looking down on his companions, he watched as the Crystal Spiders wound them in the webbing that had held him so many times before. He watched as they moved out of their hiding places to swarm over them like a sea of jewels. He stood on the hard ground and waited, he was about to whisper the ancient prayer to Isarie but then he remembered his words.

No more Gods, I am free but as he stood there naked and alone, he saw the sleeping woman. He looked at the face that had driven him from his home and his people. He watched it slowly, disappear under a soft veil of white, then he remembered the words of his people.

"Togasttra emo entralac, give to us your strength."

Suddenly his heart felt a great loss, he had given up all he knew and loved, for this Off-World woman. He had forsaken his people and forgone the laws of his tribe, he had spoken out against the Gods and led his warriors to their deaths, he had done all this for one woman.

He went over to her and picked up the battle-ax laying beside her, if felt good to have a weapon in his hand again, it felt right. He smiled as he let it swing through the dark and listened to its soft voice calling to him.

He looked at Andra again. _She has done this to me;_ he thought; _I gave up everything for her,_ slowly he lifted the heavy blade; _how easy it would be to end this all, to no longer see her face, to be free._

As he stood naked, he thought he heard a voice, it was not his mother or father or anyone he had ever heard. It spoke to him alone, moving about him like a mock leaf in the wind, "Who's there?" he called out, holding his weapon ready to strike. He tensed like a steel spring but he saw nothing, he called out once more, "Come out and fight if you have the courage."

There was no enemy or dark demon or God to face him, he was alone with only the glowing spiders at his feet. He thought he heard the voice once more but he didn't hear any words, only a sudden yearning in his heart, he lowered the weapon.

It was not Andra who did this to me, it was my own hand that changed my life. He looked up at the hidden sky above him, "Hear me Isarie, if you truly exist then know this, I am my own, I no longer see your face."

He stood letting the echo of his words, fill his soul. He took the ax and made a cut across his chest, he rubbed the blood over his body and face. He laid down beside his love and put one arm around her, he held the ax in the other. He let the Crystal Spiders climb over him and let his veins be filled with their gift. He did not close his eyes but continued to keep watch lest a demon of the darkness came for him and the woman who he held.

_Let the demons come;_ he told himself; _together we shall slay them all._

Then he felt the warm embrace of the darkness and the last thing he saw was Andra's sleeping face.

#  Chapter 37. Sun Song

Sleep in the body of my heart.

Sleep and be reborn.

Let the past fall away.

Let the future begin anew.

Let my strength fill your soul.

From the Book of Isarie.

The Almadra had finally arrived at the Great Cave in the Hollow Hills. The pathway to the entrance was marked with the Dragon Totems of the Almadra, it signaled to all that this was their resting-place and for all others to stay away. It had been this way for ages and would remain so for centuries to come.

The Great Cave lay in the Valley of Tomorrow, it was a vast canyon filled with caves and openings without number. Here the Nomads and the Great Beasts of Gorn came to sleep and remain hidden during the Burning Time. Like the lands of Omargash, the valley floor was littered with bones and pieces of machinery.

Agart was happy to see the rocky path leading up to the cave, he had been troubled since taking the Kingship from his brother. The burdens of leadership had taken a toll on his strength and he was glad that he would be able to rest, if only for a while.

The bridge to the Great Cave lay before him but suddenly he felt weak. All he wanted to do was rush into the darkness and forget the past days, there in the coolness and silence, he would seek an end to his dark dreams. _Sleep;_ he thought; _n_ _o dreams, only sleep._

He tried not to think of his dreams, lately he dreaded closing his eyes. He did not want to see the things that came in his sleep. Dark evil things, dreams of betrayal and a figure in the night calling his name. Voices, voices of his past and his future, cries of the dying and the living calling his name. Screams that cut through him like a warrior's ax, screams of his people, the young and the old, voices he could not answer.

He saw visions that he could not understand in a vast land of fire and smoke. A great sound like a million Trofar roaring, the land burning by the hand of men, fire and death, a land of the dead with riders in black moving as the air blazed with flame. Then the sky filled with a rising moon, a moon like no other, a moon that shined from within, the voices of the stars calling his name, then darkness, a darkness that seemed to go on forever, forever.

It was better to remain strapped in the saddle and never close your eyes, than see the things that lay waiting for you. So at the end of the journey he was drawn to the darkness like a Nightflyer at the break of dawn. _Sleep, sleep;_ he thought; _i_ _f only I could sleep._

"Shall I give the order to enter the cave?" someone asked.

Agart shook his head, then turned to see Kuno sitting astride his Spikeback, waiting for his orders.

"The Trofars, shall I give the order?" he repeated.

Agart cleared his throat and sat up in his saddle, "Yes, have the Trofars brought up and lower the bridge."

"It shall be done."

He watched Kuno move back along the column and heard him calling for the drawbridge to be lowering, to the new King it did not matter, all he was thinking of was the darkness and a long dreamless sleep.

It did not take long for the warriors to hook up the teams of Tundra beasts, then lower the massive steel bridge to allow the Almadra entrance to the Great Cave. The bridge itself was centuries old, older than anyone could remember, it was not written in the Book of Isarie. It was surely a gift from the Goddess, for none other than a God could forge such a gate. It protected their resting place from the Outland creatures that would find the cave a perfect home. The bridge in its upright position, made an impregnable barrier to even the strongest creatures. Lowered it served as a path over the natural crevasse that separated the cave from the valley floor, where the tribe now waited.

With Kuno giving the orders, the warriors attached a thick chain to the fulcrum that controlled the lifting mechanism, with a blast from the signal horns, the Trofar began pulling with all their might.

The heavy door began to creak and grind with a sound that made the smaller children hold their mothers close and the Whiptails paw the ground. At first the rusty steel did not move and Kuno called for more Trofar. They were hooked up and again the horns sounded, to the relief of everyone the bridge began to lower and the way was clear for the Almadra to enter the safety of the Hollow Hills. The Trofar went inside and the warriors attached them to another pulling mechanism that hoisted up the drawbridge, once again sealing the Great Cave shut.

The caves were plentiful in the Hollow Hills and this was where the huge creatures of the Outlands came to hide from the Burning Time. Countless herds were now coming to the mountains of Koto-Car, the Great Plains of Gorn were now empty and barren. Over the millennia, the animals that made this world their home came to know, when to leave their pastures and valleys and move into the darkness, there to hibernate until the heat and fire passed. It was their instinct, their way and it was the way of the Nomads.

The Almadra moved into the immense cave, when the last of the wagons were out of the sunlight, the warriors took the Whiptails inside, gathering them together in a separate smaller cave. They gave them all the food and water they could hold, they would need it during their long sleep.

Once the Whiptails were satisfied, their eyes were covered with soft cloth, it was a dangerous task but had to be done. The beasts could smell what was waiting for them in the darkness and if they saw the glowing spiders coming for them, they would fight. With their blindness came calmness, it stopped them harming themselves or breaking free of their surroundings. They had been controlled this way by the Almadra's ancestors and would always be.

The tribe gathered their wagons together and emptied their contents, once again everyone knew what they had to do. It had been done a thousand times before by their ancestors and would be done again by their children, there was no other way, to remain outside would mean certain death.

The tribe ate their fill of dried Rimar and Kasha bread and were satisfied. They put the rest of the food into a rock chamber and sealed it shut with stones and earth so that nothing could be removed.

The Almadra's cave was huge by any standard of the Galaxy, even the Great Underground Vaults on Torlon could not compare in size to those in the Hollow Hills. They could hold all the Outlanders and their beasts and still have room for twice as many. The cave's vaulted ceiling, was supported by massive pillars of green stone and pitted steel. Strewn about were huge rocks, carved into statues of Gods and demons, strange creatures and mythical beings that no one could understand.

Here and there lay broken pieces of machinery and the remains of things long past. Like the machines that lay in far off Omargash and the Poison Lands; they were thought, to be the castoff toys of Isarie. Not being of any use for war or worship, the Outlanders did not trouble themselves with them.

There were wide cracks in the cavern floor, showing even more levels below and below those even more levels. The stairways leading downwards were gone now, it was believed a journey into those forbidden levels would end in the dark Pit of Marloon.

Obec had the moving shrine taken deep into the cave, the huge wagon was placed in an alcove and around it were the Handmaiden's wagons of the and around those the Thungodra. The walls of the alcove were painted with intricate images of Gods and Deities. There were carvings of Isarie showing her holding her Holy Book, surrounded by small figures of The Chosen.

In the corners of the cave were the ancient moving shrines of previous Holy Mothers. They were placed here when the mantel of High Priestess was passed down to another woman who would speak for the Goddess, now, they lay broken and covered in the webs of centuries. Their contents were removed and given to the new Holy Mother, who would in the fullness of time relinquish them to another. The Holy Book and all the other treasures of their beliefs, were handed down to one who would pray to their Gods and worship as their ancestors had done.

The other tribe members began to make ready for their rest, the younger children were washed and given Meadow-cane to eat. They delighted in this treat and did not taste the Boda that their parents had added to the sweet sticks. Then they were taken to a chamber and told stories about the tribe, songs were sung to make them laugh and smile. When their eyes filled with visions of dancing rainbows and singing Rock-runners, their parents held them in their arms. Together they would wait for the glowing eyes would soon lull them into a trance like state, they would become immobile and enter a comatose state, it would last until the Burning Time had gone. Like wise the Spike-backs and Trofar, they too would sleep through the long cycle of heat and death. They were creatures of Gorn and like all things of the planet, they knew how to survive.

Anais was afraid. He sat huddled in the darkness, he had no one to hold him or sing to him songs. Soffca was with the other Handmaidens at the side of the High Priestess. It was her duty to protect the Holy Mother, surrounding her body with her own but to the Prince it was foolish.

_They follow a silly old woman;_ he thought; _she thinks she has me in her hand but soon she will feel my grip._ For all his words he was afraid, he did not want to sleep, he hated those little stabs of death but there was no other way. So he crouched in his hiding place and tried not to think of the darkness and his own darker fears.

Far from the Hollow Hills and deep in the caverns of the Poison Lands, Egmar looked down on her people. The Shadow-men stood gazing up at their new Queen, waiting for her to speak. They had gathered in the Dome once more, in their thousands, to listen to the words of their mother and to know, they were not alone.

Egmar stood atop the stone dais that marked the center of the underground chamber. She no longer wore the garments of the Almadra with the markings of her station. They had been replaced with the dark robes of the Outcasts, she still retained the bearing of a noble woman and held her head up.

Next to her, stood her forgotten son, his eyes were fixed on his mother's face. Beside him stood a number of men and women, they were the Guiders, the people who would play a pivotal part in the days to come.

Egmar looked down on the mass of broken bodies, she saw the People of the Shadows' torn faces, they did not speak and their movements were soundless. They were truly creatures of the darkness, this was their home and their world. The land of light belonged to the Nomads but it rested on a place that held a black truth.

The Queen looked down at her hand, she could see, the Poison Lands were taking her away already. The smooth supple skin that once covered her arm was slowly turning hard and pale, the color was fading like a flower left out of the sunlight for too long. She knew it was the price she must pay for staying with the forgotten people but she did not turn her eyes away from her hand. She did not regret her words, she would be a mother to her people and share in their fate.

The Darkman moved to his mother's side, he spoke in a voice only she could hear, "Your children await your words" he said, "the time has come for them to sleep."

Egmar looked at her son, she could see the weariness and she felt a weakness in her body as well. It was time for sleep, time to rest and let the gentle darkness move through her soul. She turned to those below and saw their eyes, so filled with pain and the need to rest.

_They are my children;_ she thought; _they are the children of the darkness now, they have no one to sing to them._

Then she spoke with a voice filled with kindness and the love of a mother for her children, "I will hold you, when the moons of the night sky no longer walk the heavens. I will hold you, when their faces no longer smile upon us. I will hold you, when the Meadow grass no longer grows in the Greenland's. I will hold you, when you are old and can no longer dance under the stars. I will hold you, when those stars fall from the heavens and all is darkness, I will be there. I will hold you."

She closed her eyes and lifted her arms, she waited but no words came from the people below, only silence, a silence that hung in the air like a circling Sun-dropper.

_They do not understand;_ she thought; _they have lived in the darkness too long, they are no longer children of the light._

Egmar lowered her arms and opened her eyes, she stood for a moment, then looked up at the dim ceiling above, she was afraid to look down. Afraid she would only see rotting faces looking up at her without any sign that her words had reached them. She turned her eyes down and as she looked at faces of the Outcasts from the light, she saw something that made her heart sing, there in their dim eyes she saw, tears.

_They are not forgotten, they are still The Chosen;_ she told herself.

She felt her son's hand on her shoulder and when she looked, she saw the same look in his eyes. _He is not beyond my reach._ She held out her arms but he did not come to her, instead he walked away to the edge of the dais, "Go now. Go and sleep. When you awaken, it will be a New World, a world that will know our faces and it will know that we are not forgotten!"

Slowly the chamber began to empty of the thousands who once filled it, away into the dark tunnels that fanned out from the center in all directions. They were going into the dark places that would be their homes until the Burning Time was over, then they would travel over the land once more.

Egmar watched them go, her son came to her and took her by the hand, "Come," he said, without another word, she allowed herself to be taken from the chamber, down a tunnel with a rank heavy smell. Its walls were smooth and wet but it wasn't water or any other substance the Queen had seen before. The light grew dimmer with each step until there was only a glow from the moss that lined the tunnel.

The air grew fouler and there was a faint rattling from the darkness ahead. Egmar knew it was not a sound made by a Nomad hand. It was like pebbles shaking inside a Probax gourd. It was not a sound she liked and it filled her with fear but she did not show it. _There is something in the darkness;_ she thought; _but I have made my choice and I shall not turn away._

She continued to hold her head high and walk with the steps of a Queen, the rattling grew more intense and she saw small glowing blood-stones in the darkness. They were not the soft blue glow of Crystal Spiders, this was a hungry light from creatures known only by the People of the Shadows.

As the Queen moved towards the crimson lights, she began to pray, it was a prayer of the Handmaidens, to be sung deep in the Hollow Hills.

I sleep in the earth beyond your sight.

I dream no dreams beyond your light.

I lay in your arms and in your earth.

I sleep and wait for my rebirth.

She was led into the darkness and into the arms of those that lived beyond the sight of the Goddess.

Obec sat in the center of the Great Cave, near to her was the blue crystal spider, it lay upon a rock, carved with markings, meaningless to the Outlanders. To the High Priestess they were as clear as spring water, they were the very words of the Goddess, their meaning was the meaning of all things and the power to do what must be done.

_I am the right hand of the Goddess;_ she thought; _I have been sent by her to do her will, I will not fail._

In a circle around the Holy Woman were The Chosen of the Gods, they knelt naked on the ground with their heads towards the Holy Mother and the Handmaidens gathered around her.

Obec wore only a thin garment over her writhed frame, she held a small dagger in one hand and a large crystal of Grana in the other, she spoke so that only those close to her could hear. "Into your hands we give our bodies, into your keeping we give our souls, into your heart we sleep in peace." She looked at the young women who surrounded her.

The Handmaiden's naked bodies were painted blue, each one held a small golden dagger in their hands. They repeated the words of the Holy Mother swaying gently as they sang the song of rebirth.

The cycle has come and we lay in your arms.

Hold us to your heart and protect us from harm.

We sleep, we sleep, as all the world burns.

We sleep, we sleep as all the world turns.

We will rest in warmth of the quiet earth.

Till the time is done and all is rebirth.

They put crystals of Grana into their mouths, "The Salt of the Earth," they whispered.

Obec smiled. _I will not fail._

After the circle of the Handmaidens came the Thungodra, they formed a barrier to the Holy Mother but they did not lie upon the ground. They tied themselves to wooden posts, driven deep into the hard ground, they would permit them to stand as they slept and hold their weapons at the ready. They wore no armor but held their axes in their hands. They covered their bodies with Eul dust so they still appeared to be wearing their dark armor. They watched the darkened corners of the cave, lest they were set upon by demons or a dark creature from the bowels of the earth.

The Elders of the Tribe were next, near them were their family's small ancestor chests and a small bowl of Grana. They spread out colorful woven rugs, used before them by their mothers and fathers and lay down upon them. Each one holding the hand of the person beside them. When the Handmaidens placed the Green Grana into their mouths, they did the same, repeating the words they'd heard.

"The Salt of the Earth."

Outward from the circle of Elders, lay the male and female warriors who had mated under the Breast of Isarie. They lay next to each other, naked but for their war-axes, held in their hands, the women wore mated rings in their ears. They laid on their armor and rested their heads on their saddles, they still wore their Journey Nails around their necks. Next to them was a tankard of Po, it would not be needed during their sleep but it was a tribal tradition, done by all warriors. They also had an offering of Grana in a small bowl, they took the green crystals and repeated the words of the Elders.

The outer part of the circle was for the King, he sat with the strongest warriors near to the armored wagons holding the precious Grana. They would guard it in their sleep, keeping it safe from any vengeful spirit from the outer darkness.

His warriors could see that their new leader was not the Great Karn nor his son Arn, this Chosen of the Gods was drinking too deeply of Po, he seemed to be in much haste for the darkness.

All this was not lost on Kuno, since his friend Almec had disappeared and Arn had been made Outcast, he'd tried his best to help his people. His usual nights of drinking and carousing, had been replaced by a pledge to do what he could for his tribe. He knew how the sour drink could take a grip and he could see it tightening around their new King.

He'd heard warriors whispering, when they thought no one was listening, talking of a weak King and words against the Holy Mother for casting out a strong leader. It cut into him like a dragon's tooth, for all his loud talk he loved his people and now he knew they needed him more than ever before.

He had made sure the heavy guns and the Disruptors were sealed and placed in a strong section of the great cave, where they would lay, safe from the fires outside. The ammunition was put as far back into the tunnels as possible. There was very little chance of them being ignited but it was what they had done for centuries. He did not want to play Chance-cards with the lives of his people.

Now he sat near the King, hoping the troubles he saw on his leader's face, would vanish with the rebirth. He could not help but think, how nice it would be if he could spend the Burning Time feasting on juicy Rimar and drinking deeply of barrels of well-aged Po. If one or more of the young Handmaidens wanted to join him, that would be fine with him.

Agart was eager to sleep, his mind had continued to ask questions to which he had no answer. He could not stop the feeling that his brother was waiting for him, waiting in the darkness, waiting to challenge him, waiting to take back his Kingship. As the tribe waited for him to give the command to sleep, he could not find the words. Despite the times he had given advice to his brother, now he searched his mind for a single word he could offer his people in hope for the future.

_I wish my father were here;_ he thought; _I wish my brother was not Outcast, I wish... No! I will not wish anymore, I will trust in Isarie, I will place my trust in her alone._

He stood up and looked out over his people, "The time has come for our sleep, it is the Will of Isarie and we are her Chosen. It is written in her book and we shall obey her laws. From this time forward we will be live our lives as the Goddess wishes, from this time forward we are her people. Togasttra emo entralac, give to us your strength."

As one the people called out, "Togasttra emo entralac, give to us your strength."

Hearing the King's words, the Warriors took up war-axes and cut their chests, they let the blood flow over them and marked their faces with it. With small daggers that had belonged to their mothers and fathers, the Elders did the same, cutting their bodies and painting their faces with blood. They pricked the children's fingers and marked them also, some young ones cried out but they were held close and their tears, were wiped away by those who loved them.

Obec heard the children but she did not weep for their pain. _They will be the strength in the hand of the Goddess;_ she told herself; _they are the lights that will shine in the darkness._

The Handmaidens lifted up their golden daggers and cut their breasts and as the blood from their bodies ran slowly down their slim bodies they prayed.

Blood for the life givers.

Blood for their gift.

Blood for today.

Blood for tomorrow.

The High Priestess cut her wrinkled hand and held the blood in her palm, then she lifted it to her lips and tasted the life of her soul. _I will rest now;_ she thought; _I will let the Goddess renew me, then I will rise and the world will rise with me._ Then she lay on her back and closed her eyes. _Isarie will smile upon me, all who are not The Chosen will die, all who resist me will perish._

Her mind filled with a world of her own making, a world of fire and steel.

Anais held his dagger in trembling hands, he had always feared the darkness. As a boy he would lay close to his mother during the Burning Time but now she was no longer here and there was no one to share the darkness. He tried to summon up the courage to make the cut that would summon the spiders to his side, then he heard Soffca's voice.

"I am here," she said.

He looked up to see her standing naked before him, she said nothing else and sat down beside him. He watched her take the golden dagger from his hand and make a small cut in his hand, she did the same with her hand and then she took him into her arms.

The young Prince felt her warm body next to his and his fear subsided, he closed his eyes and tried to think of a perfect world, a world without darkness, he pulled Soffca closer.

"Do you love me?" he asked, his voice trembling as he spoke, afraid of the answer but still wanting to know. He saw Soffca's eyes regarding him as if in a soft dream, then she spoke, "Yes."

It was what he wanted to hear, "Yes, yes you do," he replied, he said nothing more but held her tightly and together they waited in the darkness.

The Nomads lay on their backs and closed their eyes, there was now nothing more to be done, there was nothing more to be said, there was only the darkness and the glowing orbs that would come to them.

The Crystal Spiders slowly emerged from the deep recesses of the cave, drawn by the blood offering they scurried out of the darkness to feast upon those who gave themselves so freely. The Nomads welcomed them, they felt the warmth of their bites and the softness of their weaving. The Elders whispered prayers to the Gods, while the young warriors gripped their weapons in anticipation of the power of rebirth.

The mated women also thought of the future but their sleep would be far different from that of the men. They were carrying the seed of the days to come, already inside their bodies, the children of their lust were growing. The strength of the tribe, it was the way it should be, it was the way of the Gods.

As the gossamer blankets of the Crystal Spiders slowly covered The Chosen of the Gods, the Handmaidens began to chant verses from the Holy Book. It gave comfort to the people and appeased the Goddess who was watching them. The Almadra repeated their words as they were heard, lest they offend Isarie and wake up from their sleep to find themselves in the Pit of Marloon.

Two people did not speak the words from the book, one was a young Prince who would not be alone in the darkness, the other was an old woman who whispered to herself until all became silent.

_Fire and steel._ She told her waning mind; _fire and steel._

#  Chapter 38. Death Bringers

All those who break the laws of the Talsonar shall be taken to the arena and there they shall be judged by the Gods, those who live are innocent, those who die are guilty.

The Laws of the Talsonar.

Governor Darken Droganus sat in his luxury box and looked down on the amusements below. The arena was full as usual, only the High-breeder's seating was left half-empty. The Overlords had so much entertainment to fill their days, it was hardly worth the time to watch the lower creatures fighting for their lives.

The air smelled of death, it hung over everything, a sweet decadent smell that made everyone feel more important. Thankful, they were not on the arena floor, looking up and hoping some God or another would take pity on them.

Mixed with the jabbering of the jostling crowd, came the cries of many traders, who came to the games to offer their wares to the spectators. There were merchants who knew that the air of excitement would induce those with trade goods, to try their hand at negotiating. Watching the killing made them keener to take risks, because they too could end up as another blood offering for the cheering crowd

It was also a good place for the Sin-Cravers to ply their trade. They knew that blood and death was like an aphrodisiac to the masses, a crimson drug to make them laugh at the future and think only of the present. They moved through the city dwellers all but naked and rubbed themselves against anyone holding a piece of Rimar horn or Sagar teeth. They smiled and moved their hands over their touch-worn bodies, promising anything to those who stopped to stare. If they were passed by without a glance, they would utter a curse and wait for the next passerby.

There were also thieves amongst the revelers, they did not care about the games or what might happen if they were caught. They had two options, they could steal and hope they were lucky enough to escape and survive another day. Or live underground, in the hellish power station, waiting until their miserable lives ended and their remains taken to food processing.

With these unfortunates came those who managed to make a home in the Pyramid City. Technicians and workers whose skills were needed to maintain the city, making sure the beacon and everything else kept working. They had been working very hard lately, the Burning Time was starting, if the cooling system failed they like everyone else would die horribly. Miserable as their lives were, it was better than being burned alive.

There was one person who looked down on everyone, he held all their lives in his scaly hand and would not hesitant to crush them, like he would an annoying Blaze-ant. Darken took up a golden cup of Elnoc wine and put it to his thin lips, he took a small sip and smiled to himself. _Do the Gods drink wine?_ He thought to himself; _or do they sip the blood of their followers for amusement?_

He settled back on the soft cushions of his over sized chair and looked out over his world. This was the only time he relaxed fully, forgetting about the worries a Talsonar leader had to contend with. It was a small pleasure for him, he liked to hear the screams of the crowds, around him, all the while taking small sips of his rather unsatisfactory wine.

He remembered when he was once a gladiator in this very arena, he killed not just for the sake of staying alive but because he enjoyed it. He remembered the look on his victim's faces, as he was about to give the fatal blow. How they would beg for their lives, as he drove his sharp blade into their hearts and how the life flowed out of them like so much dark wine.

He took another sip of his drink. _Blood._ He laughed to himself. _Blood is the wine of the Gods._

The arena was located on the lower levels of the pyramid city, here the High-breeders could watch the lower classes fight to the death for their amusement. Some had personal interest in the outcome of the fights, they purchased slaves to fight under their banners, so it was a matter of pride that they died well and did not disgrace their owners.

The gladiators were of different species and strength. It really did not matter, it was the killing everyone came to see, rather than which Off-World creature was better than another.

Two combatants were hacking away at each other in a rather disappointing battle to the death. Darken took a drink of his wine, then looked over at General Leeander next to him, "Tell me General, is this the best there is today?" His voice was soft but it did not make Leeander feel any better.

"No my lord" he replied, "This is just a minor conflict," his face showed a sly grin, "I have something special for you."

Hearing this, the Governor's eyes showed a sign of mild approval towards his General, "Special you say? We'll let's hope it's better than the match between one of your so called invincible Hal-Jafar and that overfed sand dragon."

"Do not worry my lord, the next fight will please you."

The Governor took a deep drink of wine and made disapproving grunting sounds. He looked down to see the winner deliver a death blow, cutting his opponent's head off, it was a sorry show. The victor was a Higotie, a massive but slow witted creature, who knew nothing of the art of combat, relying solely on its great bulk and thick hide to overpower his opponent. The loser in the conflict was a Markin, they were rare in the city, hardly ever venturing down from their Lightships This particular one had taken the chance of landing on the planet. He was offered a great price to bring back some cargo but his Jump-ship was caught in a magnetic wave and he was stranded. Without his ship and with no other means to survive, he stole food but he was caught and sentenced to die in the arena. Now his remains would be taken to the processing plant, there they would be rendered into food for other hungry creatures.

As the blood flowed freely on the arena's sand floor, the Higotie raised a huge arm in victory and a great cheer went out from the crowd.

The Governor smiled to himself. _How easy they are to amuse;_ he thought. _A little blood, a little death and they are happy, such little creatures, so small._ He turned to the General once more, "Tell me General, is the breeding proceeding as planned?"

The warrior's voice took on an air of confidence, "It goes well, the Yangmar are adapting to our training and we will be ready when the time comes, it just that..." Darken gave him a look, he had seen it many times, it was the look that came ahead of a threat.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" the Governor asked with hidden annoyance.

The General cleared his throat and tried to regain some of his lost confidence. "The Yangmar require much more food than we anticipated, with the current food levels, we will have to cut back on our breeding and maintain a slightly smaller force."

Darken took a small sip of his wine, "Are you saying that we might have a smaller army than I want?"

Leeander felt a slight tremor in his back but tried not to show it, "Yes" he replied, "but I think it will be enough."

"You think?" Darken asked. The way he said it, made the General feel cold but he said nothing.

The Sillastine rubbed the ornate metal plate on his head, then looked at him, "I want nothing left to chance," he said. Behind those words was a veiled threat.

"My lord we do not have enough food as it is, our hydroponics gardens are producing slightly more than the population is consuming."

Darken gave him a slight smile, "Then change the population." To the uncaring Governor the answer was simple, fewer people meant more food, "Do I make myself clear?"

The General bowed slightly, "I will see to it myself." _Change the population;_ he thought; _an easy decision for him, a difficult one for everyone else._ He noticed the empty seat next to the lizard man, it was usually filled by the Governor's latest concubine, "Will Osenna be joining us?"

Darken at the empty seat next to him; _she was amusing;_ he thought; _but toys are soon broken._

The Governor didn't answer and Leeander knew better than to press the matter. _He's lost interest in her, the ice has taken her beauty and he has grown tired of her. He is like a child with an old toy._ He watched as Darken slowly rubbed the metal plate in his head again. The General had seen this many times; _he's growing bored and will soon become angry._

To the General's relief, there was a blaring of trumpets, the next contest was ready to proceed. Leeander moved close to the Governor, "I think you will like what I have for you."

Darken took a sip of his wine and settled back in his chair. _Such small creatures;_ he thought. _Toys for Gods._

He watched as the heavy gates at the end of the arena gradually opened. Unlike the masses, he did not cheer, he had seen many creatures emerged through those iron gates, large and vicious, small and frightened. He had seen Talsasions, Bolbecs, Eleions and all the Off-World races of the Hal-Jafar, come through those gates. They were loyal fighters but they fought without skill, they simply hacked away at each other until one was dead. It was amusing for a while but the Governor had grown tired of seeing his soldiers die like so much raw meat.

Now and again, something held his interest, like the time the lower levels were cleaned of useless people. The old and weak, those unable to work for the city's benefit and the abandoned young, all who were draining the strength of the Talsonar. They were herded into the arena with the promise of food, only to find hungry Whiptails who fed on them as the High-breeders fed on Safic berries.

Darken's gave slight smile; _how they screamed;_ he thought _. How they scurried around like so many bugs, so small, so small._

Then out of the massive gate walked a man and a woman, tall and well built, they wore heavy armor and their face markings showed them to be Outlanders.

_Nomads;_ Darken thought; _Nomads in my city?_ He turned to his General, "What tribe are they?" he asked.

"Almadra," Leeander replied, before the Governor could say another word, he spoke again, "They are spoiled my lord, not of any use, they are Sin-Cravers now and have nothing to offer, except amusement."

_Sin-Cravers;_ Darken thought; _their power is gone, they cannot guide us._ The Governor took a small sip of his wine, "Useless," he said softly.

"Yes my lord," the General replied, "They came into the city a short time ago, half-dead and addicted to Ice. I would have killed them but I thought they might amuse you with their deaths."

Darken nodded his head, "Yes, the death of a Nomad is always a welcome sight."

Leeander did not tell him how many Hal-Jafar were lost in the battle to take them captive. More lives would have been lost but for the fact that they came to the city for Ice. When it was offered, they lowered their weapons and put up no further struggle. It was then a simple matter to offer more red crystals in exchange for their participation in the games. With nothing to trade, they had no other choice.

Seeda and Almec looked up at the masses, who had come to see the spectacle of life and death. They stood next to each other, holding their weapons in their hands. Their once shiny armor was now dull and dented, their war-axes were rusty and had lost their edge. Their faces were weary after the long journey that brought them to the Pyramid City. Their limbs showed recently healed scars, if any warrior of the Almadra had seen them now they would not have recognized them. However looking into their eyes, they would have seen the fire that burned inside all Outlanders, the fire to survive.

Darken watched the figures below, he knew they were beyond redemption but he still felt a certain envy. They had made the trek across the Outlands, alone, after facing all its dangers they lived and were strong, they were survivors.

He shook the envy from his mind, there could be no survivors in his New World, there could only be toys for him to play with. When he grew tired of playing they would not survive.

Almec carefully scanned the thick walls of the arena, they were too tall to climb and even if they could, there was nowhere to go, the world outside was no longer their home. There was no one, man or God who would have them. There was only this world now but he could at least stay with his mate.

Almec reached down and touched the recent wound on his leg. It had not healed well and it was giving him trouble but he did not dwell on his injuries. He continued to look for any advantage they could use in what would soon be a battle to the death.

Seeda felt cold and as she looked up at the dome above, she suddenly felt very alone. She'd always had the stars and the moons to keep her company, the sky had been her companion. She could not remember a time, when she could not look up to see the heavens. Now there was only a metal sky and there was no stars or moons. She looked at Almec; _I am not alone;_ she thought.

There was a blast of trumpets and their world suddenly became very dangerous.

Darken watched several large humanoid creatures lumber through the iron gates. Their bodies were covered in thick hair and long heavily muscled arms hung almost to the ground. They wore very little clothing, just a filthy rag about their waists. In that instant the Governor knew, this was going to be an interesting battle.

He turned to Leeander and lifted his wine cup to him, "My compliments," he said with a smile.

"Thank you my lord," the General replied, "We captured them by accident, how they got this far from their homeland is a mystery but I'm sure they will make an interesting spectacle."

Darken settled back in his chair once more, he did not like the General and considered him a rather minor figure in his future plans. He had to admit, he did prove himself useful from time to time.

Seeda watched the hairy creatures enter the arena, then slowly fan out. _Galu;_ she thought; _Jungle dwellers._

The Galu made their homes in the dense jungles of Yug. Ape like creatures, they built dwellings in the towering sky trees, killing anyone who ventured into their lands. Strong and cunning they would not run at the sight of a Nomad.

Almec watched as the group of ape-men moved around them.

_They are dull witted but strong;_ he reassured himself; _they show no fear._

As the crowd cheered, the Galu moved in a half circle around the humans. They grunted to each other in their own primitive language, it was good enough for them to work together rather than as individuals. They watched the Nomad's every move with beady eyes and opened and closed heavily toothed jaws in a sign of defiance. They beat their heavy fists on the blood soaked ground and leaped high into the air trying to intimidate their enemy to run. Then they would bring them down from behind, biting into their necks with razor-sharp canines and crushing them with their massive strength.

Seeda and Almec did not run, they stood their ground, showing no sign of fear. They stood, still as statues, holding their weapons at the ready.

Seeda turned her head but kept her eyes fixed on the Galu, "They will try to separate us, keep them in front of you," she said.

Almec watched as one ape-men came closer, "They are strong but slow, aim for their legs and stay out of their reach."

There was a tense moment, the cries from the arena rose up like a power storm, the walls shook from the cheering and several High-breeders stopped eating to watch the battle soon to commence.

The Galu were leaderless but it didn't make much of a difference. They lived together in the dense jungles and knew each others movements like their own. They stayed alive by fighting as a group against stronger creatures in their far off homelands. They knew that combining their strength was the only way to stay alive. They grunted and gestured to each other, then at a signal only they understood, they attacked.

The first ape-man died as an ax blade cut into his neck and severed his jugular vein, he let out a roar then fell dead at Seeda's feet.

Seeda did not wait for the next creature, forgetting her own words, she ran forward. Her heart filled with the blood lust, she no longer saw the arena or heard the cries of the spectators, she saw a world of crimson death.

Almec watched his mate race towards the Galu but he could not help then, he had his hands full with two ape-men who were closing in on him. He ducked a hairy fist striking at his face, then swung his weapon, cutting deep into his attacker's leg bone. The tree dweller fell to the ground holding his bleeding leg and roaring loudly. Before his companion could take revenge, Almec swung his ax and cut across the ape-man's face. His eyes were now useless and he staggered around screaming loudly while torrents of blood flowed down his barrel chest.

Seeda no longer felt cold, the din of battle rang in her ears and the cheers from the crowd filled her with madness. She forgot everything, her home, her family, her lover, her world, she let it all slip away. There was nothing now, only the weapon in her hand and the hot blood pumping through her body. She smiled as another Galu died before her, she laughed as she felt her enemy's blood spray over her. There was nothing that mattered now.

_Other Worlds;_ she told herself. _Other Worlds._

Darken had to smile. He had seen many killings in the arena and had faced many warriors on the field of battle but he never thought he'd ever see his match in combat, until now!

_These Nomads, are strong,_ he admitted to himself, _they are more than just warriors, they might be...Gods?_

As he heard those words in his head, it sent a chill down his spine, until now, he had always considered the Nomads only as great warriors, skilled in combat and formidable. Now he had to reconsider, something he'd never thought of, they might win. He stopped himself thinking, he refused to listen to even himself, he would only listen to... _No, he told himself, Gods do not listen to anything, they are Gods._

He took another sip of his wine and pulled the ornate robe about his shoulders closer.

There were only two Galu left now, the strongest of the group, they were of a higher intelligence than their dead companions. While their comrades, were being killed by the Nomads, they were learning.

The taller of the two, a massive beast with a long scar across his chest stood hunched over, watching the two humans intently. His companion was slightly shorter but with great arms and a strip of white fur on the crown of his head. They both held back now, they'd learned that their two enemies were strong. They could kill them if they were careful, they could survive.

Seeda and Almec were breathing hard, they had fought hard and their strength was ebbing. They were bleeding from numerous cuts and scratches and their weapons felt heavy in their hands. It was something they'd never experienced before, being Nomads they'd always had strength. It could be spent but it always returned quickly, now it was different, the power they'd always had, was fading, they didn't know why but they could feel its passing.

They stood back to back, never taking their eyes off the two Galu.

Seeda wiped the sweat from her eyes with a quick gesture, "We must kill them fast" she said in a gasp, "They will try for one of us first, then go for the survivor."

Almec nodded, "Let them come for me, it will give you time to strike back."

"No," she said, "I will move first, then you attack."

"I will be first," he said flatly.

"It will be me," she replied with anger in her voice.

Almec began to grind his teeth, "You are the most stubborn lame backed thick headed ax breaker I have ever met!" Then as his lover began to grumble under her breath, he went to face the tall Galu.

The giant man ape let out a roar and lumbered towards the human, it huge arms outspread, eager to crush him in a vise like grip. As Almec swung his ax blade, the creature moved quickly to the right, the weapon missed his head by a fraction. With surprising speed, he grabbed the Nomad's arm and bit his forearm, hard.

Almec let out a yell as the Galu's fangs pierced his armor and sunk into the flesh below. The creature clamped down hard with his powerful jaws but for the strong metal of the Outlander's armor, his arm would have been ripped from his elbow. The bite made the Nomad drop his weapon, the tree dweller picked the warrior up like a toy and flung him high into the air to land hard on the ground.

A great cheer went up from the masses, they'd heard, there was going to be a special treat today but this was far beyond their wildest expectations. Very few in the city liked the Nomads, they considered them as their jailers by not sharing their lands with them. Although they traded with them, they never thought of them as anything but an evil that must be dealt with. They hated the Nomad's superior attitude and now they were seeing their fondest wish granted, now a Nomad would die by their hand.

Seeda saw Almec laying on the ground, it happened so fast there was little time to react, seeing her lover lying still, she went berserk. Gathered up the last of her strength, she attacked, with her tribe's battle cry on her lips, she leaped at the ape-man nearest to her. The strip of white fur on the Galu's slopping head, turned dark crimson as her ax blade sunk deep into his thick skull. He did not have time to cry out, he was dead before his body hit the ground.

Before she had time to pull her weapon from the dead Galu's ruined head, his companion was upon her. The creature's strong arms seized Seeda in a powerful grip, it pulled her to its hairy chest and she thought her ribs were about to break.

High above in his box, the Governor watched with little emotion on his scaly face. He sat motionless, taking small sips of wine but inside it was another matter, inside he was down in the arena once again, fighting alongside the Nomad.

_She is done;_ he thought; _I was wrong to think they are anything more than toys._

A slight smile crossed his face as he watched the Galu holding the Nomad in his grip. He knew that once caught in those powerful arms there was no escape.

_They are not Gods;_ he told himself.

Seeda felt the life being squeezed from her, she held the ape-man's snapping jaws back with one arm while she tried to draw a Dragons tooth from her belt. Through the sweat and blood in her eyes, she saw the gaping mouth moving ever closer to her face. She felt the hot foul breath of the Galu as it sucked air in and out like some great furnace. As her head began to spin and the world around her began to fade into nothingness, she her hand grasped the ivory handle of her dagger and removed it from the sheath.

Summoning the last of her strength, she drove the dagger deep into the beast man's thick neck. As the blood flowed, the Galu let out a deep roar and dropped Seeda to the ground. He staggered around the arena floor holding his neck, the beast-man swung wildly with one arm, trying to grab the warrior woman. Seeda escaped its grasp and withdrew her ax from the dead tree dweller's body, she screamed her tribe's name and leaped for the last enemy.

With a wide swing, she brought the blade of the weapon across the Galu's neck. His head went one way while his body went another, with a thump and a cloud of dust, the heavy torso fell dead to the ground.

For a moment there was silence in the arena, the spectators who had risen to their feet as the battle raged stood motionless. They did not cheer or speak as they watched the Nomad woman walk wearily to her companion, she bent down beside him.

Seeda cradled Almec's head in her arms, time stood still as she examined his face, the madness had faded away. The world of pain and death that she'd gone to, disappeared like the dew on the grass plains of Darmock. The sound of battle was gone, as was the smell of blood, there was only a face looking up at her, Almec's eyes open and looked at her. Without a word, the two warriors rose, they stood back to back, waiting for a new enemy but none came.

Instead, a great roar went up from the crowd, in spite of their hatred, in spite of all their envy, the Talsonar could not help themselves. They cheered and beat their hands on their chests, they cried out to their many Gods and jumped up and down, the walls of the arena began to tremble with their cheering. They had come to see a fight and saw something else, something they did not expect, they saw Gods.

Darken sat still in his seat, beside him sat Leeander, he hoped the Governor wouldn't look at him, hoping he wouldn't be blamed for this fiasco but the Governor was thinking other thoughts.

_They did not die, they survived, they are not toys._ Without saying a word Darken rose from his seat and left the arena.

For a long moment Seeda and Almec stood looking up at the cheering masses, they had come a long way and suffered many trials. They'd left their people behind to come to a place they did not know or understand. They stood together hearing the spectator's screams, they called out the name Nomad over and over again.

Their bodies were covered in blood and around them lay the mutilated bodies of the slain Galu. At that moment, they knew they'd found a new home, a place where they could survive, a place that was meant for them. They were no longer Outcasts warriors of the Almadra, they were gladiators, fighters, bringers of pain.

Death Bringers in the City of the Talsonar.

#  Chapter 39. Underworld

ACTIONS APPROVED.

1. Population growth is rising higher than anticipated and measures will be taken to lower them to appropriate levels, all females who are pregnant or have not undergone sterilization will be taken to food processing.

2. All food distribution will be by strict rationing until further notice, any citizen who brings the dead for processing will be given a credit towards future food consumption.

3. All those deemed unnecessary to the running of the city will be eliminated.

By order of his lordship Darken Droganus, Seven Hundred and Ninth High Governor, City of the Talsonar

The poor souls who dwelt in the underworld of the pyramid city, were creatures who never saw the sun, their God was the darkness.

The deep places under the city was the domain of the dammed and forgotten. Criminals who weren't sent to the arena because the city still had some use for them, were taken to the power stations. There to live out the rest of the lives in the dark and heat of the underworld. Like all Talsonar they were from the planets of the Outer Rim but unlike other miserable beings who lived above, these the most pitiful of beings were sent beneath the city.

The underworld was the last refuge of the city dwellers, there they could find shelter and remain alive as long as their strength, wits and the will of the Gods would allow them.

The life-force that kept the city going was here. The forgotten builders of the stone city used thermal venting from the very core of the planet to generate heat. When mixed with the water from underground rivers, they generated enough power to fulfill the city's needs. Heating and cooling also came from there, pipes and conduits throughout the structure took heat and cold to and from the many levels. Recycled below ground so that the city's inhabitants could survive whatever the outside climate.

The Electro Magnetic waves that prevented other more efficient power generators from working did not affect the primitive steam power used by the city. Because of the genius of the builders and the use of Itarian steel throughout, the generators had been working for thousands of years and would remain functioning for many years to come.

Light came from crystals that reacted to heat by illuminating, generated steam was piped to them and once heated to a critical temperature, they glowed with a cool light. The light crystals were distributed throughout the pyramid. They could be controlled by the amount of steam flowing to them, regulating their temperature and light output.

There were other crystals that made plants to grow, even deep within the city, there were several large levels, used only for growing food. Targan wheat and Blue corn could be grown. Areas set-aside for swamp ferns, from which Marsh-beer was fermented. Meat came from Trofar. Trofar flesh was tough but Rimar were too aggressive to be kept in pens. Flutter fish were also bred in special tanks as an alternative source of protein.

Balbar fruit and herbs were other available commodities but like all things in the city, the space used for food production had to be fully utilized. The population had to be kept at the optimum level or there wouldn't be enough food for everyone. The death rate was high but the Drop-ships brought regular replacements. The dead were taken for processing, their bodies used as nourishment for the living.

The Pyramid City was one immense organism, a living thing that fed upon itself. The High-breeders were its brain, running the city and making decisions to keep the city alive. The people were its muscle, forever working to keep it strong. The Hal-Jafar were its antibodies, eliminating the useless and controlling the life blood of those who made a home there. At the top was the Governor, the ego, the one who directed the city and whose words could not be judged.

Slave workers in this dark and hellish place, did any repairs that needed to be done. They only had two choices, they either worked or died. Many of the creatures living in the underground had reverted into wild animals, killing, and eating the weak. They hid in the dark places only to venture out to find more food. They were cunning and sometimes worked together to get a meal, they were motivated only by hunger.

The other underground dwellers, forgotten and alone, without sun or moon, without hope or mercy, lived in the endless noise and foul air of the underworld.

Into this world came two Outlanders. Seeda and Almec had entered the arena, together they survived, when the cheering and cries of victory died out, they found themselves outcasts among outcasts.

Shunned by the city dwellers and without goods to trade, they gathered up the small offerings, flung into the arena as gifts to the victors. The shell necklaces and broken Sager Cat teeth, only got them a small stale loaf of bread and a handful of Ice. The word had gotten out that they were Sin-Cravers, therefore any trade for the red crystal, would bring the highest price, leaving little for food or comfort. Taking what they could, the two warriors wandered into the dim reaches of the underground, eventually they found a simple home.

It was only a small storage chamber, barely the size of a Nomad wagon, with just one small light crystal. The floor and walls were stone, covered with a foul slime. A small crack in an overhead pipe supplied them with enough water to drink, the excess, was taken away by an iron grate in the floor. There was a bundle of filthy rags for a bed but it was crawling with horn bugs and Blaze-ants. Even this small place had to be fought for but the original inhabitant did not put up much of a struggle. He was a big Higotie but he'd lost an arm in the arena and when the Outlanders raised their weapons, he wisely gave up his hovel for the chance of living another day.

Almec removed his bracer and looked at the bite marks in his arm, they were not deep but some nerves had been torn and the pain was intense. Like all Nomads he showed no sign of discomfort, he began to wash the wound with some, of the brown water that fell from overhead.

Seeda placed the stale bread in a corner of the room, then she took off her helmet and placed the handful of recently traded red crystals into it. She leaned their axes against the wall so they could be gotten to quickly in case of attack, then she went over to Almec, who sat carefully picking at his arm.

"It's not deep," she said, "Care and time will heal you."

Her lover nodded, "Yes, I just wish we had some Rock-worm to squeeze."

"Rock-worm?" she laughed, "A little scratch and you're asking for Rock-worm?" She tried to make light of the situation but she could see the jagged wound must surely be painful.

"Yes you're right," he replied, "too many days without Po have made me spiteful."

"Yes some good aged Po," Seeda said dreaming, "and some hot Hagar-soup with just a touch of Ulon spice."

"But not too much," he replied, "you always put in too much spice."

"I do not," Seeda shot back, "You know my soup is the best in all the Outlands."

Almec brushed his wound with his hand, "But we are not in the Outlands are we?"

Seeda sat down beside him, they did not speak for some time, both of them simply stared in the dim light of their room, they tried not to think of the days ahead. Seeda finally broke the silence, "I'm sorry I brought you here," she said softly.

"It was my choice," he replied, "and I am happy to be here."

Seeda smiled a little, then looked around the dark room and thought of the emptiness of their lives. _There is no sun, there are no moons here, we are beyond the sight of the Gods now._

"The Gods see all," said Almec, "There is no place beyond their knowledge or care."

Seeda looked into her mate's eyes, "They are for The Chosen, not for us, we are no longer held in the hand of Isarie."

Almec reached out and placed his good arm around her waist, "Then I will hold you."

Seeda kissed her mate on his lips, it was a warm kiss and did not hold any of the coldness that filled her body. When it was over, she gazed into his eyes once more."It's enough," she said quietly, "as long as I have you I will be satisfied."

The outcast Princess watched a large Drool-rat, coming cautiously out of the darkness, moving towards the stale loaf of bread. Before it could grab a morsel in its sharp toothed mouth, Seeda drew her dagger and flung it across the chamber, impaling the creature on its point.

"At least we can have meat with our bread," she said with a laugh.

Soon they were feasting on stringy rodent and drinking stale water, pretending it was aged Po and the juiciest of Rimar.

Tamar-Ran hated the heat, the thick hair that covered most of his strong body made him susceptible to high temperatures. He would have traded three shell necklaces and a whole string of Sagar teeth not to go outside the city but orders were orders. He pulled the heavy Ice-suit up over his wide chest and attached the cooling unit to his back. He adjusted the heavy boots and flexed his large hands in the insulated gloves, once all was secure he turned on the circulation and felt sudden relief as the liquid nitrogen flowed. He turned to look over the mass of people waiting in the entrance tunnel.

_They will not be easy to control;_ he thought; _once the doors open,_ _we will have to force them._

The order to expel the useless had come from the Governor himself. Not wanting to face an angry Darken, the Captain ordered the Hal-Jafar enforcers to round up those marked for expulsion and gather them in the tunnel so they could be driven outside the city.

They were naked, no use destroying good clothing, any goods they had, gold or silver was taken away, even the smallest of items. Simple God-icons or pieces of pottery used for begging were confiscated, even their hair was cut, to be reused in manufacturing. Nothing of value was wasted, only the useless people would be consumed.

As waiting city dwellers knew that once outside the city, they would soon die from the intense heat, it would not be a quick death by any means. As their fleshed burned the stronger would prey upon the weak, trying to hide under their bodies to live a bit longer. A few would survive for a little longer but they too would soon perish, the wind and fire would do the rest, eventually there would be nothing to mark their passing.

For the most part the Captain was an unfeeling person. His many cycles in the power stations, underground, and his eventual escape from that dim world, by killing the weak and taking whatever he needed to survive, had made his soul hard. As he looked at the helpless females with their young and the old and weak, his heart felt a slight murmur, it was not much but it was still there.

_Do not be a fool;_ he told himself. _There is nothing that can be done._ he might be able to save a few but then what? His life was better than most but there was no room for weakness. _There is nothing that I can do, I am just following orders._

So he drove the feeling from his mind and turned to his second in command, "Have the men ready at the back with the movers," he said, as he pulled the cumbersome breathing apparatus on.

The man nodded then went to check the machines would be ready.

Tamar-Ran lifted his hand and the great doors to the outside creaked began to open, with a loud grinding sound the immense gates began to move. A crack no larger than a man's arm opened and hot wind blew into the tunnel.

With the first rush of the fire air, the creatures waiting to die began to scream, they knew there would be no escape from the burning death waiting for them. Mothers held their children in their arms and whimpered softly, the sound of praying to many Gods could be heard over cries for mercy. There would be no mercy, only the bright death waiting for them at the end of the tunnel.

The Captain raised his arm again, the heavy movers at the back started up their engines, the pounding of steam power motors was heard, then the grinding of gears.

From a high vantage point above Tamar-Ran watched the helpless creatures being slowly forced into the burning death outside. They screamed and cried but there was no one to hear. Some fell to the ground and clawed at the stone floor, some just closed their eyes and walked into the sunlight. Mothers sang night songs to their babies and the old knowing they had lived too long already, simply bowed their heads and went with the others.

It did not take long for the machines to do their work, those who did not follow were crushed under the tracks of the heavy movers. Their flattened bodies were gathered up and placed in carts, to be unloaded when the tunnel was empty. Anyone who managed to escape the grinding tracks where killed by the Hal-Jafar.

There were other tunnels leading to the outside and there the same task was underway, thousands would die, tens of thousands, maybe more. The weak would die to make room for the strong, there was nothing to be done, it was the Governor's order and no one dare speak against him.

When the last of the useless were outside, Tamar-Ran gave the order to close the gates. A few unlucky souls were caught in the nip of the gates and crushed to pulp. With a surge from the hydraulic power the doors eventually closed and the hot wind that filled the tunnel subsided, the heat dropped and all was quiet once more.

The Captain stood for a moment or two feeling the comfort of his insulated Ice-suit, then he turned off the cooling unit and removed the breathing mask. The air smelt of death, it was something the Lion-man had gotten used too. He thought he heard sounds from outside the heavy door, voices crying out for mercy but he knew the door was much to thick to allow any sound through. He walked down the tunnel forgetting the voices, he filled his mind with visions of large tankards of cool Marsh-beer and a soft woman to sing love songs to him.

_There was nothing I could do;_ he told himself; _it_ _was, orders._

The air in the conference room did not smell of death, it smelt of power. Darken and his Generals were gathered closely around a heavy steel table, on it were thousands of small figurines. Made with great detail in many, different colors, the tiny statues represented the great army the Governor would have at his disposal, to vanquish all of Gorn.

The Governor picked up one of the small icons and held it in his hand, "I want no mistakes, I want my legions ready by the end of the Burning Time. Do I make myself clear?" There was a muttering of assent from the officers in the room but Darken could see a frown on Yung's face. He knew that his General was not happy, "Is there something you want to say?" he asked, looking at his commander.

General Yung stood at attention and wiped the frown from his face, "No my lord, it is just...?"

"What is it?" Darken asked in a low voice, "If there is something that troubles you then speak, you know I am always open to suggestion."

Everyone in the chamber knew that the General was taking a great risk by speaking out. They remembered several Generals who had dared to anger Darken and what happened to them To their surprise he still did, "I have a question, who is to lead us?"

Darken put the small figure back on the table and looked his General in the eye, "We will have guides," he said.

There was muttering in the room, then Yung spoke again, "Guides? You have made a bargain with the Nomads?"

The Governor moved gracefully around the table like a God admiring his work, "No," he said quietly, "not with the Nomads but never the less we will have a way to travel to the Outlands. With our armies and our weapons, we will take what should rightfully be ours."

Yung shook his head, "My lord, only the Nomads have the power to travel the Wastelands, how can we..."

A sharp look from Darken stopped him from going any further, the Governor picked up a miniature Land-crawler, "I have made arrangements with allies who hate the Outlanders as much as we do, together we can destroy them." There was a pause as the words hung in the air, "Is weapons manufacturing proceeding as planned?"

Yung snapped to attention again, "Yes my lord, our Long-Range weapons will have twice the killing range of the ones traded to the Nomads and our Disruptors are far more powerful."

"And what of the hand weapons?"

"We have enough steel for the Yangmar's hand to hand weapons and there will be strong armor and projectors for the Hal-Jafar."

The Governor smiled, "Very good." He turned to Leeander who was standing at the other end of the table, "The Yangmar are being trained well?"

"Yes my lord," the General replied, "They are dull witted but strong, our training methods are working well and with the elimination of our surplus population, we now have enough food and supplies to assure the numbers needed."

"What has been done about Runners?" he asked.

"They will be ready when needed my lord," the General replied, "They have been conditioned to follow orders without question."

"Make sure that they are." Darken's words were laced with menace, "I do not want to see them turn in fear!" _A_ _ll creatures know fear, it is what keeps them alive._

Darken placed the small figure back on the table, carefully adjusting it until he was satisfied that it was in its proper place; he stood back and looked at the table. "Then all we need do is wait," he said calmly.

The Governor looked down at the planning table and the tiny figurines once more. _T_ _his must be how the Gods see those they rule;_ he thought; _their view, is not clouded by laws or mercy, that is what makes them Gods._

Outside the city the last of the outcasts were dying, soon there would be no more screams, only the wailing of the burning winds.

#  Chapter 40. The Burning Time

To all things I give a time.

Night and Day.

Sun and Moon.

Life and Death.

These are things that I made.

And they are mine to rule.

From the Book of Isarie.

Krylas the Fire God awoke from slumber and sent his flames to burn all the lands of Gorn. It started in the open plains of Darmock and burned all that remained above the ground, the vast Kasha-wheat fields erupted into waves of flame that raced across the land like a demon from the fires pits of Marloon.

The fire roared over the once green expanse driving all that lived before it, those that could not escape into burrows or under rocks were consumed. The sky filled with smoke and the scent of burning flesh, creatures too old or sick to make the long journey to the Hollow Hills paid the price for their weakness. The roaring screams of dying Whiptails and Spike-backs could be heard through the long valley like one great voice crying out in pain.

Adult Flame-Crests would all die, they would let the burning death take them rather than leave their nests. Both the male and female would stand guard over their protege. As the fire raced to them their bodies would be consumed, they would die calling to each other but never leaving each others side. It was their end but their eggs would live on, warmed by the fire and kept safe under their charred remains.

The Ax-Breakers with their hard shells were immune to the flames, the heat growing more intense, was a signal for the females to lay their eggs in the soft soil. The Valley of Darmock was their breeding ground and their hatchery mounds could be seen covering the land. When all the eggs were laid and covered with earth, they would simply withdraw into their shells and let the fire pass by. They would remain like that living off their fat reserves until the rains washed the fire away, then emerge to feed on the new grass and tasty Meadow-cane. In time their offspring would break into the light and begin their fight for life.

To the South near the rivers that flowed from Still Water Lake, the Daggermouths sunk deep into the mud to escape the fires. There they would stay, sleeping in the earth until new waters came to break them free of the land, the lake itself dried up until only baked earth remained.

The fire continued South to the forbidden dwelling of Del-Godar. The pyramid city to which no one ventured, the creatures living in the dark city did not trade with the Nomads nor did they venture out into the sunlight, they lived secret lives. What monsters made their home there, no one could say, for no one had ever returned to tell what they found.

Those Rimar who had lost their way to the Hollow Hills or a Spikeback too old or weak to make the journey soon found death moving towards them in a wall of fire. The great beasts did not run from the fire, they turned and faced it, head on; they would roar loudly then charge into the fire like they would face any enemy. When the fire consumed them they still fought, striking left and right, mixing their death cries with the sound of the flames.

From the plains of Darmock the fire continued eastward through the Pass of Moke. The canyons had little vegetation to burn but they were filled with small caves and canyons that sheltered Rock-runners and Arrow-tails. Some of them found safety from the heat and remained alive long enough to lay their eggs, once the fire had passed them by. Millions died, their small charred bodies layered the ground like black stones.

The burning moved on to the Greenland's, the home of the Earth-shakers, the only creatures on Gorn who did not need to hide from the burning death. Their bodies were too thick and their tremendous shelled backs to heavily covered with earth and vegetation to feel the heat of the sky. When the fire covered them they felt nothing, they simply slept deep in the earth, there they would draw life and wait until the Burning Time passed.

The City of the Talsonar would remain intact, the thick stone and steel walls had seen countless fires and would see many more. Once the numerous layers of the structure were lowered, there were no longer any openings the heat could penetrate through. The Great Beacon was turned off because there was no one to see it. Traders who once made their home near the city no longer worried about their stalls, they had been taken down long ago and moved into the city. There they would remain until after the rains and then they would emerge to start their lives over again.

The fire moved Southward past the Stone Cities at the equator to the green jungles of Yug, the home of the Galu, the ape-men of the Forest. With the coming of the fire, they would climb down from their sky homes in the great trees to seek shelter in the broken cities and haunted caves that lay hidden in the dense jungles. There they would spend their time feasting on Night-fliers and snake worms. The jungles were also the place of the mysterious Ragalions, little is known of them but there are legends that say they have great power and know all that is to be known.

The fire then continued to the east, to the vast forests of Caltarine where it consumed everything in its path. The forest giants burned and the smoke from them filled the sky until it darkened even the light from the suns. The beasts that dwelt in that woodland realm had to dig deep into the earth to escape the flames and heat. The cycle of the Burning Time was something they knew well and their instincts would guide them to survive.

Although the fire burned it did not destroy, the Forest needed the flames to sweep the rot and dead from the land and make way for new life. Seed pods that lay dormant for a cycle now broke open and their contents were strewn over the baked soil. There it would take root and grow and once more the land would be green.

To the North and South the ice caps felt the grip of the twin suns and although they melted, they did not vanish, the ice was too deep. The flames were not strong enough to reach deep into the frozen depths. In these frigid domains the Ernan would stay, their time was not now, they would not come out of their icy homes until the planet left the heat of the father sun to move into its outer orbit. Then the land would turn cold and the ice and snow would emerge and with it the raiders from the Frozen Lands.

The great Markin Lightships of the would not come, their Drop-ships full of human cargo would wait and there would be no contact with the Worlds of the Outer Rim.

So, as it had done for millennia the planet known as Gorn slowly moved to embrace the giant of fire that give it life and death. There it would remain until the Gods once more took pity on its people and filled their lungs with the solar winds to blow the fire away and quench the land with their tears.

The great arena of the Talsonar had filled and emptied many times as the fire burned on outside of the Stone City. Inside those who had not been chosen for elimination watched as two Nomads defeated every challenger and soaked the floor of the great arena with the blood of their victims.

Together they had faced and defeated the best that could be offered, creatures great and small died under their weapons. The crowd watched as they bathed in the blood of victory and called out to their Gods for anyone to come and stand before them. None came forward, there was no one brave enough to face them.

With each battle the city dwellers saw the force that lived outside their home, none spoke of it but in their hearts they were afraid of what lay just beyond their domain. Inside they could boast about their strength and the power of their Gods but outside they knew it was the Nomads who ruled over all. Still, they came to the arena, they came to watch and even though they did not want to, they cheered, for the weak will always praise the strong, even if that strength is against them.

After a time the cries of victory faded, the once strong bodies of the Outlanders began to fail and they could no longer meet the challengers who came to face them. Their need for the red crystals grew stronger and stronger even as their strength weakened. They were no longer Death dealers, no longer champions of the arena, they were clowns, laughable buffoons who were there only for the amusement of the unfeeling crowd.

Stripped of their once shiny armor, they now wore humiliating costumes with feathers and ribbons. They stood in the arena they once ruled and sang silly songs for the trinkets that were tossed to them. They listened to the cheers of the city dwellers and let the rotten fruit that was thrown at them cover their faces, they danced like puppets and bowed before their masters and never looked up.

As laughter filled the air they were forced to execute lowly criminals for their survival, it was mere butchery but they had no choice. They needed to live and they needed the Ice that was offered to them for their servitude. Their world now knew only the red crystals, it was their God and it filled their minds day and night, there was no other world for them, only the warm embrace of the forbidden crystals. They could not sleep in the embrace of the spiders deep in the Hollow Hills, they would not rebirth and feel strength flowing in their veins once more. They would never again ride the open plains of Darmock and hunt the giant Rimar, they would not dance under the Dome of Omargash, it was a sad life but it was the will of the Gods.

In days past, they would have ended their lives before becoming such things as they were now. That was long ago, now they did what they had to do, they were no longer ruled by the Laws of the Nomads. They were Sin-Cravers, without pride or care, they were powerless.

In the dark tunnel that led from the arena, Seeda and Almec walked alone and in their tired hands they held only a few crystals of Ice.

If anyone of their tribe had seen them now, they would not have recognized them. Their faces were drawn and tired, their once strong limbs were covered with scars and patches of rough skin that festered in the darkness and smelt of death and decay. Their eyes no longer shone with the light of the sky and sun, all that could be seen was a hollow stare of acceptance.

They walked slowly, Almec leaned on his mate for support, the wound in his leg never healed properly. He now moved with a stagger and had to drag his foot on the stone floor, they did not speak as they walked, there was nothing to say. They continued down the dark corridor as the cries of the arena faded behind them.

They continued down the many levels of the city, sometimes riding in the lifters that rose and fell throughout the great structure. They had to listen to the cheers of other riders and dared not speak back to their hecklers lest they call the Hal-Jafar and have their heads cut off. They shut their ears to the insults and turned their faces away.

When they reached the lowest level they continued down the dark tunnels, down, and down, level after level until the smell of death filled the air and the sound of great engines was all that could be heard.

They moved past the workers, who did not see them, they were now just another pair of dammed souls in the bowels of the earth. They were weak but not yet weak enough for the sub-creatures in the darkness to feed upon them. Those monsters who made the hidden places their homes, would wait until all life was gone before they came out to feast. They could smell death coming and they watched with anticipation as the two Nomads passed them by.

With the heat from the nearby furnaces, Seeda was able to help her lover into their home. After all the time that had passed since they first came here there was little to show they had been here at all. The small chamber was still mostly empty, just the pile of rags for their bed and the dripping water pipes overhead. There were some boxes and a small wooden table they'd found, with some rusty pieces of metal and broken stone Almec had managed to construct a small shrine of sorts. An, altar to Isarie, he liked to look at and reminded himself of times long passed.

Seeda lowered Almec onto their dirty bed and then went to fill a chipped clay cup from the dripping pipe, when the cup was full of brackish water she took it to her lover and handed it to him. "It's not Po but it's all we have," she said, with a slight smile.

Almec took the cup and drank its contents down greedily, as he did Seeda looked at one of the dark patches on his arm, the flesh was broken and there was a greenish ooze seeping from the wound.

_He is dying;_ she thought. _He is dying and it is my fault._

Almec finished his drink and handed the cup back to Seeda, as he did he saw the look in her eyes. _She knows I am dying;_ he thought; _and she blames herself._ He smiled at her and reached out with his hand, "Come let me hold you," he said.

She came and sat down beside him, she felt his arm around her body, "I think you're getting better," she said with a sad confidence. "It will not be long before you're strong again and we can..." She stopped speaking and regarded his weakening eyes with concern. _He knows I'm lying, he knows the truth, "_ I'm sorry," she said softly.

She felt his arm pulling her closer, "Do not say such things, the Gods may not hear you but I do," he said, "In all the days since I first saw you, I have never regretted a single moment."

Seeda laughed a little, "You are a good warrior but a bad liar."

There was a pause as he looked at her, "Not a moment," he said.

Seeda leaned her tired head against his shoulder, she looked over at the small shrine in the corner of the room. In the dim light she could barely make out the broken icon that was supposed to represent the Goddess Isarie. It was not really a statue to the Goddess, it was a figurine of an Iconie harvest God. The features were close and it was all they had, she looked at it hard, "Do you think we will be welcomed into the Golden Hall?" she asked.

Almec thought for a moment, "I think so, after all, I'm sure the Pit of Marloon would never hold us."

It was a sad joke but it still made them laugh, after their thin laughter had died, Seeda looked at her mate, "If there is an Afterlife I do not want to be alone," she said quietly.

Almec leaned over and kissed her cheek, "You will never be alone," he said, "we are Nomads, we can never be lost, I will find you no matter where you are."

They spoke no more and lay back on the pile of rags, they felt cold in spite of the heat from the furnaces but soon they were asleep. They forgot all care and let themselves dream in the embrace of each others arms.

Deep in the Hollow Hills the Nomads of the Outlands did not dream. As they lay sleeping in their silken cocoons, cared for by the Crystal Spiders their minds remained dark. They did not see visions of green pastures or fly over the great Mountains of Kresh. The warriors did not hunt Rimar or battle in the eternal wars of the heavens. There were no rainbow lands filled with Meadow-cane and talking Burrow-babies for the tribe's young. The Handmaidens did not sing songs to the Gods and Obec did not see the face of Isarie.

The sleep of the Nomads was without time or space but as their minds lay dormant their bodies were undergoing great change. The Crystal Spiders were feeding on them but their bite did not hold the fatal venom of the dark creatures in the jungles of Yug, their bite was the gift of the Gods.

The spiders would draw out impurities in their blood and replace it with a fluid that rebuilds old worn out tissue. Bones that were weak or once broken were made strong again, muscles, nerves, and organs were made perfect. Every part of their body was repaired and filled with new life.

The young who now lay in the arms of their mothers, grew, their small bodies would not be the ones they would awaken too. They would no longer be the children of the tribe, they would be adults, fully-grown and strong. They would be the ones to carry on the tribe, their days as being cared for were over, they would now be the ones who cared for others.

There would be others to take their place, the women who danced under the Great Dome and mated with their lovers would give birth to a new generation of Nomads. They would not be the helpless babies born to females on other Worlds of the Outer Rim. Their young would be able to walk and after a short time talk, they would not suckle at their mother's breast, because they had already drunk the life milk of the Gods.

The old of the tribe would have their lives prolonged, the many cycles they had already lived would continue, their tired limbs would feel the strength they once knew. It would not be the power of the warriors but it would be enough to let them roam once more over the lands of their birth and for that they would be grateful. Once more they would sing songs to Isarie for her gift and dance under the twinkling night sky.

Agart was glad for the sleep without dreams, there would be no visions to haunt him in the night and there would be nothing to awake him from his slumber. There would be no demons whispering to him of betrayal, he would sleep and see nothing but the silent darkness he wanted so badly. It was a time he would remember in the days to come, a time where he found peace.

Anais lay with his arms around the one person he cared about. He'd fallen asleep looking into her eyes and would awake to see her face. He too would remember this time but there would be no peace, just an emptiness filling his soul.

Far from the Hollow Hills and deep in the mountains of the Poison Lands Egmar dreamed. The creatures that dwelt in the dark places under the earth were not the Crystal Spiders of the Hollow Hills. Their bite did not bring a sleep of peace, their venom gave new life to the Shadow-men and prolong their days but it did not make their bodies whole. Their flesh would continue to decay even as their strength grew. The unseen poisons in the lands of Kresh had changed the spiders, they were no longer pure, they were no longer the true gift of the Gods.

As the spiders did their work, the People of the Darkness continued to dream and their dreams were not filled with peace and rest. They were nightmares. They saw horror and pain, death, and destruction, endless dreams of darkness and terror. They could not wake, they could only lay silently listening to the screams of their souls.

In her dreams, Egmar saw the faces of her children. She saw them dying, being ripped to pieces in the jaws of demonic Whiptails. She saw her daughter burning in an undying flame that rose up from the very heart of the universe; she reached out for her mother, calling her name and begging to be taken into her arms. She saw Arn and Agart battling each other in an endless fight for the Kingship of the tribe. They hacked each other with weapons of fire and steel and all the while she saw Anais standing by, laughing as their bodies were hacked apart. She watched as Karn lay dying in the battle pit, his hand reaching out for her, calling her name, she saw his warm eyes and heard his strong voice. She saw his head fly from his body to land at her feet but still she could hear his voice calling out to her.

All the while she stood unable to move. She had to live the dream over and over, seeing the ones she loved die, then die again. She heard them crying out and was helpless to do anything. It felt like she was in the Pit of Marloon and there was no escape.

Arn and Andra lay together, their sleep was peaceful, there were no dreams to break the silence of their minds. Although Andra was not a Nomad, the Crystal Spiders still did their work. They drank from her body and filled it with their gift but they knew something that Andra did not. She was carrying a child.

For the first time in his many years of life, Osh understood what dreaming really meant. At first, he did not know he was dreaming, he had never seen or known such a world as the one he was in now. It was filled with strange visions that came and went as flashes of time. At first they seemed real, he thought he'd awakened and then, by some power unknown to him, he'd been transported to a far off world, where all things were possible.

When he saw things that could not possibly exist in a universe of time and space; he wondered if he was dead and this was the mystical Afterlife. He looked around but saw no Gods or demons and felt neither pain nor pleasure. Surely this was not a place to find your reward or punishment?

Another thought entered his mind, something he knew about but had never experienced. In his world it was not needed, they were created to bring order to chaos. To use their superior minds, to program the universe's computers, that was all there was and nothing more.

Now as he floated in a shimmering sea of golden stars, he realized he was the first of his people to experience this wondrous thing. Imagination! He felt himself smile. _Imagination, how strange, how wonderful._

The land he saw was of infinite detail and perfection, more than he had never known in his waking life, in his ordered mind all the creatures racing before him were precise and correct. There were no imperfections, no blemishes and nothing could be called flawed, in his mind all things were in their proper place, it was his world.

So he let it continue, he let his thoughts run wild, worlds came and went in an instant and each was filled with wonders that words could not describe. Each world held a lifetime of precision only a Callaxion could understand.

As he floated over a vast shimmering sea of circuits and data-comp patterns, he heard a voice. A voice he had not heard before, it seemed to call his name but not from a world of sound. It was as if he was, hearing thoughts, of such complexity and clearness, it seemed as if he was communicating with a God.

Using his minds to speak he answered the call. _Who are you?_ There was no reply, only an echo in his mind, he spoke again, this time emptying his brain of all but one thought. _Who are you?_ To his great surprise he received an answer.

"I am all."

It was a voice but not a voice, it did not answer, he answered himself. It filled his entire mind and echoed in his soul, it made him shudder. Calling up all the power of his ordered mind, he spoke to the voice within. _Are you there?_

There was no reply and for a moment that seemed to last forever, he waited. Then an echo from whatever held him, he heard it again and again. They weren't words, just feelings that only his mind could understand but they were as words spoken to him.

"I am everywhere."

Suddenly his mind exploded in a sea of sight and sound, it filled all the reaches of his consciences and more, information flooded into him and he was powerless to stop it. He saw flashes of places, things, beings the like of which he did not understand, creatures with vast minds able to calculate streams of data unheard of by the Callaxion. He heard a mind speak that let him know without words, to Mindlock ages of time into subconscious. It was almost too much for the old man, the power of the voice speaking to him was beyond anything he had ever encountered. It was not a creature of this world, it was by all standards of intelligence, a God.

He heard the voice again.

"Know and understand."

He saw other images, things beyond his ability to understand but he knew that in time he would understand. After a time that could have been forever, the voice stopped and the images slowed until they were gone; they'd left behind a wealth of knowledge that would answer questions yet to be asked.

_Am I going mad?_ The old man asked himself; _is this a world of madness I shall never leave?_

He called out in himself once more but there was nothing echoing in the deep places of his mind. It was quiet once more, it was once more his mind and his alone. There was silence, the echo faded and the dream ended, there were no more visions to disturbed the old man's sleep.

When Seeda opened her eyes, she thought she heard a voice calling out to her but when she looked around the chamber there was nothing. She heard Almec's rasping breath and she knew he'd reached the end of his days. She watched him and could see he was dreaming the Dream of Death.

For a time she sat next to him, holding him in her arms and thinking of the life they'd had together. She remembered the first time she met him, both of them young and eager to grow up. On that day they'd fought over a Rock-runner that they both wanted to capture. When it found a hiding place in the deep crevasse of a boulder, they blamed each other for not being fast enough. For a long time afterwards, they did not speak to each other and she put sand in his Hagar soup.

After their first rebirth, she thought he was the most arrogant warrior in the tribe; always showing off and riding his Whiptail close to her, every chance he got. In the quiet of her tent she could not help thinking of him. She memorized his features and from far away, she could tell the difference between his armor shining in the sunlight and that of another Almadra warrior.

_Almec;_ she said to herself; _Almec, the best of all worlds._

As her mind drifted into a world of remembrance, she heard her name being spoken. She looked over to see Almec's eyes open, he had a feeble smile on his lips.

"Where are we," he asked weakly, "is this the dome of Omargash?" his eyes showed he did not know where he was or why. Seeda put her hand to his face, "Yes, we are under the Breast of the Goddess and the Mating Drums are pounding."

It was not the Mating Drums he heard, it was the relentless pounding of the great machines of the underworld but hearing her words, the young warrior smiled. "Will you dance for me?"

"Yes, I will dance, I will dance only for you and the fire from my arms will burn you," her words were soft and filled with love.

"And will you bring me food?" he whispered.

Seeda's eyes filled with tears as he held him tightly. "Yes, my love, I will bring you a great leg of the Malock and many tankards of well-aged Po. Together we will eat our fill and we will laugh and sing together. Then we will make love under the night sky and when we mate, Shawcona herself will be jealous."

She saw his tired eyes fill with a spark of life, she saw him smile like he used to. "Then we are mated?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "we are mated."

Almec lifted his hand to her face and touched her cheek. "Then I am satisfied."

Seeda felt his cold fingers fall from her face and watched him close his tired eyes. She heard a faint rush of air escape his lips and she heard him say in a whisper.

"Seeda." Then there was nothing.

She sat there for a long time, she did not know when life left his body or how long she held him in her arms. There was no sun or moon to mark the time and no one came to offer gifts of sorrow.

There would be no Handmaidens to sing songs of his bravery, there would be no warriors standing guard over his body, to protect it from demons of the Outlands. His name would not be written in the Holy Book of Isarie and no stone would mark his grave.

Seeda looked at the small idol on the scavenged alter. _Maybe the Gods do see us?_ She prayed to herself; _maybe they'll take pity on his soul._

She cried, thinking of him wandering the barren lands of the Afterlife without her. She wept to think of him standing outside the Great Doors of the Hall of the Goddess and not being allowed inside. She thought of him alone and forgotten, a warrior without a home or people; she saw him walking in the endless nothingness of the Afterlife, cold and hungry, bringing more tears to her eyes.

When all her tears were spent, she stood up and went to the dirty pile of rags that had been their resting-place. She reached under the tattered layers of cloth and took out something wrapped in a dirty white cloth. She untied the strip of Rimar skin holding the bundle together and took out a worn Almadra war-ax. The weapon was old, its handle cracked and the blade's edge was pitted and covered in rust. It was no longer the great Judgment of Isarie, it was a feeble reminder of a power that had long since vanished.

They had traded all they had, their armor, the Dragons-teeth, their clothing and even the golden Journey Nails that once hung around their necks. All was gone now, given to the red crystal sellers in exchange for a handful of dreams.

Seeda could not let her lover pass into the Afterlife without his Tooth. After they had given up their axes to a fat Oleian for Ice, she returned to him and offered the one thing she still had to trade, herself.

She never told Almec of her time with the merchant, she knew, he would have killed him and never forgiven her. She couldn't let him travel into the world beyond life without his ax, so now she took it to her mate's lifeless body.

She didn't have a golden nail to hold the weapon to his lifeless hand, so she tore a piece of her clothing and knotted it around his fist, securing the handle as best she could. She had no fresh baked Kasha bread so she took a few small breadcrumbs from the floor; she put them into his left hand, as an offering to any Gods he might meet. She took a piece of Grana she had in her pocket and placed it into his mouth for strength. There was no well-aged Po to fill a golden cup so she touched one of her tears and gently wiped it across his parched lips.

"It is not much," she said quietly, "but it is all I have."

Then calling up all her strength, she lifted his body and carried it from the filthy chamber they called home. She could not leave the body to the Underworld scavengers, they would soon smell the corpse she carried and come to claim their share. She would not be strong enough to fend them all off so she did the only thing she could.

With her legs shaking from the effort, she moved to the edge of a ramp, below lay the open furnace of the cities power supply. She could see the dancing flames and feel the intense heat from the Mega-boiler, it felt good to her; the warmth filled her body and stopped the cold that was now, always a part of her days and nights.

She stood for a moment or two, trying to think of some comforting words to ease her aching heart. There were no words to convey what she felt. Mere mortals could never speak those words, only the Gods and the Wailing Women of the Outlands could utter them.

In her sadness she remembered a passage from the Book of Isarie. With trembling lips she began to recite. "We are The Chosen of the Gods, we come to you and offer our bodies to you, do with them as you will." Summoning the last of her strength, she lifted Almec high over her head and flung him into the burning flames below.

The effort brought her to her knees and she lay there for a time with her eyes closed, breathing the hot air in long slow gasps. She heard nothing except for the relentless pounding of the great machines and her own heart, after a time she staggered to her feet and looked down into the blazing furnace.

Her mate was gone, the flames had consumed him in an instant, there was nothing to show his passing; only a burning heat rising up, touched the face of the forgotten Princess.

Seeda had spent her life dreaming of other worlds and planets circling distant suns, holding secrets to fill her soul with wonder. Her whole life was looking up, away from the world that gave her birth and the people who cared for her. She dreamed of those worlds and would have given anything to sail on the endless Seas of the Universe.

She stood looking into the funeral flames of her one true love and she finally realized, all those worlds no longer had meaning to her. She had found all there was to be found in the warm arms of her mate, now that was gone forever.

She was alone.

As the fire dried the tears from her eyes, she would have gladly traded all the timeless planets of the Outer Rim for just one more hour in her lover's arms.

#  Chapter 41. Rebirth

The planet designated as Gorn has reached apogee with Karus and is now continuing along its orbit away from the Star. Atmospheric levels will soon be within acceptable levels and cargo Dropships can commence landings. The exiles from the takeover of the Corgas system Planets will be collated and shipped to central docking, then processed for extradition. Profits from the shipments will be used to offset the losses sustained by the destruction of Light-ship 796571-A; due to the mutiny against Captain Ugro, by his second in command Commander Tog.

Report to the Markin Alliance file number 8865bvn-3.

The great sun Karus of the Gornian system bid farewell to its brother Micos. They had come together in a fiery embrace and filled the heavens with the blaze from their meeting, now they drifted apart and the fires slowly died.

Gorn and her small companion sun had reached apogee with the great star and felt the heat from their meeting. Now it was time for it to continue on its journey into the outer heavens and where it would find peace and rebirth.

Three times the earth shook, each time stronger than the last. There were none to see the damage, the fire burned everything that fell to the ground. Unlike previous quakes, these came from the far side of the planet, doing little damage to the Pyramid Cities or the Nomad homelands. Their lands still shook and if any Outlander had been awake, they would have fallen to their knees and prayed to the Gods for mercy.

There were many Gods known to the Outlanders, Gods of Land, Sea, and Air and above them all was Isarie the Goddess of wisdom and truth. It was her children who were born Gods and Goddesses and she gave them power over the heavens, through all time and space.

Lesser Gods than Isarie were; Solus, Atos, Horcon, Arm-Ra, Shawcona and other deities who made up the Pantheon of The Chosen. Each had a purpose and each had their time and place.

Krylas the God of Fire, whose time was now past, he would sleep in the furthest reaches of the Pit of Marloon. There his breath would send flames to torture the souls condemned for their sins

Now it was the time of Krylas twin sister, Dietas the Water Goddess, to lift her water jug and pour her gift of life down from the heavens.

Dietas ruled the Waters of Gorn, the Sea People prayed to her for protection against the monsters of the deep and the storms from the North. Only she could bring new life to the scorched Outlands.

The fires covering the lands of Gorn burned out, when they were gone, the once bright sky turned blue. Then they filled with clouds and the rains began, they came down in torrents, great veils of life giving water. The rivers filled and overran their banks, water cut new paths over the land, washing away landmarks that once stood proudly. Dried lakes were no longer barren pits devoid of all life, the water rose in them and the creatures that had once inhabited them, returned from the earth.

The mighty forests in the East would heal, the blazing fire had burned away the old and weak. New trees would take their place, seeds that lay in the dark soil would break open and the promise of life that lay within would be fulfilled.

The rain-washed down the Mountains of Kresh into the Great Plains of Darmock. The baked earth drank deeply of the offering from the sky, soon green shoots broke into the sunlight and the small creatures that fed upon them began to live once more. The water, cut new canyons, into the Pass of Moke, while others crumbled into rock and sand. The rain flooded the Sirolian plains and turned the parched earth into a land of rolling grass and quenched the Earth-shaker's thirst.

The Jungles of Yug were no longer wilted, they were filled with great layers of mist and steam, then they began to grow once more. The leaves returned to the great trees and the cries of the Galu filled the air, all the terrible creatures of this haunted land once more began their never-ending cycle of life and death. It had been that way for untold ages and would continue that way for ages to come.

The Leviathans rose up from the dark depths of Orgon, the Western Sea and swam unchallenged through the emerald waves. These great monsters of the oceans were the largest living thing on the planet, far larger than the titanic Earth-shakers. While the Shakers ruled the land, the Leviathans ruled the sea, it was their domain and they guarded it against all who dared sail upon it.

The Sea People would soon emerged from their caves and sail out in their wind ships to the far off islands, only spoken of in legends of their kind. They were the only people who understood the monstrous Leviathans and knew how to survive on the rolling waves of the uncharted seas.

The water cooled the sands of the Salgar dunes and the machine strewn lands of Omargash. The Great Dome stood against the onslaught of rain and wind, some of its stone cracked and a few columns broke and fell. It would still be there for the next joining and echo to the sound of the Mating Drums.

The rains would continue for many days and nights, now there would be nights. The burning sunlight that once always filled the sky would now give up its hold and let the darkness live once more. The creatures of the night could now come out to start their lives anew, as they had for millennia.

Soon the clouds would part and the rain would stop, then the sunlight would dry the land. The time of rebirth would come and the great beasts would awaken and with them the Nomads of the Outlands.

Arn opened his eyes, he was next to Andra. He did not move, for a brief moment, he was about to whisper a prayer of thanks to Isarie for his rebirth. Then he remembered his own words. No more Gods. He opened his mouth and drew in a great lung full of air, he held it for a time then let it out in a long sigh of life.

_I am alive;_ he thought; _I have been reborn._

He sat upright carefully, the Crystal Spider's cocoon was gone, some thin strands of gossamer still clung to his chest and legs. He stretched his arms, clenched his fists, feeling the power coursing through his body. Any weakness that an Outlander had before the Burning Time was now forgotten. There was no more pain, old wounds, the injuries to his wrists by the Shadow-men were gone, only a small scar marked the place where the iron spikes were driven into his flesh.

He smelt the air in the cave and knew, which creatures had once made it their home. He could hear a Night-flier beating its wing gently in the darkness, tasting the air for signs of a nearby enemy. The cave was silent, there was only a faint glow from the Starfall covering the walls.

The Crystal Spiders had returned to their homes in the bowels of the earth and would not come out again until the fires from the sky summoned them. Where they had gone or how they survived no one knew, it was a secret known only to the Spiders and the Gods.

Arn turned to Andra, sleeping next to him, he looked at her face. He could see the Spiders had not forsaken her, all signs of fatigue and worry were gone, her features soft and pure. Her lips parched by the sun, were now moist and full, her hair had grown long and hung down over her soft breasts in a dark wavy cascade.

She was naked still but for a few strands of Spider's web, her skin was pale and smooth. The scars that once marked her limbs were now faded and could hardly be seen. As Arn gazed upon her, he knew, the name he had given her was the right one. Moonbud; he thought; _a delicate flower that blooms in the dark._ He leaned over and kissed her lips, then he watched as she opened her eyes.

Andra could not remember where she was or how she got there. As she looked up at the glowing moss on the cavern ceiling, she thought she was back home. Its light reminded her of the soft candle glow, she used to read by when she was a girl. For a moment she expected to hear her mother's voice, calling from another room, to put out the light and go to sleep. She knew her home was only a memory. Stiffly, she sat up. "Where are we?" she asked in a weak voice.

Arn put a hand on her arm, "We are in the Hollow Hills, we have been reborn."

Andra heard him but did not understand, she looked down at her body and saw she was naked but she did not cover herself. Somehow it felt right to her, "Reborn?" she asked, "did we die?"

Her lover shook his head, "No, we did not die, the Crystal Spiders have given us their gift of renewal."

Hearing the word spider, made Andra suddenly cover herself with her hands. "Spiders, where, I don't see them?"

"They are gone now, they have given us new life and now they return to the darkness."

Then Andra remembered the childhood story and the images of the underworld. "The Soul keeper, the gentleman frog, they were all phantoms?"

Arn nodded, "Yes, I could not let you face the spiders with fear, they do not come to the weak, so I gave you Boda to soften your mind to welcome the lurkers."

Arn rose and took Andra's hand, he pulled her to his side, for a moment he held her and she held him.

Andra felt something strange, she realized she could hear his beating heart, she had done so before when they lay together near the Eye of Isarie. Now it was different, she could hear every beat as clear as she could hear a lake bird calling in the morning light. She turned her head to listen to the sounds of the cave, it was no longer silent. She could hear every noise, every drip of water and every movement of the Night-fliers, roosting in the darkness of the cavern. She looked down to see a small Rock-runner near her foot, the rustling of its tiny feet were like the stomping of a Trofar's hoof to her ears.

She touched Arn's body and it felt like she had never touched him before, her fingers sensed the blood moving under his skin, it felt like a great river. It was almost as if she could hear each tiny cell racing through the millions of capillaries throughout his body. She felt every ripple of his muscles, every line on his skin, she could feel it all. It was like she had never been fully awake until now, a dreamer in a dream. As she listened to the world around her she understood the gift she had been given.

"Wonderful," she whispered to herself, "wonderful."

Arn looked deep into her eyes, "You are the first outsider to receive the gift of rebirth, in doing so, I have broken one of the most sacred laws of Isarie and our tribe. There is nothing for me now, only you."

There was one gift she would not know, the love of a mother for her child, the tiny infant taking hold in her body was gone. Whether it had died or been born she did not know, there was nothing to mark its birth but for a small crystal substance on the ground where she'd laid, the child was nowhere to be found. There hadn't been a mating between a Nomad and an Off-Worlder before and only the Gods knew the nature of their offspring.

Andra took Arn into her arms and they kissed, a kiss like she'd never felt before, her whole being seemed to merge with her lover's. For a moment the world stopped, there was no time or space, no yesterday or tomorrow, no past or future, no laws or Gods, there was nothing, just the kiss. When they parted, she found herself in the arms of her love and she wished it could go on for all eternity.

She heard noises as Osh emerged from his sleep, she watched him lift himself up from the hard ground and rub the sleep from his eyes. When he'd finished, he realized he was naked.

"Strange," he said scratching his large head, "I seem to have misplaced my clothes."

Andra had to laugh, as she looked on. "Don't worry, I'll help you find them."

They looked for their clothes, Osh knew that something had changed. The weakness he had felt in his limbs for so long was now gone. Replaced by a strength, he had not known since he was young. It was not just the energy in his body but also the power in his mind, a mind reborn, rejuvenated, a mind that would know, it was truly wonderful.

_I have been made anew;_ he thought; _the spiders, the spiders did this, somehow they have the power to regenerate tissue._

He felt his mind waking up, looking in on itself, knowing more than it should, he remembered the dream and the voice. The images and the knowledge given to him as he slept, there was more than he understood. The images had no meaning, there was no Mind-say to give him understanding, it would take time to put such things into words. Soon there would be answers to all the questions that could be asked.

"I found your robe," Andra said.

The old man turned to see her holding up a dirty robe covered in webs, he nodded, "Thank you," he said. Taking the garment from her hand, he began to cover himself. He thought about the images from his sleep and they flooded back into his waking mind, he tried to make sense of them. _No answers now;_ told himself; _perhaps there never will be._

A short time later, the companions were ready to return to the sunlight.

"Our sleep is over," Arn said, as he adjusted his dusty armor. "The Burning Time is over and the darkness in no longer our home." _The demons did not come, perhaps they wait for a better time._

Andra took one last look around, _Orin, the Soul keeper, it was only a dream._

Without any words, they began their return to the sunlight and the renewed World of Gorn.

Far to the North the tribe of the Almadra was also rising.

Once more The Chosen of the Gods had been reborn, the warriors were strong and the children who used to be safe in their mother's arms were now the protectors of the tribe. Their bodies now tall and strong, the days of playing games were over, they would ride their own Whiptails and Spike-backs and live and die for their tribe.

The mothers of these new warriors did not grieve over the passing of their children, they understood. They had new life to fill their days, the females who had mated under the Breast of Isarie now held children in their arms.

They were not babies, they were able to walk and with very little time they would be talking as well as any of the Almadra. Each child had a brother or sister, all offspring of the Outlanders were twins, two exact duplicates of themselves, each one strong, each one a future warrior. On rare occasions they would bear more than two, sometimes there would be two sets of twins. The young would learn, they would be taught the ways of the tribe, they would listen to the stories of their wise ancestors and hear the words of the Goddess. The Book of Isarie would be their guide for they were The Chosen of the Gods.

As soon as Obec was able, she ordered her Handmaidens to begin gathering up the Tral, Black Grana, the residue left after a Nomads rebirth. The dark crystals were a deadly poison and would be put to use very soon. The Handmaidens followed the will of the Holy Woman and carefully pick up each and every grain from the great cave's floor.

Obec herself made sure the Tral was collected and put into an ebony chest, then placed in the moving Shrine of the Goddess. The enormous wagon was cleaned and made ready for the journey to come. The statues and icons were washed with Holy water and fires lit from a torch that had remained alight throughout the long days of the Burning Time. As Obec looked into the Sacred Flames she was not thinking of Isarie, her mind was filled with vision of the days to come. _The time has come;_ she thought; _I will cleanse the lands of the unbelievers. I will do what must be done_. Staring into the flickering light she saw a vision that made her cold heart fill with warmth.

Fire and steel.

The Thungodra did their work and prepared themselves, they polished their armor and sharpened their weapons, then they looked to the Holy Mother for guidance. They'd guarded the High Priestess throughout the Burning Time and would protect her in the days to come.

Several had not been reborn but they did not sing songs to their memory, they were buried with their armor and weapons. They knew the dead warriors would now be standing at the door to the Great Golden Hall, making sure none but The Chosen could enter.

Anais was glad to awaken from his sleep, he dreaded the Burning Time. He was always afraid he would not awaken or that the Crystal Spiders would carry him off to the Pit of Marloon, there his tortured soul would burn for all time. He'd found some comfort in the fact that Soffca had lain by his side and when he had opened his eyes it was her face he saw. It made him feel safe and for the first time in his sad life, it made him feel wanted, it made him feel loved.

Not all the Nomads awoke from the sleep of rebirth, some would not feel the sun on their faces again. They were the Al-Margin, the givers of life, their bodies had gone, all that remained was Tran, the Crystals of Life. The spider's bite sometimes killed rather than renewed, Nomads who died this way, were considered blessed by the Gods. Their death would bring new life to the person who consumed the crystals, prolonging life and holding off death. Obec made sure all the Tran was given to her, what she did with the crystals was her secret.

The great cave became alive once more, the sound of laughter and songs of joy filled the air. The warriors opened the massive metal doors and let in the soft fragrant air, which smelt of budding Balbar trees and Meadow-cane. Also, the saffron essence of the Kasha-wheat, growing in fields far to the South and flowers of the Grassland's.

The Whiptails were set free to roam the newly green pastures, to feed upon newborn Rimar and drink their fill from running streams, coursing over the land like fingers of life. The Spike-backs and Trofar were also allowed to wander at will, they would be watched over by the warriors and called back by the signal horns when the Nomads were ready to travel. Before then there was much to be done and plans to be made.

The wagons would have to be cleaned and repaired, new wheels and harnesses made. The hunters would bring many Rimar and their meat dried and stored for the days and weeks ahead. The Iron worker's forges would be busy making new armor and weapons. The Elders would be teaching the new born young to speak and understand the ways of a Nomad. Everywhere there would be prayers to the Goddess for the gift of new life.

Not all the Nomads were happy to awake from their sleep, when Agart opened his eyes he saw only darkness. It was not the darkness of night, it was the darkness of his mind. The long sleep that had given him rest was over, he was back in the world of the living, a world he no longer cared for, a world that no longer cared for him.

Try as he might, he was unable to drive the haunting faces of his brother and mother from his mind. They were always there, always accusing him, always asking questions that he could not answer. He looked out at his people and saw only a burden he no longer wished to carry. _If only I could sleep once more;_ he thought; _i_ _f only I could sleep._

In the great caves west of the Hollow Hills the People of the Darkness were also waking.

The long nightmare was over, the dark dreams that filled their sleep ended and another nightmare began. They had survived the Burning Time and their bodies were given new life and strength by the creatures that rose up from the bowels of the earth but it was only a half-life.

While new strength was inside them, they still bore the marks of death and decay on the outside. Their faces, were ones of horror and their eyes did not shine with the joy of life. As they moved about in the dark tunnels and caverns of the Poison Lands, they did not sing or prayed to the Gods for thanks.

The females gave birth to one small child and many died without opening their eyes. Rather than feeling sorrow their mothers felt joy, they would be spared the horror of life. They would not have to watch their bodies slowly decay in the darkness and listen to their mothers crying in the night. Those who lived were pitied for theirs was a life that only waited for death.

When Egmar opened her eyes she did offer a prayer but it was not for herself, it was for the people she now called her children. When she touched her face, she did not weep for her lost beauty, she gave thanks to Isarie for allowing her to follow her teachings. She was joyful that the Goddess had smiled upon her and given her the gift of life.

She dressed herself in the dark robes of the Shadow-men and walked the dim corridors of the underground, giving hope and easing the suffering of the weak where she could. Her son was nowhere to be found and when she asked, she was told nothing of where he had gone or why. She might be Queen of the Dark People but some secrets were still beyond her power.

As she walked the dim corridors and watched the scarred faces of the old and young, she heard them call her mother. Hearing those words made the pain in her limbs vanish and a new strength filled her heart.

_I will do what I can;_ she told herself _; if I am to die perhaps Isarie will forgive my weakness and let me lay beside Karn once more?_

Egmar was not sure if the Goddess heard her prayer, the underworld was not the home of the Almadra and the Book of Isarie forbade a Nomad from entering that dark realm. Perhaps there was a path to the light above and her words would find their way into the heavens. It was enough to give the Queen hope and to let her continue to bring hope to the Forgotten of the Gods.

Far from the Poison Lands the city of the Talsonar were also coming alive.

The Stone City had withstood the fires, the rain and the ground quakes, it lifted itself up again and the levels opened to let in the sweet air and soft sunshine. The mighty beacon began to flash once more and the land, around it, filled with activity.

The people of the city came out to walk the lands and feel the newly greened earth under their feet. There was dancing and singing and all manner of joyfulness, they had endured the Burning Time and now they reveled in their survival. It was the one time when the Hal-Jafar let them run free, when there were no laws and no Gods to look down on them, they could feel free.

They played and shouted to the sky, they ran naked and mated in a frenzy of pent up passion. They fought and even spoke out against the Overlords and the High-breeders. They ate their fill because they knew the land would soon be full of Rimar and all the gifts of the Gods, they were free, free to live.

Freedom is just sand in your hand, you may hold it for a time but it will soon slip from your fingers and vanish in the power of the winds.

High above the laughter of the people, Governor Darken looked down on his Kingdom. He stood naked, gently rubbing the metal plate in his head, it had been troubling him lately and his night dreams had not been pleasant. He had seen his father again, he heard his demanding voice and disapproving eyes. This time he paid no attention to the apparition, he knew it was just his mind playing games, nothing more. After all Gods do not have nightmares, they are for those mortals below.

So he stood proudly and watched the tiny creatures scurrying below and he smiled; _so small,_ he thought. _I wonder how the universe looks from the City of the Gods?_

He turned away from his chamber window and looked at the bed in the center of the ornate room. On it were several naked young bodies, fresh and unspoiled, bodies that did as they were told.

_I wonder if the Gods have Gods?_ He asked himself; _and if they do, do those Gods pray to even more powerful beings?_ The plate in his head began to pain him and he forgot about higher Gods. He decided to think of things to which, he knew the answers. He remembered Osenna, _s_ _he was a wonderful toy, so willing, so delightful, so small._

Osenna was there no longer, the Ice crystals had begun to take their toll on her perfect body and her mind. At the first sign of any flaw, the Governor had thrown her away, he cast her off like a dirty robe or marred shoe. She was replaced by another, when her time came, she too would be discarded. To Darken there was no other way, after all a God must have perfection. For a few moments, the Governor remembered several wonderful nights spent with Osenna but then he let the images fade, never to be thought of again.

In the corners of the room stood motionless slaves, they watched their master lay upon the bed, to be covered with the warm flesh of young men and women. They watched him caress their smooth limbs and rub his scaly body against theirs. They stood like statues, not daring to move, or speak, or show any sign of emotion. They would remain there until they were told otherwise, doing nothing until they were summoned, then they would rush to fulfill their master's slightest wish.

They stood occupied themselves with waking dreams, they dreamed of a world without masters or slaves, without pain or death, without endless toil and misery, although they knew there were no such worlds. They had been told that Darken was a God with the power of life or death and they believed it. Even if they found peace in death, he could summon them back to the world of the living to continue their life of servitude. So they stood hopeless, death would not release them from their misery, it would only be a brief rest from an eternity of pain.

#  Chapter 42. The Twin Dragons

You are my Chosen, you are my children.

Those who do not know my book or follow its teachings.

They are the outcasts of my love.

They do not believe and will not see my face.

From the Book of Isarie.

Arn, Andra and Osh had left the underground cavern and were in the chamber of the dead. The dusty Nomads of the past lay, around them, outside were the new lands of Gorn. They'd survived the Burning Time and the embrace of the Crystal Spiders, now they would continue their journey into the light, first, there was something they needed to do.

Their old lives were over, burned away by the fires, they would start a new life without a home or a people, or a God, they were Outcasts. They shed their old garments to put on new ones, Arn and Andra took some armor from the dead warriors. It was made of a dark metal of an uncertain origin, there were marks on it but no rust or aging.

Osh thought it might be Itarian steel but he could not be certain without testing. Andra said, it was not unlike body armor she'd worn in battle, strong and flexible. In any case it was of a much better quality than their old armor and weighed less. They could see that Arn was eager to feel the metal skin encasing him.

First they put on a small chain mail shirt, it was finely made and covered the chest, it showed no rust or any sign of age. It was made from something other than steel and was harder than the Outlands Iron-worker's best made mail. They put the mail over soft Rimar skin, preserved in iron chests set around the cave.

Next came strong flexible leggings and heavy soled boots with long spurs, then thick breastplates with wide shoulder coverings attached. They added forearm sections then fitted their hands into spiked metal gloves, flexing their fingers to make sure they were supple. Finally, ornate helmets with long horns and a visor to cover their face and block out heat from the suns. The helmets bore a likeness to Sand Dragons and would strike fear into the heart of an enemy.

They buckled foot long daggers around their waists, Dragons-teeth and they took the war-axes from the hands of the dead. It was sacrilege but with no Gods to answer to, Arn didn't feel it was defiling those who once held them. Andra still had the ax given to her when Arn was still King, its weight and feel suited her so she and saw no need to replace it.

Osh was pleased to find a suitable robe, it was dirty but was well preserved in a sealed clay pot. Although too large for his small frame, he tied up the looser parts and made it into a passable fit. He found a harness and several small carry pouches, into which he placed a goodly amount of the Grana, found next to the dead warriors. They would need it in the days to come and now they had a good supply for their journey. He also found some silver water canteens and a short spear that he fashioned into a crude sunshade.

So with all in readiness they emerged from the cave and into the light.

Andra drew in a lung full of sweet air. _It's fresh and new;_ she thought; _like me._

Osh reveled in his new found strength, now he looked forward to the days ahead rather than dreading them. With his regained youth, he would meet his future with courage and wisdom. He moved the sunshade aside and looked up, the sky had never been so wonderful. _Perhaps I was right after all?_ He thought; _maybe the Gods do have a plan for me?_

Arn felt the soft sunshine on his face and looked out over a new landscape covered in sprouting vegetation, in the distance, he could see young grazing Rimar.

_I have no Gods,_ he told himself; _I am free._ He felt the ancient weapon in his hand, it seemed to come alive, calling him to battle and filling his body with courage; _it has been a long time and the tooth needs to be fed._

He turned to Andra, "I have no tribe and no Gods, you are all the world I have."

Andra watched him and said, "My world is gone too, my people destroyed but I am not alone."

The Nomad took her hand, "You are not alone." He looked up at the bright expanse of sky above him, then spoke in a loud clear voice. "Hear me Isarie, hear me Gods of this world and the next. It is I, Arn, son of Karn and Egmar, King and Queen of the Almadra, brother to Agart, Anais and Seeda, beside me is Andra, feared by all as Moonbud, warrior and mate to me. From this time forward we are one, from this time forward we no longer believe in you. Send any demon against us, we will face it together, we are no longer Outcasts, we are no longer The Chosen of the Gods, we are Moric-Kan."

He gazeded into the eyes of his love once more. Andra looked back, then reached out with her heart, in that moment, she felt something different, it had not been there when they entered the Crystal Spider's cave. She didn't know what had changed but as she looked at his face she knew, she was as one with him. Not just in spirit but in soul; _what has happened?_ She asked herself; _what have we become?_ She did not know, or care, the answer would come later, for now they were together. Soon the land of Gorn, would know them as Moric-Kan, the twin dragons.

Twelve levels above the stone city's power station and directly under the armory, Governor Darken and his Generals were looking over the Yangmar army, from a vantage point above the breeding pens. Darken, dressed in his finest battle armor looked over the vast open breeding pits and smiled to himself as visions of conquest filled his mind.

Although far from being a Callaxion, he tried to calculate how many of the obedient creatures he had at his command. He counted how many pig like Yangmar inhabited one pen, then multiplying it by the thousands of pens he saw. He estimated his army at no less than two hundred thousand strong. When he added it to the standing army of the Hal-Jafar soldiers, he already had, the smile on his face broadened. _There has never been such a force on this planet;_ he thought happily; _there will be nothing to stop me now, I will rule._

He turned to General Leeander who was standing next to General Yung. They were both pleased to see the smile on the Governor's face. "Have the Yangmar been conditioned sufficiently? I do not want them running at the first sign of danger."

Leeander held his head up proudly. "They have been put through extensive mind blocks and have undergone lengthy pain and reward stimuli, they will do as they are commanded."

"Very good," Darken said, then he turned to Yung who seemed a bit on edge. "What of the weapons, will there be enough armor and chamber rifles for them?"

Yung shifted his feet, "Yes, my lord, almost."

Darken looked hard at his General, there was no emotion in his eyes. "What do you mean almost?" the Governor asked.

Yung cleared his throat, "Well, it's not a problem really, we just have to rework a few minor flaws in a number of rifles, I assure you, it will be done very soon."

The Governor stared at his commander, he motioned to one of the lower ranking officers standing behind the General. The man came forward and saluted Darken, by placing his fist over his heart. He was a tall Bolbec with an open face and a small scar over his left eye. "You are, First Officer Drancar, are you not?" Darken asked.

Drancar snapped to attention and saluted again. "Yes your lordship."

"You are one of my best officers," said Darken.

Again the man placed his hand over his heart. "Your commands are obeyed, your lordship."

The Governor put his arm around the loyal soldier, then led him to the edge of the platform, he pointed to the pens below. "Those creatures, live and die at my command." there was a pause while he looked at the Yangmar. He turned to the Bolbec officer, "And so do you," he pushed the officer into the breeding pens and watched the now vicious Yangmar, tear him to pieces.

The faces of the other officers could not hide their fear. The Governor turned to Yung once more, "He was a good soldier but anyone can be replaced, even a General." Darken let his words sink in, "Make sure everything is ready, soon, we march." He watched the hungry Yangmar eating the last of the Bolbec's remains.

Outside the great pyramid the trader's stalls were open once more. Long days and nights spent inside the stone city made the Talsonar eager to be outside. To walk under the night sky and listen to the merchant's cries, proclaiming they had the best goods in all the lands of Gorn.

Robe sellers, potters, metal workers, wine traders, all had a place. People were offering what they had for what they wanted, shell necklaces, Robox roots, Rimar horns, Sagar teeth, everything of value to the Talsonar was available for trade. When the haggling was over and the bargains met, they smiled and told themselves, they had made the best trade. Possessions went from person to person, an endless wheel of commerce that had no real purpose other than momentary satisfaction.

The people who had been expelled from the city to die in the flames of the Burning Time were long forgotten. Their ashes, outside the gates had been washed away by the torrential rains, any that remained were lifted into the air by the wind and scattered to the far reaches of the planet. There was nothing to mark their passing, those who survived the fires, did not concern themselves with thoughts of the past. Living for the day was hard enough, as for tomorrow, it was too far away to matter.

As the moons slowly moved overhead, the alleyways of the traders were crowded with buyers and sellers, those who had no goods traded the only thing they had, themselves. Sin-Cravers walked through the mass of people calling out their skills and what could be bought for a few red crystals.

There were always new faces walking the alleyways, looking for Ice. Those with any strength left in their worn bodies soon replaced those who died of their addiction. They were easy to find, they stood shivering in the dark corners of the alleyways, they would promise anything to those who passed by. They no longer cared who they touched or who touched them, all they wanted was a few red crystals to warm their cold bodies, to allow them to forget their desperate world.

Into this world came a woman who was once a warrior of the Almadra. Seeda felt cold, a feeling she did not tolerate well. Nomads were people of the Sun, they rode in the bright light of day and reveled in the warmth on their faces. When the time of the Hagars came and ice and snow moved down from the Northern lands; they traveled South, following the light of the Lesser Sun until the cold returned to its home.

Cold was now the only world the outcast Princess knew. The small underground chamber was no longer hers, now too weak to defend the miserable hovel, she abandoned it to a large Higotie. Now she had to sleep wherever she could, to acquire the Ice her body so desperately needed, she would walk the alleyways at night, trading herself to those who wanted her.

If any of her tribe saw her now, they would not know her. Her once strong limbs were thin and marked with red sores, the result of not having enough Grana. The green salt took second place to her need for the red crystals and food was hardly worth thinking about. She wandered the back alleyways, no longer looking up at the night sky; she did not want to see the Moons and be reminded of the life she once had. The great woman warrior who once traveled all the places of the Outlands was now confined to a few wretched streets outside the Stone City.

Seeda stood watching the people pass, she stood in her regular spot, a small opening between a robe seller and a man whose specialty was removing infected teeth. It was not much, a patch of earth that had become home to a fallen warrior. From her spot she watched passersby, quickly learning who might have Ice and who might be willing to part with a few crystals for an hour or so of pleasure in the darkness.

She watched intensely as a tall Talsasion walked by. _No, he is wearing a Hogart medallion, they have given up pleasure for their God._ She saw a fat Eleion, _No, they prefer small boys to women;_ then she spotted a well-dressed Vergory. _Yes, a high breeder looking for entertainment._

So she pulled her dirty hair back and approached the overlord. "Are you seeking a companion my lord?" she asked. She pulled her torn robe lower to expose one of her breasts, "only three crystals my lord."

The man pushed her aside. "Out of my way fallen creature," he shouted and continued on his way.

"Two crystals for a night of pleasure!" she called out after him but he vanished mingling into the crowd, Seeda went back into the shadows. She saw that another woman had taken her place, she was wearing a filthy rag of a garment and her face was covered with ghastly sores; Seeda still wanted her standing spot back.

"What are you doing here?" she shouted. "This is my place!" The woman did not answer so she grabbed her thin arms violently and with a great effort flung her into the dirty street.

"Go away," she roared, "this place is mine!"

As the drug-ravaged creature to crawled away, Seeda found some mercy in her cold heart. It was only a tiny spark but it was enough for her to help the pitiful woman back into the small opening. Out of the milling crowd, she looked at the intruder's face. "What is your name?" she asked her new companion.

The woman only stared back with a vacant look in her tired eyes and shook her head. "My name?'" she asked. "My name?"

"Yes," Seeda asked again, "who are you?"

Again the woman shook her dirty head. "My name?" she said again, trying to remember. Then a faint spark from her past moved back into her mind. "They used to call me Osenna." She paused as if to remember something she had long forgotten. "I once laid beside a God." she said with a small smile on her cracked lips.

Seeda knew the woman did not know what she was saying. The woman's scarred face made her feel sympathetic, so she nodded and smiled, " Yes, I was once a Princess of the Outlands."

She watched the mad woman closed her eyes, it was not sleep that took hold of her, it was the dark hand of death. The city dweller gave a small gasp and slowly slumped to the ground then she tumbled into the dirt of the alleyway.

She lay there motionless as the people passed by, they did not stop to look and she lay there for some time. Seeda looked at her for a while, then she began to feel very cold and began looking for a trade of the Ice she so disparately needed.

Osenna's body lay there like a trader's castoff, soon her body would be taken to food processing to be used to feed the city's hungry people.

Seeda glanced at the lifeless female lying on the ground every so often but there was nothing she could do. She could not remember any prayers or Gods that would listen to her now. In time she forgot why the woman was lying there, she forgot her name and everything she said. Once more she began to look for a companion for the night and a small offering for her soul.

Nomads believe there was only one place of torment, the burning Pit of Marloon. In that fiery domain deep underground the dammed were tortured for all eternity. Any Outlander looking into Seeda's eyes would have realized that the Hell in Pit of Marloon was not the only one.

#  Chapter 43. Fathers and Sons

Sons are the days unlived by the fathers.

Daughters are the love unmade by the mothers.

Together they hold the future in their hands.

And bear the years of Eternity.

Old Selcarie saying.

The Nomads were on the move again, the Almadra had slept and been reborn, now came the time to wander the lands of Gorn and make the earth tremble.

The proud warriors were mounted on their powerful Whiptails once more. The great beasts had eaten their fill of young Rimar and were happy to return to their masters. The newly grown warriors were given their own mount and dressed in the armor of their clan. Now they would be called upon to defend their people in battle and to bring glory to themselves and to their Gods.

The long column of wandering Nomads stretched out like a great land Leviathan. Happy to be free once more, the air filled with song as the warriors beat time against their armor. Even the Thungodra, who were always stoic, smiled and filled their hearts with joy as they rode beside the Holy Shrine.

Surrounded and kept safe were the Elders and the others of the tribe. They were content to feel the swaying of their wagons and the sound of the Trofar feet moving slowly over their land. It did not matter if the land had changed and old landmarks washed away by the rains. Nomads always knew where they were and where they were going.

The huge Grana wagons, were guarded by a phalanx of warriors, the precious salt had to be used wisely and none wasted. They would not return to the Hollow Hills for a long time, it had to last until then, without Grana there was no future.

At the back as always came the Spike-backs. The warriors had cleaned the great guns and make sure they had not been damaged during the Burning Time. The Disruptors were also checked and rechecked, they would be ready when needed.

The Tribe's Elders began to teach the newborn children the ways of the Outlands. They would learn quickly, they would need to, there was no room for the weak. Soon the time of Choosing would take place, by then, they had to show their mothers and fathers, who was to live and who would be sacrificed to Isarie.

The Iron-workers had done their task, crafting new armor for the young warriors. They also made their battle-axes, with those deadly weapons in their hands, they would no longer be called toothless. Their childhood was over now, it was their time to defend the tribe. When all the rituals were over and oaths taken, they put out their fires and covered the forges until they were needed again.

In the center of the column was the High Priestess' great moving shrine. With it came the Handmaiden's wagons and numerous other vehicles carrying the items needed to perform their rituals to the Gods. Guarding the Holy Mother were the Thungodra wearing the dark armor that marked them out as the warriors of the Gods. They held their heads high knowing the Goddess would give them strength in defense of her word.

Behind the moving shrine came the new Malock, chosen as a newborn Spikeback it would be worshiped and pampered like a Holy relic. It would be cared for and fed well until their next visit to the Great Dome of Omargash.

Inside the Holy wagon, Obec sat in her chamber, before her on a gold pedestal was the great Book of Isarie. The old woman loved to look at it, just to be in the presence of the Word of the Goddess, made her feel good. As she sat gazing at the book, she saw the words over and over in her head. She knew every line, every letter, every small detail of each and every page, they were more familiar to her than her own face.

_How great is the Goddess;_ she thought; _she gives us all and knows all, in her wisdom is the one and only truth._ She spoke the words that gave her the most pleasure. "Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor, out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise _." Wonderful words and I will be here to see those words made real._

She sat back in her ornate chair and let the deep wisdom of her knowledge fill her soul and give her peace.

In the King's wagon there was no peace. Agart did not ride his Whiptail at the head of the tribe anymore. He did not want to see the land before him or feel the wind on his face, all he cared about was drinking deeply of Po and sleeping in the depths of its warm embrace.

His days were no longer his own, his mind no longer satisfied with the life of a wanderer. The Crown of Kingship was too heavy to bear and its weight crushed him. His waking moments, were consumed by images of his brother's and sister's bodies, laying forgotten in the Outlands and his mother lost where no one could find her. He hid himself away and left Kuno to deal with the everyday needs of the tribe.

At first the Spike-back commander seemed a poor choice to lead the tribe. His love of drink and women was well known and the Elders turned their faces at seeing him, they told the young of the tribe, not to look up to him. Eventually, they had to admit he was leading the Madrigal well, finding food and water as they traveled down the mountains of Koto-Car and into the open lands.

This did not ease Agart's mind, it only added to his pain. Knowing the tribe could do without him, made him feel that the Gods had deserted him. He lay back on his soiled bed and drew in a large gulp of aged Po.

_I once believed in you Isarie;_ he thought; _you stood by my side and showed me the way but now?_ He trickled the warm Po down his throat; _if only I could sleep, sleep, sleep._

Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of his lost family. Sleep came with time but not before tears of regret ran down a face that once knew only laughter.

The City of the Talsonar was alive with sights and sounds. Tamar-Ran stood outside the great pyramid and gazed over a vast army of Hal-Jafar. From his vantage point, high on a supply wagon drawn by four large Trofar, he could see the open lands around the great city. The once empty earth was now filled with his forty thousand strong war machine. Each soldier was well fed and well equipped for battle, their thick armor could withstand hard blows from war-axes and Whiptail strikes. They held chamber rifles that could bring an enemy down from a great distance and they wore helmets that dampened out vibration from a Disruptor.

There were many wagons, full of dried food and water and other vehicles piled high with weapons, ammunition, and armor. Behind these was a vast company of Long-Range weapons, each mounted on an armor-plated transport, drawn by shielded Spike-backs.

The huge guns were the largest moving weapons the world of Gorn had seen, they could fire an explosive shell a very long distance, devastating anything it hit. Compared to the blaze cannon of other worlds they were feeble but that technology would be useless here. The Planet's Electro Magnetic waves would render them into useless piles of junk, unlike the Talsonar's primitive but effective projectile weapons.

The Talsonar army were confident in their power, they had spent the Burning Time training and preparing themselves for this moment, to be led into the Outlands to devastate all in their path.

The Lion-man was pleased with his men, they followed his orders and would fight at the Governor's command. They would show no mercy and would receive none. They would kill all in their way and then drink to their victory standing on the bodies of the dead.

_Even an army of thousands would not be enough to destroy the Outlanders,_ Tamar-Ran thought. He looked to the East he saw the answer to his concerns, there standing like iron statues in the sun, was a sight to make Tobar the God of War smile.

The once peaceful and timid creatures known to the Outer Rim as Yangmar, were no longer harmless. They had been created, to be workers, slaves to any race that needed a workforce. Strong and none aggressive, they were bred, to be sold in the Outer Worlds. Reproducing at incredible rates when needed, they were perfect for labor camps or food for meat hungry civilizations. In the Talsonar's devious hands, they were put to other uses.

They had been bred to fight, cycles of genetic manipulation, had weeded out timidity. Conditioning and training had brought them to a level of ferocity, unmatched by even the most depraved beasts of the Underworld. That ferocity would be needed to conquer the harsh world of Gorn. Now they stood armored and ready to kill on command to give up their lives without thought or hesitation, they were the perfect warrior.

The Yangmar numbered in the tens of thousands and each one was equipped with a chamber rifle. Unlike those, given to the Hal-Jafar, these could not be reloaded, the Yangmar were of very limited intelligence and reloading a weapon would have been beyond their ability. So after expelling their round, the rifles would be dropped and they would fight on with steel weapons. It would be enough, strong and standing well over the height of the tallest Hal-Jafar, they could more than hold their own against a Nomad.

Looking at the army that would lead them way into the Outlands made the Lion-man smile. He knew war was always a gamble, the strong can lose if the Gods wish it so. He looked down at the wagon upon which, he was standing, he saw dozens of barrels of aged wine and Marsh-beer. He laughed, _we may not win but I will not have to die thirsty._

As the Talsonar army prepared for war, high in the sky several screeches circled the massive beacon. These great flying reptiles often came to the city, drawn by the blinking light, they were looking for food. So to see them was not unusual but if anyone had cared to look closer, they would have noticed, they were ridden by dark robed figures. It was said, that demons used the soaring beasts to carry them over the Forbidden Lands of Gorn. If they'd seen the scarred and rotting faces of the riders, they would have believed the story.

The great sun Karus had burned the lands of Gorn now its power was gone. The planet's orbit took it beyond its reach and daylight no longer held death. The smaller sun, Micos, would always remain, giving gentle warmth and light, it sent a message to The Chosen, the Gods would always be with them.

The land near the Hollow Hills was green and filled with all creatures of the Outlands. There were great herds of Rimar roaming free and with them came the Whiptails. With so much prey, they were content to feed at their leisure and were not a threat to the three humans who crossed the land.

Arn led the way with Andra at his side, it was a strange sight. Their dark armor and reptile like helmets made them look like a hideous mix of Sand Dragon and Outland warrior. To the Nomad it would be a welcome image, in the stories of his tribe, it was said, that in the plains near the Poison Lands were many terrible creatures. Monsters, neither men nor beast, demons that could take on the image of a Nomad but were devils from the Underworld. Like the Screels of nightmare stories, they could take your soul and carry it off to the Pit of Marloon, there to stay for all eternity.

It would also strike terror into the hearts of those, who might want to harm them. This pleased Arn, he had been taught his by father, fear is a weapon just as strong as a battle-ax. For a moment Arn's mind was occupied with memories of his youth and his mother and father.

Andra pulled him out of his past into the present. "How old are you?" she asked suddenly.

Arn seemed unprepared for the question. "Grow old?" He thought for a moment or two, "I have seen twenty-two cycles since my first rebirth, in the time of the third moon of Rowgal and the war of the hail fire."

Andra mulled this over. "How many days and nights make up a cycle?"

Before Arn could answer, Osh gave an explanation. "I can answer that for you, the planet takes approximately fourteen hundred and sixty days to complete an orbit of the great sun. So if you calculate in terms of the cycles of most Outer Rim beings, Arn is in the range of eighty-eight Rim-cycles, or years as some call them, give or take a few."

Osh smiled but Andra did not.

_Eighty-eight years!_ _I'm just twenty-four, my God, I'm just a schoolgirl;_ she thought _._

The realization that the man she had chosen to be her mate, was in relative terms almost four times her age, made her feel a bit uncomfortable. Then she remembered the time spent in his arms and the doubt soon faded away.

They walked southwards away from the Hollow Hills for the whole day, towards the plains of the Greenland's. That night, they rested near a cluster of rocks and ate well on a half-eaten Rimar carcass. Beside it lay the body of a dead Whiptail, the two creatures had killed each other in battle. Now they would give life to the other beasts of the Outlands. When the Humans found them, they had to scare off several Daggermouths from a newly filled lake nearby. It was a dangerous but having fresh meat to eat made it worth the risk. Osh hid in the rocks while Arn and Andra faced the creatures, working as a team, they drove off the reptiles. They cut a large quantity of flesh from the fallen Rimar and feasted upon it, as the night sky filled with stars and the moons began to dance in the heavens.

Andra's stomach was full but she could resist putting one more piece of the succulent meat into her mouth. She chewed it thoroughly then swallowed. "I never thought I'd taste real food again." she lifted a canteen of water to her mouth and drank deeply.

Arn was still hungry, biting into the barely cooked flesh with gusto. "They say that meat killed by your own hand tastes the sweetest but this will do for now." He took another large bite.

Osh would have been happier with soup or some warm Kasha bread but there was nothing else. After making sure his meat was thoroughly cooked, he ate his fill, his only complaint was; there was no well aged Po to sip after the meal. He sat back against a rock and patted his belly then let out a large burp. "Pardon me," he said, embarrassed. Then he looked at the small fire, burning low in the fire pit. "It's strange but in all the worlds of the Outer Rim fire has the most names." He was about to go into a long explanation of those various names, when he saw a strange look on his companion's faces. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Before he got a response the air was filled with screams, in an instant the attackers were upon them. In the flickering fire. They seemed like demons from the pit but as they came closer, it was easy to recognize the faces of blood mad Sandjar.

Arn and Andra moved like lightning, they took up their battle-axes and began swinging as the first wave of scavengers came within their reach. The first five Sandjar went down fast, their bodies cut in two by the sharp edge of the human's weapons. It did not stop another dozen or more from leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades and striking back.

The Sandjar weapons were crude but effective and they used them with great skill. Clubs and jagged pieces of metal, could kill just as easily as a well-honed blade. The human's armor was very tough and deflected most of the attacks, with each rush of the scavengers more of them met death.

Osh tried to help as best he could, the spear umbrella, he'd fashioned came in very handy. More by luck than skill, he managed to impale one of the green creatures before he was overwhelmed by three more and rendered unconscious by a club blow to the head.

Andra saw her companion fall into the hands of the Sandjar but she was powerless to come to his aid, she was trying not to be killed by the scavengers. She was thankful for her new found strength and with her already formidable fighting skills, she was holding her own.

Beside her Arn was taking a heavy toll on the Sandjar, the battle fury was upon him again. He struck right and left in a maelstrom of death and destruction, what his battle-ax did not cut to pieces, he smashed to death with his iron fist. When one of the green creatures leaped on his back and tried to sink its teeth into his neck, he reached up and grabbed its jaw, pulling hard until he ripped it from its skull.

For every Sandjar they killed two took its place, soon the bodies were heaped high and the ground was soaked with blood. Still they came, the humans fought back like a machine of death, they were fighting as one, each movement coordinated with the other. They seemed to know what needed to be done and how, there was no wasted movement or loss of attack, they were no longer two warriors, they were one.

Andra could feel when she needed to duck the swinging blade of her mate and when to strike at an enemy he had missed. Her mind began to fill with the images of battles, she could not possibly have been in. Wars in the Outlands, long before she came to the planet. She let the joy of fighting take over and felt elation in delivering death.

The scavengers continued to attack but the power of the warriors was too much for them. Despite their savage efforts, they were soon reduced to a mere handful. They suddenly stopped to take stock of their strength. Lowering her ax, Andra drew in gasps of air and shook the sweat from her eyes, standing back to back with Arn, she heard him growling under his breath.

She glanced over at Osh, he was being held to the ground by two Sandjar but appeared to be unhurt. She looked at the remaining scavengers, in the flickering fire light, she could see their leader's face, she suddenly realized who she was fighting. She was looking into the cold uncaring eyes of Og.

How he got here she did not know but she knew all too well, the pain she would suffer if she fell into his clawed hands again. Then with a wild cry, the Sandjar came for them again, the first scavenger to come within reach died on Andra's ax. The remaining two leaped over their dead companion and fell upon her. They ripped at her with their jagged teeth and stabbed at her armor with sharp fragments of steel. Andra dropped the ax and drew out her daggers, she cut a Sandjar's throat of with one and sunk the other into the remaining Sandjar's chest.

Arn cut one attacker in two with a swing of his weapon, then in a fury of battle joy, he fell upon the others using his fists only. A Sandjar bit into the unprotected flesh on his arm, he crushed its skull with a blow from his free hand. Then he broke the neck of another, tossing the lifeless bodies away, he looked around for more to slay.

The Sandjar had had enough, they ran off, leaving three behind, Og the leader and the two holding Osh down. Andra looked directly into Og's face, she could see the primitive hate burning in his yellow eyes and knew he would not run. She tensed her muscles and waited for the attack that was surely to come, she did not wait long. With a wild scream Og came for her, he swung his club at her head, she ducked clear, then she drove her dagger deep into his chest, he fell to the ground.

As she looked down on him, she almost felt pity, he reached out for her with a clawed hand, she kicked him in the face with the hard heel of her boot. He fell back with a mass of blood covering his face, he twitched on the ground for a moment then died.

There were only two Sandjar left to deal with, Arn and Andra moved stealthily towards them. One of the creatures suddenly placed a sharp piece of metal against Osh's neck and chattered something neither of them could understand. They did not need to know, it was a clear message, if they came any closer the human would die.

Arn knew the Sandjar mind quite well, he had fought them many times and knew that killing was a way of life for them. Killing one old man would be of no consequence to them. _Wait and watch;_ he told himself; _you must kill with the first strike._

There was a tense moment, the humans did not know what to do. While they were watching, the other Sandjar suddenly struck out with his fist, hitting his comrade on the side of the head. The creature fell back, then regaining his senses, he ran off into the night.

Arn and Andra fell upon the remaining Sandjar, he put up little resistance and soon they had him at their mercy. Arn held the green creature and Andra raised her dagger to drive it into his exposed heart. Then the Sandjar said a single word that made her drop her weapon and stare in amazement.

He said, "Mother?"

#  Chapter 44. The New Land

Any soldier of the Talsonar who shows cowardice in battle will be executed and with him ten of those in his company. They will be killed by being bound and thrown to the Yangmar, what is left of their bodies shall be scattered to the winds.

By order of Darken Droganus, Lord High Governor and Supreme Commander of the Talsonar.

The Talsonar army was on the move. Never had the Outlands seen such a sight, a vast moving force of steel, it crushed all that came before it and moved like a living thing. The number of warriors was uncountable, hundreds of wagons and carts filled with all manners of supplies, came with them. There were water jugs the size of two tall men and wine barrels that could quench the thirst of a whole company of Hal-Jafar. As they moved the ground shook and all creatures of the Outlands feared them.

There were rows upon rows of Spike-backs, each mounted with heavy guns and behind them rows of Disruptors. They were manned by soldiers covered in well-made armor and trained to perfection. At the front of the army were the Yangmar, they were chained to each other in groups of four or more. Each of the huge creatures was heavily armored and had a chamber rifle and several, hand held weapons. They had thick steel helmets and their enormous hands, were covered by iron gloves embedded with spikes. They made no noise other than grunts and only moved when they were ordered.

Each section of the Yangmar had a leader, he was a well-trained Talsonar soldier, who rode in a well-armored wagon drawn by two Trofar, also armored. With him were several other soldiers to drive the wagon and do whatever needed to be done. They could control their group with blasts from signal horns or the beats of a drum, the Yangmar had been conditioned to obey their masters without question.

At the back came the Hal-Jafar, they too had been well trained, they did not march with the Yangmar, they rode in special wagons holding a dozen or more. The wagon was thickly armored and had long spikes at the sides to keep any creature from coming to close. They were drawn by four Trofar, whose bodies, were protected by chain mail and plates of steel. Inside the wagon, the soldiers could save their strength and wait until they were needed. There were other wagons too but those who rode in them were not soldiers or Talsonar warriors, they were weapons.

Runners were neither human nor creature but a mixture of both. Small of stature but with heavily muscled legs, they had been conditioned to carry a back pack of explosives and run at great speed towards the enemy. On contact they would blast themselves and their target into fragments, there was no other purpose for them, no other meaning to their lives. They sat blindfolded and silent, they had no thoughts other than their own destruction.

At the center of the army was a great moving structure, it was almost as large as the Holy Shrine of the Goddess and as well protected. It was covered in steel and had four turrets that could point in any direction. The turrets contained Long-Range guns and a Disruptor, if anything came too close, it would be destroyed.

The moving fortress, was pulled by a dozen or more large Trofar, they were changed frequently to make sure they did not tire. The huge wagon was protected so well because inside rode the Governor and his Generals.

Around the great moving fortress were several smaller heavily armored wagons. They were pulled by a large Spikeback, each the size of a full grown ax breaker. The armored wagons had no windows or openings other than a small door and small slits in the thick steel, over all there was a Rimar hide sun covering. They were very well guarded and no one knew what they contained, only those close to the leaders.

Those who rode inside the armored carriers were happy to be without the sun, they were Shadow-men.

The Darkman had chosen his best people to be guides for the Talsonar, only they could lead the army into the Outlands and stop them becoming hopelessly lost. They rode quietly and in safety, thinking only of the time of their revenge.

At the extreme rear of the army came the camp followers, those who traveled with the soldiers, hoping to share in their spoils or to supply them with whatever pleasure they needed. They consisted mostly of Sin-Cravers and others who had no other place to go. They would stay behind during the day and come into camp at night to sell their bodies for food, drink or the red crystals so many depended upon. There were many species, Bolbecs, Al-Carie, Eumec, Borka, Ogarian and all other Off-World types. They all had one thing in common, they had no thought for the future, for they had none.

Among those poor souls, was one who did not come from the stars, she was a daughter of Gorn, once a Princess of the Almadra.

Seeda had decided to leave the stone city, With Almec's death there was nothing for her and she decided to go with the army. She no longer cared for the sunlight on her face or the wind in her hair, she rode with others like her, letting the days pass without counting them. She remembered nothing, the images of her past had slowly faded like the light at Sun-fall. She wore a dirty robe, nothing more, her hair was matted and her eyes did not have the shine of life. The spark that once burned in her so brightly, was now a dim light that gave little warmth. She huddled in the back of a crowded wagon and shook with cold despite the warmth of suns in the sky.

Inside the rolling fortress, Governor Darken basked in the warmth of his power. With him were his two Generals and the Darkman, dressed in black, they sat close together so their voices would not carry. Around them, stood several slaves who could not hear what they were saying for they had been rendered deaf.

Darken leaned back in his ornate chair and looked across the table at the Darkman's decaying features. "Are you certain the Outlanders will be where you say they will be?" he asked. "I do not want to find only empty land."

The Darkman nodded slowly. "They will be, where I say," he said confidently. "The movements of the Nomads are as certain as the motions of the stars, they live by their habits and do not change to fit the wind."

Hearing these words the Governor relaxed in his seat. "Good and are you sure that the guides you supplied can lead us to them?"

"They know the way," the Darkman replied, "they will take you anywhere you want and bring you back, they will obey your commands."

This made the Governor smile, "very good, you have kept your end of the bargain and I will keep mine." There was a pause while Darken took a sip of wine from a gold cup. "Soon there will be no Outlanders left in my new world."

He took another sip of wine, he heard one his Generals murmuring in a low tone. He looked at Leeander. "There is something you wish to say General?" he asked.

Leeander cleared his throat then spoke. "Forgive me your lordship but I do not trust this man, who can say if he is telling the truth or leading us into a trap?"

Before the Governor could answer the question, the Darkman turned to the General. "You are right, you cannot know if I am truthful or full of deceit but you have no choice."

This made the Governor laugh. "True and if no one makes a move, war is a very poor game." _They will be the pawns and I will be the Man-God._

Suddenly, General Yung spoke up, "But war is not a game your lordship."

It was bold to question the Governor but he did not seem to mind being questioned. "You're wrong General, everything is a game. Life or death. War or peace. It's just amusement for the Gods," _and you are my playthings._

There was no reply from Yung and no further questions. The Darkman rose from his seat, "I will go now, I have other things that need my attention. Follow the plan and take your soldiers to the East and the West." He started to leave, then he stopped and looked at the Governor. "I will come to you, when the Nomads are fleeing from your soldiers, on that day everything will be yours."

Darken lifted his cup in a salute to his new ally, then watched the dark robed man leave. He turned back to his Generals and spoke in a low voice. "On that day I will have everything, including his head." He took a long drink and those in the room joined him in this pledge.

The twin suns had set and the night was clear and clean, overhead the moons of Gorn moved slowly across the heavens, making it look like they enjoyed looking down on the new world below. Listening closely, you could almost hear them laughing as they played games and chased each other through the eternal sky.

Arn, Andra and Osh had a new companion to journey with them, Endo had grown into a strong young Sandjar. His survival during the Burning Time had been a matter of sheer luck. When he left the Eye of Isarie, he wandered South out of the plains of Darmock and found a small family of Sandjar. They took him in, later they joined up with Sandjar going to the Hollow Hills to sleep until after the fires had gone.

When he emerged, he was no longer a weak juvenile but a fully grown adult member of his new tribe. The tribe, was taken in by a larger group and their leader was Og, his true father, although he did not know it then, he was just another clan member. They did what Sandjar do and when they caught scent of the dead Rimar and Whiptail, they also found the trio of humans. When Og realized he'd found the human woman who took his son away, he was mad with fury.

That was when Endo knew what had happened but kept it to himself. He decided to try to help the only father he'd known. Perhaps luck or the will of the Gods but either way Endo and Osh were reunited.

They all sat beside dead Sandjar's wagon, after disposing of its cargo of rotting meat, they feasted on the Hagar soup, Osh cooked for them. Even without the spice that would make it even more palatable, it was a fine meal. They also found some wine, taken from a fallen Dropship by the scavengers, it was not well-aged Po but it would do.

"What shall we do with this creature?" Arn asked, as he wiped some wine from his lips, "we cannot take him with us."

"Why not?" asked Osh. "He saved my life, surely that deserves some reward?"

"He is not one of us," Arn replied. "He is a scavenger and not The Chosen of the Gods."

Putting down her empty soup bowl, Andra gave him a look. "What are we? You told me you are free of the Gods now, so why do you follow their rules. As for being a scavenger, we all must scavenge the land to survive now."

Her words fell heavily on the Nomad. _She is right, we are all Outcasts now. "_ Very well, he can come with us," he looked at Osh, "can he fight?"

Osh looked at his son and then at the Nomad. "Like all intelligent creatures, he can learn," he said proudly.

The Almadra made camp where the Hollow Hills sloped down into the vast open lands of the Salgar dunes. The land was open, lacking the valleys and canyons of the mountains they'd left behind. Here was grass and water and herds of Rimar roamed.

It was a welcome sight to the Outlanders, they were people of the plains and they felt more comfortable out of confinement. Seeing the endless expanse of green laying before them, they believed the Gods were smiling on them once more.

They set their tents up near a large outcropping of rock, called the Skull of Balmor, the Nomads believed it was the skull of one of the Titans, a race of creatures who battled the Gods in the Before Time.

Here they would find a place to rest for a while, the warriors had hunted well and the smell of cooked Rimar drifted over the camp, mixed with the fragrance of freshly baked Kasha bread and well-aged Po. The Almadra danced and sang songs filling the night with joy.

The Elders smiled to see the young playing and testing their strength in games of battle and the mothers and fathers watched closely to see, which of their offspring was the strongest. The Time of Choosing would soon be here, then they would have decided who lived and who died. For now they laughed and sang with their children and listened to the beat of the drums far into the night.

There was one who did not sing or dance, Agart sat alone in his tent, hearing only the emptiness of his sad heart. He had eaten very little in the past few days and only drank Po. He found forgiveness in the sour wine and for many days and nights, took refuge in its warm embrace. He sat slumped in his tent, waiting for the night to take him. _If only I could sleep;_ he thought; _a sleep without haunting memories of the past._

He knew there would be no such sleep, he'd tried to find rest many times but he would always the same dream. He saw his brother standing before him, he saw him gazing into his eyes and asking one simple question. Why?

He tried to answer, he tried to tell his brother, he was sorry and he had failed him but nothing came out of his mouth, there was an icy silence. He saw Arn become like a fire that fire grew and grew until he burnt like an ember in the Pit of Marloon. He watched the fire embrace him and he saw himself falling into a sea of fire, then the dream ended and he found himself alone.

_Sleep, if only I could sleep;_ he told himself but he remained staring up at his tent roof. He heard a sound from outside, the tent flaps opened and in walked the Holy Mother.

Obec was dressed for the Choosing, a dark robe embroidered with moons and stars. She wore a tall headdress of ivory and gold, an impressive sight, especially to Agart's wine clouded mind.

"Holy Mother?" he said, as he tried to stand. "I was not expecting you, why have you come?"

Obec motioned at the two tall Thungodra to leave, bowing low they left closing the tent flap. Obec walked purposefully to a small chair next to Agart and sat down. She smoothed the folds of her ornate robe then looked into the weary King's face. "I have come at the Gods behest." she said quietly, "they told me. you are troubled and seek rest."

Agart tried to compose himself. "It is true your holiness but I do not wish to trouble the Gods with my pain."

Obec smiled, "Nonsense, Isarie is all merciful and knows all our pain. If we are to be strong enough to fight in her name, we must be humble and tell her what lies in our hearts."

Agart let her words fill his mind, a small voice told him to be wary of the old woman but another stronger voice told him, she might hold the power to help. "My heart is dark and I can find no rest," he said softly, "is there rest in the hands of Isarie?"

Obec again smiled, "The Goddess knows all our needs."

As she spoke, the tent flap opened again and in walked a Handmaiden the Prince recognized as Soffca. She was dressed in a simple robe and carried a silver tray with two cups and a container. With the sight of steam rising from it and the smell, Agart knew it was hot tea.

"I have brought you some of my best Deep-root tea," Obec said smiling, "it will help you sleep."

The King watched the Handmaiden place the tray on a small table next to Obec, she poured two cups of steaming liquid, then she bowed and left the tent. Obec reached into her robe and took out a small pouch. "The tea is good but I think you might like a bit of spice, to add to its taste." She took a pinch of the substance in the pouch and dropped it into one of the cups, she handed it to Agart, taking the other cup for herself. "Now tell me what troubles the wise King of the Almadra?"

Agart took several gulps of the tea, it was warm and tasted delicious, it made him feel much better. "I know, that what I did to my brother was the will of the Gods but I cannot help feeling that I made a mistake. Tell me, was I doing the will of the Gods?"

Obec took a long sip of her drink, then placed the cup down on the table, she leaned close to the King. "The Gods are not yet content," she said.

For a moment Agart did not understand her, until he felt the warmth in his stomach moving upwards, looking into Obec's cold eyes, he suddenly realized she'd poisoned him. _I'm going to die;_ he told himself.

He wasn't angry, he let the warmth rise up his body without calling out or lifting his hand in anger. _The Goddess is all-merciful, perhaps she will forgive me?_ He laid back and closed his eyes, a _t last I can sleep, at last I can rest._ Warmth engulfed him and in his mind, the last thing he saw was his brother holding out his hand to him.

_Forgive me brother, forgive me._ He saw a great light, shining with a brilliance he had never seen before and in the light he saw the figure of a woman, one whose face he longed to see. _Isarie? She has come;_ the light engulfed him and there was nothing more.

Obec sat looking at Agart's face, she felt very little. _He has done his part;_ she told herself as she took a small sip of tea. _He was a fool but a believer in the Gods, he will find a small place to sit in the Golden Hall._ She put her cup down and stood up. "Guards!" she called out, Soffca and several Thungodra were standing at the tent's entrance. "Prepare his body for burial."

As they carried the dead King out of the tent, Obec turned to Soffca. "Tell Anais, I wish to see him."

Without a word, Soffca bowed low and left to convey the High Priestess' words to the new King of the Almadra.

#  Chapter 45. War in the Outlands

Lift up the cup of sour Po and sing the songs of War.

Laugh and drink of battles past and open the Golden Door.

Welcome those who come to fight in glory and in pain.

We the fallen of dreams of death, we wait and watch the flames.

War song of the Almadra.

The Nomads of Gorn were on the run.

The Talsonar army came up into the Sirolian plains and destroyed all who came to meet them. They crushed the people of the Outlands like an Earth-shaker, awakened from its slumber, although they looked to their Gods, their prayers went unheeded.

The Nomad tribes rose up to meet the invader from the Stone City but every in battle they saw defeat. It was not weakness or a lack of courage, they simply did not know how to fight such an army. They were used to meeting an enemy head on, then battling hand to hand until one proved victorious. This new foe did not fight that way, they used attics unknown to the Outlanders. The Nomads fought as individuals the Talsonar fought as one.

First they fired their Long-Range weapons, the powerful shells exploded in the midst of the Nomads and panicked the Whiptails. The Nomads fired back but their guns could not reach the enemy. The Outlanders screamed in rage at not being able to return the death raining down upon them. There was more to follow, the Talsonar powered up their Disruptors, the painful sound from the sonic weapons caused confusion and scattered the Outlanders like Kasha-wheat in a summer storm. While the warriors struggling to control their beasts, their ears ringing with the horrific noise, the Talsonar sent in their soldiers.

The Yangmar moved forward, the huge warriors were fearless and fought like wild things. They fired their chamber rifles until they were empty and although far from accurate they killed many. The Nomads fought back with their fiercest warriors, their Whiptails ripped and tore into the Yangmar, striking out with their powerful tails and impaling them on their long spurs. The Yangmar did not run, the chains holding them together, made that impossible and although they died horribly, they brought down the Outlands warriors and hacked them to pieces with their hand weapons.

After the Yangmar had done their worst, the Hal-Jafar moved in for the fatal blow. These elite troops were well trained and skillful killers, fighting as one great force, they fired their rifles, picking off the Nomads one by one. Those not killed b reveled in it. The few badly injured Nomads who were not, able stab themselves through the heart with their dragon's tooth, were tortured to death and then fed to the Yangmar, as their reward.

If a Nomad tried to stand and make a fight of it, the Runners were ordered to race towards them, exploding themselves in a holocaust of fire and smoke.

The Ozendra, Zengarie and the Caladon, all tried to repel the invaders and all were driven back by the marching steel creatures. The displaced Nomads moved Northwards seeking refuge in the lands of other Nomads, which in turn ignited bitter fighting amongst the tribes, adding to the hopelessness moving over the once proud lands of Gorn.

Soul Shepherds from the different tribes, believed the Gods were angry for their disbelief. So they hunted out those amongst them who did not pray as hard as they did, or did not give proper respect to the Words of the Goddess. They were convinced the blame for their defeats rested on the heads of those people, they made threats and accusations against anyone but themselves. Many of the accused left their tribe rather than face the wrath of the Thungodra.

The tribal Kings squabbled and old rivalries were reopened. Obec called for a meeting of the clans, to hear the words of the Goddess and find a way to reverse their defeats and regain their cherished lands. The Holy Mother sent messengers to all the tribes telling them to meet at the Skull of Balmor, there they would pray to the Goddess for the strength and wisdom to plan for victory.

As night fell, the Moons of Gorn looked down on the Counsel of Kings, unlike the meetings at the Eye of Isarie, there was no singing or dancing. They were trying to find a way to survive not settle petty disputes.

They met under Obec's Holy tent, inside, torches illuminated the many statues of the Gods, at one end stood a statue of Isarie. Standing by the walls were representatives of the various tribes and lesser clans that made up the peoples of the Outlands. They stood uneasily not knowing if the meeting would end in agreement or bloodshed.

"No! No! No!" Kadar shouted as he beat his hand upon a thick wooden table, "we must meet them face to face, it is the only way to defeat them!"

Across the table sat his old friend Balgar, the old man shook a fist at the one armed leader. "I say we must strike at them from the East, they cannot move over the sand as easily as we do."

Kadar shook his head, "and what will that gain us? Nothing, I say we fight now and kill as many as we can."

"And if they are stronger?" Balgar asked.

"Then we die in glory!" shouted the old warrior. "It is better than dying with a blade in the back!"

This made the other Kings shout too, each offering a plan that they were certain would work but they did not know how or why. The warriors began screaming insults and gripping their weapons ready to strike at any moment.

Sitting quietly near the Holy Mother, Anais the newly crowned King of the Almadra listened to the words of his fellow Kings. _They fight like Rock-runners over scraps;_ he thought. _Kings are no better than fools when they are afraid._ He sat listening and smiled to himself, he was the only one who knew the truth, all men are fools and the Gods that made them must be even bigger fools.

After a time, Obec, surrounded by the other High Priestesses, Thungodra and Handmaidens calmly put up her hand.

It took a few moments for the shouting to die down but it did. When all was quiet once more Obec began to speak. "We are The Chosen of the Gods and being so we will have victory but there may be a price."

Kadar spoke, "What price is that?"

Obec looked at his scarred face, "Obedience," she said quietly. There was a low murmuring as the warriors repeated the word under their breath. Obec spoke again, "Obedience to the Goddess!' She rose and purposefully moved amongst the Kings. "We are The Chosen of the Gods that is certain but we are being beaten by Half-Souls, why?" She let her words hang in the air, "because some of us are not true believers. Some of us do not pray with their hearts, some of us have forgotten the words of the Holy Book. That is why the Goddess has turned her face from us, that is why we are driven from the land, because some amongst us are not of The Chosen!"

There was more murmuring, then Balgar stood up. "If that is so tell us what must be done," he said soberly.

Obec moved over to the statue of the Goddess and placed her withered hand upon it. "Those who do not believe must be made Outcast."

Balgar spoke again, "This is not the time to weaken our forces."

The tent echoed with the old King's words as many warriors repeated them in agreement. Obec turned to look into Balgar's face, "The Gods made time and space, would you questioned their power?"

The King looked back into Obec's face but there was no reply.

Obec continued, "We must trust in the Goddess, we must put our faith to the test and do what must be done." While the many Kings were thinking her words over, she looked at the statue. _I will be your right hand;_ she thought; _and the Gods will arise._

Anais still sat with a smile on his face, now he rose and left the Counsel of Kings and walked steadily to his tent. Behind him he heard the voices of the Kings rising up and starting to argue once more but it did not matter, he had realized long ago, in the end they would bow to Obec's will. Although they ruled their people, their belief in the Gods ruled them. So with a self-righteous smile on his face, he passed between the Thungodra guards into his tent.

It was much different inside to his old quarters, it was fit for more than a King! When his brother died he took over the tribe's leadership, no one challenged him, Obec saw to that. Kuno and some of his warriors said he was unfit to rule, she banished from the tribe, made them Outcast. The Thungodra made sure that all objectors to Anais, remained silent,in fear of their lives. The remaining warriors held their tongues.

_I am King now;_ he told himself, _it is I, who rules._ How he got his Kingship did not matter, he was the Leader now and he would rule as he wished. So he took the contents of his brother's and his lost mother tents, he ordered a grand new shelter made just for him. Now it was filled with a display of wealth and power far beyond any other Outland King. There were chests filled with ornate robes and piles of Rimar horn of great length. There were baskets of Sagar teeth and Sun-dropper claws, gold and silver cups and bowls, casks of aged Po and a table heaped with fresh Kasha bread and succulent Balbar fruit. There were carved chests that once belonged to the outcast warriors and in them were treasures that had been handed down through the ages. There were tables and chairs cut from the finest woods. Gold braziers burned rare incense from the far reaches of the Outlands.

Now it was all his but strangely it did not have any meaning to him, it was just so much junk to the new King. What mattered was that it belonged to him and no one else, he had power and he savored every moment of his new Kingship.

He stood drinking and looking at his power, then looked at the large mattress on the rug-covered floor. Soffca lay upon it naked, she looked to be asleep, her long dark hair flowing over the embroidered pillow like waves of ebony wheat. She was the only thing in the room that had any meaning to Anais. Looking at her made him feel good, the heart that felt only cold and pain warmed as he looked at her; _she is lovely;_ he thought; _and she loves me._

He went to the bed and sat upon it, Soffca opened her eyes and looked at him, without a word she reached up, took him into her arms and kissed him.

In the distance, the voices of the Kings could be heard as they continued to shout their arguments, about what to do and when. Inside the new King's tent, there were only the soft sighs of rapture.

In the days and nights following their victory over the Sandjar, Arn, Andra, Osh and Endo made their way over the land, West from the Skull of Balmor, near the Mountains of Kresh but far from the Poison Lands. They lived off the earth, they could not kill Rimar without a Whiptail to ride but they found meat and drink and they were satisfied.

Osh spent much of his time talking to Endo, teaching him the ways of civilization. The young Sandjar learned fast and in no time at all, he could speak many new words and he adapted well to his new family. He could drive the wagon and gather food, his sense of smell was exceptional and more than once, he led them to a fallen beast or some other source of nourishment. Arn even retracted the unkind things he'd said about him.

Endo even began to learn the ways of combat and could soon wield a spear and dagger quiet well, the only one who did not seem to care for their new companion was Andra.

Perhaps it was because she remembered the painful days and nights when she bore the little green horror on her back, feeling it sucking the blood from her body. Maybe it was just the way he looked at her, with eyes that held intelligence but were not quite human. It was not just the intelligence they showed through, something else made Andra feel very uneasy. The look of love!

They sat around a small fire, near to an ancient fallen Dropship, Andra refused to look at the scavenger and stared into the flames. Arn and Osh didn't notice because they were deep in argument over the planet's history.

Arn shook his head and took a drink of the very sour wine, he'd found in the wagon. It was a foul drink but it made the Nomad's head spin. "The Children of Isarie have always been here, it is our home, where we belong, to say we came from beasts are the words of a Frail-leg."

Osh casually stirred the contents of a cooking pot, heating over the fire. "It is a well known fact that intelligent creatures come from a lower form of a species, which evolve into a higher form. There are many books on the subject, take for instance the collected works of Ivor Toillec, now he said..."

"There is only one book and it was written by the Gods," Arn said, "your books may be of use on other worlds but here there is only one law."

Osh looked hard at the Nomad, "Haven't you, given up the Gods and no longer follow their laws? Or do you still believe in them?"

Arn took a gulp of his drink and smiled at the old man. "I may not follow their laws but I would still not tread on their shadows."

Hearing this from the Outlander made the Callaxion smile. "Yes, my people have an old saying, do not erase outmoded programs you may need them someday."

Arn lifted his cup to the old man. "Then here's to Gods and programs." He took a deep gulp of his drink and looked at Andra. "Tell me, to what Gods do your people pray?"

Andra continued to look into the fire. "Our Gods are dead," she said quietly.

Arn shook his head, "Gods cannot die, they live forever."

Hearing those words, the Andra turned to look at him. "They die, when their worshipers, are destroyed." Then she stood up and picked up her tooth, she walked away from the fire into the night.

Arn watched her go, he then got up and walked after her, leaving Osh and the young Sandjar to eat alone.

Endo turned to his father, "Mother is sad," he said.

Osh poured some soup into a bowl for his son. "Yes, mother is sad, now eat your soup."

Out of the firelight and with only the moons for light, Andra stood close to the Dropship and listened to the night. In the far distance she could hear a herd of Rimar bellowing, beyond them, the cry of a lonely Whiptail. To Andra, it did not matter, she was thinking of other places, other worlds.

_I shouldn't be here;_ she thought; _I don't deserve another life, I don't..._

She heard a sound and thinking it might be an enemy she lifted her weapon, then she saw Arn walking slowly towards her, he came close and put his hand on her shoulder.

"There is a shadow over you," he said, his voice just above a whisper, "What troubles you?"

Andra did not answer straight away, she just looked at the sky. "You never asked how I came to your world."

Arn turned her, so he could look into her eyes. "The Gods sent you," he said smiling, "they sent you to me, they knew I needed a strong warrior by my side."

"No," Andra said shaking her head, "I am no warrior, I am nothing."

Arn did not understand her, he took her into his arms. "You are Moonbud, a warrior of the Outlands and together we are strong."

She pulled away from him with tears in her eyes. "I am nothing, I don't deserve to be here," her voice trembled with emotion. "You think I am a great warrior, a brave soldier but I'm just a coward."

Arn moved towards her, his arm out to her but she moved away from him and continued speaking. "Listen to me, I was once a lieutenant in the Selcarie army, our world was attacked and I went to war. I saw many battles and my men died around me by the thousand, we were pushed back until we were all that stood between our world and the enemy, one last stand. We fought hard but we were beaten, when the time came for me to die with my troops, I ran! I ran!"

Andra let out a long breath of air. "Later I was captured and sent here to die, now I live while all my world burned, my world and my family." she looked hard at Arn. "So you see I'm not brave or strong." She looked up into her lover's eyes, "I am a coward, I am nothing."

There was a long silence then Arn held her. "All warriors know fear, a coward never admits it."

He took her close and under the stars, he kissed her, then they parted. Through her tears, Andra looked into his eyes, "Maybe Gods can forgive me but can you?" she asked.

Arn still held her tightly in his arms, "I am your trouble vessel, give me all your darkness and together we will walk in the light."

Andra looking into her lover's eyes for a long time. They did not speak, there was no need, they were beyond words, needing only to look into each others eyes and hear the words in their hearts.

Isarie was not the God of the Selcarie, their Gods no longer heard the prayers of their believers. Whether they died or simply vanished into the black gulf between eternities no one could say. Perhaps there is a place where Gods go when they die, there they watch new Gods being born and smile to themselves, knowing there are others to take their place.

#  Chapter 46. Return of the Outcasts

The Nomads are in retreat, they have suffered great casualties and are now seeking shelter wherever they can, our losses have been at predicted levels and I cannot foresee any obstacle to obtaining our goal of total victory.

Markers have been installed and our supply lines are established, food is plentiful and the Guides have led us to sufficient water supplies to continue our attack.

Following our plan, General Yung and his army are sweeping to the West and meeting little resistance. My troops will swing up from the East to meet yours at the agreed place, we shall force the remaining enemy into a final battle were we will annihilate them and emerge victorious.

Report from First General Leeander to his Lord High Governor Darken.

There was no more singing in the Outlands tribes, by command of her holiness the High Priestess of Isarie, offering prayers to the Goddess was the only thing allowed.

The Outlanders were now under the control of the Gods, the Outland Kings had given in to Obec's demands and would punish all who disobeyed her laws. The tribes moved over the land in silence, broken only by the sound of crying. Those that did do not obey, were made Outcast and driven into the wastelands by the Thungodra, who followed the will of their Holy Mother without question.

Despite their bending to the will of the Gods, the war with the Talsonar was not gaining any success. At every battle they were driven back, no matter how hard they fought, they simply did not know how to fight such a highly organized enemy. They rode their Whiptails headlong into battle, screaming all the while the war cries of their tribes but they met only defeat. With ghastly losses, they turned from the battlefield leaving their dead to be mutilated by the Talsonar soldiers. When they returned to their camp, the air was filled with the song of the Wailing Women and the smoke from fires burning desperate offerings to the Gods.

There was one person who did not cry, Obec would lead her people in prayer and watch her Handmaidens sing songs of mercy to the families of the fallen warriors. She gave her blessing as their Journey Nails were driven into death hands but there was no pity in her eyes. She stood looking stoic and waited until the ceremonies were over, then she returned to her tent to sit quietly reading from the Holy Book.

Mouthing the words that gave her so much comfort, she heard a sound and turned to see a sight that made her heart jump. Standing before her was a dark robed figure, his face hidden by a hood, she first composed herself, then spoke. "I have been expecting you."

The Darkman moved to a chair next to her and sat down, he pulled his hood back to show his rotting face and cold lifeless eyes. "Then why did you jump when you saw me?" he asked.

The High Priestess did not answer, she closed the Holy Book and turned to face him. "You have kept your word the people of the Stone City are in the Outlands."

"Yes, I have kept my word," he replied, "now you will keep yours."

Obec smiled at the Shadow-man, she looked at him without emotion but inside she was furious. "There will be no Choosing, the people of the Outlands will not weep for their lost children." _F_ _or the present at least!_

The Darkman nodded his head in approval. "Then I am content." He looked at the ornate book Obec had been reading. "Your Gods may be angry without any sacrifices, are you sure they will not bring down fire and death upon you?"

The High Priestess' face did not change when she heard the Shadow-man's words. "Isarie will be content, knowing the unbelievers are now Outcast from her Chosen people, soon the Talsonar will lie dead on her lands." _O_ _n that day I shall have my desire._

A short laugh came from the Darkman. "The death of so many does not seem to bother you at all, does death hold so little meaning for you?"

Obec looked deeply into his cold eyes, "No more than it does for you," she smiled, "Now that we know each other better, tell me of your people and when they will come."

The Shadow-man picked up a small statue of the Goddess from a nearby table and examined it as he talked. "They will come when needed," he said softly.

"And the Sky-Riders?" Obec asked.

"They are ready at my command." he replied.

Obec leaned back in her chair, "Very good, when the Talsonar are defeated and the people of the Outlands are all believers once more, we will have peace. _" Then the Gods will also be at peace._

The Darkman toyed with the idol in his claw like hand. "Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do," she said proudly, "the Gods light our way and we follow in their shadows."

Another small laugh came from the Darkman, "Their shadows, yes!" He leaned closer to the old women, "You spend too much time looking up to the heavens and not enough at the ground under your feet."

He looked at the tent's floor, he saw a large Blaze-ant moving over the ornate rug by his foot. He suddenly reached out and crushed the insect under his heel. "The Gods would crush us like so many bugs if they could, they in turn, could be broken by greater forces than themselves." He closed his fist around the gold statue and when he opened his hand, the idol was in pieces. "That is the way of things, that is the way of the Universe." He stood up and started to leave, "You and I are alike, we both love power and care little for how we use it."

Silently he left the tent.

The High Priestess sat for a time, she was not thinking over the Darkman's words, she filled her mind with images of a land without Half-Souls or people who made their homes in the shadows.

_The Choosing will come;_ she thought; a soft smile crossed her lined face; _and I shall do the choosing._

For many days and nights the wagon bearing the strange fellowship moved over the Greenland's of Gorn. They stayed far from the usual Outlander travel lanes and kept to themselves. Hunting was good and they didn't meet any Sandjar or demons of the night. They saw whiffs of smoke rising in the distance but they did not investigate, without Whiptails to fight or a tribe to defend.

The ground shook three times, once they saw a crack open in the earth near to them. Endo was driving the wagon at the time and he guided their Trofar away, saving them, from tumbling into the abyss.

With each shake came a strange feeling, before each rumble, the companions thought something was calling out to them, something without a voice or words. Arn called it a warning from the Gods but the Sandjar felt it too and since they did not pray to the same Gods, it must have been the work of a demon. Osh scoffed at such ideas, he said it was simply a geological event, tectonic plates underground were shifting, this of course meant nothing to the Nomad and he put it all down to monsters in the dark.

Deep inside Osh knew his explanation wasn't true, the voice that called out, was the same one that spoke to him in the darkness of the Hollow Hills. The images in his head formed into clearer pictures and spoke to him in a Mind-say, moving answers closer to being known but that time was not now the answers would have to wait.

Arn and Andra walked in the moonlight near their wagon. Osh had cooked a fine meal for them from tender Burrow-babies and cinnamon root. Their feast had ended with some very ripe Balbar fruit that Endo picked from a cluster of trees. The sky was clear and a soft wind blew from the East but on the wind there was a hint of danger but as the pair walked together, talking of their past, it went unheeded.

"Your mother was a strong woman," Arn said as he looked up at the large moon overhead. "I am sure she has forgiven you."

Andra looked up too, "Yes, I think she has," she looked at the man beside her. "I think that all mothers are the same, it doesn't matter where you go or what names they have, they all have one thing in common."

"What is that?"

"They all love their children."

The Nomad smiled at the wise woman he was walking with.

They came to a twisted pile of steel half buried in the ground, once it had been a machine of some kind, its large rusty wheels were the height of several tall men. As they walked closer, they saw many small animals running from its broken hull and a flock of Night-fliers took to the air, when they got to it, they sat down on its large iron frame.

Arn and Andra both wore armor, they knew death could come for them at any time and if it did, they would stand together and fight. The night was still so they put down their weapons and sat back to gaze at the stars and let their fears rest for a time.

Andra moved close to her lover and touched his hand with hers. "It's quiet here," she said with a sigh, "but we can't stay forever," she turned to Arn. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Anywhere you like, we can go to Orgon the Great Ocean in the West, there we can sail with the Sea People and hunt for Leviathans in the dark depths. We can travel to the green jungles of Yug and look for treasure, guarded by all-powerful monsters no Outlander has ever seen. Or we can see what strange creatures live in the forests of Caltarine and live among the great trees that reach up to the stars, it is all their waiting for us, if you're not afraid?"

Andra laughed, "Afraid? I faced, Ashra Doom in the challenge pit and took his life. I stood with you when the Sandjar attacked us and who found you half dead in the Poison Lands and brought you back to life?"

"Yes," he replied with a smile, "it was you, you are not a coward you are a Moonbud, soft and strong at the same time."

Andra looked at him, "You saved me too, not from the Sandjar or the Talsonar but from myself and although you are no longer King, I will honor my oath and stand by your side."

"I am satisfied," Arn said softly.

They were about to kiss, then both of them stopped suddenly and reached for their weapons. They both looked into the distance and saw a faint outline against the glowing stars, a line of dust that could only be made by the clawed feet of Whiptails.

"Are they coming our way?" Andra asked, gripping her weapon.

The Nomad watched the dust moving closer. "Yes, there are many and they are coming closer." There were no more words as the pair ran back to their wagon and prepared to fight.

Osh and Endo did not know about the danger soon to be upon them, they sat before the Washa fire, nibbling the last of the Balbar fruit. Osh was too involved telling his reunited son about his travels and the many worlds he'd visited.

"So if you count the lesser planets, recently discovered near the Meridian expanse, there are approximately one million three hundred and sixty-nine inhabited worlds in the Outer Rim. That doesn't included creatures whose intelligence level is below the standard rating of seven."

The young Sandjar listened intently then nodded. "Many worlds, many people."

Arn and Andra came rushing back into camp, Endo instantly reached for the steel headed club next to him. At the same time Osh stood up and grabbed the spear umbrella he'd become into the habit of carrying, together they looked around for danger.

"Warriors are coming." Arn said, as he and Andra took defensive positions around the fire. "Not enough time to escape, take Endo and find shelter in the rocks."

Osh and Endo didn't move. "No," said the young Sandjar, "I stay!"

One look at him, told Arn, he would be staying. He looked at Osh and saw him holding his weapon ready, he knew they would stand together and make a fight of it.

_I have a brave tribe;_ Arn thought; _together we are strong._

He looked at the cloud of dust still visible in the moonlight, he knew the force coming towards them was formidable. In his heart he knew that two warriors, an old man and a half-grown Sandjar could not defeat them. If we are to die, then we will die together.

He looked at Andra standing by his side, there was no need for words, she knew from the look in his eyes and the feeling in her mind, they were facing certain death. Holding her battle-ax, she did not fear, she felt satisfied.

The battle to come made her feel good, her heart raced and her muscles longed for release. It felt as if this was what she was born to do, it gave her purpose, it was her love and her life. Andra suddenly realized she saw what Arn saw, when he fought against his enemies. It was joy. She braced her feet, longing for something to attack, the cloud of dust arrived then slowly cleared.

Arn looked at the riders before him, then lowered his weapon, they were not demons of the night or Waste-wanderers, they were warriors of The Chosen. There were a dozen or more, men and women dressed in full battle armor, each riding a strong Whiptail. They said nothing as the gazed at the four figures who stood defiantly before them. When the others saw that Arn had lowered his weapon, they lowered theirs too.

One rider moved in close to them then he lifted his visor. A soft smile crossed Kuno's face as he looked at the Nomad. "My King, at last I have found you," he said.

Endo turned to his father and tilted his head to one side, "Friends?" he asked.

Osh nodded back, "Yes, friends."

The twin suns of Gorn were just breaking over the Mountains of Kresh as Kuno finished his account of events since Arn had been made an Outcast.

He told of the war between the Nomads and the Talsonar and how they'd been defeated in every battle. How the Elders wept seeing so many of their best warriors lying dead and the air filled with the cries of the Wailing Women. He told them of the High Priestess' commands, all who do not obey will of the Goddess shall be made Outcast. He and his warriors had been driven out when they raised their voices against Obec and the Thungodra.

He told of his brother's death and how the Will of Isarie had been blamed, rather than, as he had suspected, a treacherous old woman. He told them how the Almadra no longer sang or danced under the stars and only heard the death dirges from the war drums. He told of their long search for their lost King, hoping he would lead them back to his people to free them from tyranny.

Arn with Andra at his side, had listened throughout the night. He listened to his friend tell him what had become of his tribe and his family. He listened as the warrior told a tale of misery, death, and pain. He sat quietly as the Washa fire died out and the Sirolian plains were bathed in the soft glow of morning.

He stood up and spoke in a loud voice. "I was once your King but that time is past, I have renounced the Gods and no longer believe in the Holy Book, I cannot help you."

Kuno shook his head, "Then the Talsonar will take our lands and all the Outland tribes will be scattered to the winds," he said sadly.

"The Almadra are strong they will survive," Arn replied.

"They will not," Kuno answered, "the Talsonar fight like cowards but still we cannot stand before them."

"I don't understand," Andra said, "if they run from you how can they defeat you?"

Kuno looked at Andra, "They do not run but they do not fight like warriors."

Andra shook her head, "You're not making sense, tell me exactly how they make war."

As the Andra listened, Kuno told her what he'd seen. He told her how they fired their Long-Range guns at the Nomads, then sent in a wave of Yangmar to meet them in battle. They let the armored giants die but did not join the fight. He told her they waited like cowards until the battle was well joined, then, when most of the fighting was over, they come out to do battle. He told her how they sent Runners out, to blow up themselves and brave Outland warriors. He explained how they used Long-Range weapons rather than facing them man to man, as was the way of the warrior. As he spoke, the warriors, around him grumbled and beat their war-axes on the ground in frustration, when he'd finished, they ground their teeth and spat on the ground.

"Yes," said Arn, "they are cowards." _They do not stand and fight, they are not warriors._

Andra had listened intently to every word Kumo spoke, felt otherwise, she let her thoughts be known. "They're not cowards, they fight like well-trained soldiers, that's all."

Puzzled looks crossed the faces of many the warriors, Arn looked at her strangely. "This is how warriors on other worlds fight?" he asked.

Andra paced back and forth before the confused Outlanders. "Yes, of course, now I understand, your people fight as individuals, each a force in its own right but the Talsonar fight as one."

"Fight as one?" Arn asked, with a puzzled look.

Andra turned to him. "Don't you see, the war tactics they're using, lets their best men wait until your forces are exhausted, then they move in for a killing strike. It's an old military trick but very effective."

The warriors stood without moving, they did not understand her.

Andra glanced around at the Nomads. "Your people are strong and brave but that doesn't matter if they don't use their strength in the most efficient way. You have to fight your enemy with the same tactics, they are using against you, if you don't you will be defeated."

Arn thought her words over, as he looked at the warriors before him. "Then we must learn to fight as they do," he said strongly, "it is the only way to defeat them."

Kuno looked at Arn, "Then you will lead us?" he asked.

Arn thought about what had happened, his mind filled with the images of his past and of his tribe. The long cycles of training under his father, learning the ways of Kingship. The days and nights since, he first saw Andra and losing his heart to her. Images of Agart and the times they spent in laughter and song. Then his mother's face entered his mind and with it, his sister's. _They are gone now;_ he thought; _I will never see them again, I have nothing._ He saw the Outcast's faces and he remembered his mother's word. "You are a strong King."

_I may still be King but I am not wise._ All these thoughts entered into his mind in seconds, then he looked at his mate. "No, she will lead us," he said proudly.

Andra looked at Arn, she knew what he was asking of her and what it meant to the Nomad's future. Andra replied, "I won't," she said, "but I will stand by your side and we will fight together."

Arn smiled, "Then we will stand as one." _We are stronger together than apart._ He turned to the warriors. "We will not be called the Almadra, that name is not ours, from this time forward, we will be what we are, Outcasts, without a home or a God."

Kuno then came closer to the pair. "Then we are Outcast, we have no King or Gods to lead us," he paused as he looked at Andra and Arn, "What shall we call you?"

Arn did not need to think, "We are Moric-Kan, the twin dragons."

The warriors stood silently, they'd always followed a King into battle but they trusted Arn and knew he would fight beside them. So they beat their axes on the ground and chanted the name, soon to echo over the Outlands like a fearsome battle cry.

"Moric-Kan! Moric-Kan! Moric-Kan!"

The chant rose higher and higher, like the suns in the distant morning sky. The Whiptails took up the sound and roared like blood maddened demons from beyond the Black Gulf.

Arn listened to the beast's screams and it filled his heart with fire, he turned to look at Andra, "Together we will stand," he said.

In a voice only he could hear, Andra replied, "Yes, always together."

#  Chapter 47. Exiles of the Gods

Those who seek redemption shall know my mercy.

Those who choose to live in the shadows will not see my face.

Those who do not follow my book will be destroyed with fire and steel.

From the Book of Isarie.

The Shadow-men traveled at night thus avoiding the harsh light of the suns that reminded them of a world no longer theirs. They moved quietly with padded wagons wheels, their Trofar were muzzled to prevent them from drawing the attention of creatures roaming the Outlands at night.

They numbered in the thousands, yet they left no mark on the land, they had learned how to move over the ground leaving no trace behind. Even the Nomad's best trackers, would be hard pressed to find any sign of their wagons. At the back of each column of riders, a pair of Trofars raked the ground to erasing all trace of footprints, claw marks and wheel tracks.

They came out of their caves in the Mountains of Kresh down into the Grassland's. It was not their home but they would follow their leader wherever he led them. They trusted his judgment to give them the vengeance they so desperately wanted. They headed towards the Heart of Shawcona, a gigantic rock outcropping set in the vast openness of the Sirolian plains.

The landmark had been there for as long anyone could remember and would remain long after there was anyone left to forget. Its steep sides rose sharply, reaching upward until they ended in an immense plateau big enough to hold several tribes of Nomads. There were large caves and hiding places its base. The mountain would make a perfect fortification for anyone who cared to use it. The people of the Outlands avoided it like a wounded Whiptail, deadly Moonbuds filled the surrounding fields and demons hid in the caves.

In Nomad legend, it was said, that the great rock was once the heart of Shawcona, the Goddess of Love and Mating. She had fallen in love with Atos the God of War but he did not return her love, for his heart knew only death. When she realized he could never love her, she tore out her heart and cast it to the ground, vowing never to love again. In time her heart regrew but no Outlander dared venture to the Mountain for fear of losing their courage and losing the will to fight.

None of this mattered to the People of the Shadows, the deadly flowers held little fear for them, pain and death were their everyday companions. Their hearts held little love and as for demons, the dark places of the world were their homes and they looked into the face of horror every day of their retched lives.

The Shadow-men rode on dark Spike-backs, holding poisoned tip arrows at the ready. They surrounded their supply wagon much like the Nomads did, they carried food and water and other staples needed for a long trek. They also carried enough Grana, to sustain them for a long time.

At the head of the moving mass was a large wagon pulled by several Trofar. It bore a strong resemblance to the Holy Mother's moving shrine, it was much smaller and bore none of the ornate carvings. It was strongly made from wood, steel and the bleached bones of long dead giants but the workmanship was inferior. It was of a dark color and used Ax-Breakers shells as armor, its wheels were spiked and made formidable weapons if needed. A host of black riders guarded it as they moved along under the moonlight, inside was a person who held great meaning to them.

Egmar sat quietly, swaying to the movements of the wagon as it moved over the hard ground. It had been a long time since she'd felt such things and for a brief time, she thought she was back with her tribe, heading to the green pastures of Darmock and the Festival of the Gathering.

She sat with her eyes closed, her thoughts tuned to long ago, she saw herself as a young girl, the warm sunlight on her face, walking carefully through a field of ripe Kasha-wheat. In the distance were the tribe's tents and wagons and she could hear the Elders singing as they went about their work.

She watched herself climb up a small rise to look out over the endless expanse of openness, it seemed to go on forever. She heard a voice calling her name, she turned to see her mother standing close by. _She looks like she's alive;_ she thought; _so long ago that I lost her._

She watched a figure come to her side and touch her cheek. "What troubles you my child?" she asked lovingly.

Egmar looked at her mother, "My children are gone, I have no purpose now," she said softly, bowing her head and looking down at the ground.

Her mother reached out and lifted her chin so she could look at her face. "You are a cup-sharer, a sin-eater, you are a mother to all."

Hearing her mother's words brought tears to her eyes, she reached out and took her into her arms, holding her tightly.

Then she heard her mother whisper. "The Gods will arise."

Egmar opened her eyes to see nothing but the sparse raiment of her wagon. There was no green pasture or sunlight on her face, there was only the soft rocking from the ground and the beating of her heart. A dream, only a dream.

She sat without moving for a time, then she reached into her robe and took out a small silver bell. Karn had given her many cycles ago, she held it up by its slender cord and shook it gently. A soft sound, "Ting, Ting, Ting," filled the air and filled her sad heart with joy.

During the days and nights that followed, the Talsonar Army found they had a new enemy to fight. Reports came in about a group of warriors, led by creatures that weren't human or beast but a horrific blend of both. Unlike previous Nomad encounters, these warriors did not stand and fight, they engaged in hit and run tactics, causing great damage to the Stone City's soldiers.

They attacked mostly at night, striking hard with fire and steel, vanishing into the darkness they emerged at some other place, causing more death and destruction. They set fires in storage wagons, poisoned water supplies and built traps, inflicting damage to the Trofars pulling the wagons. When a large force was sent out to engage them, they found nothing but if a small detachment lagged behind the main force, they were never seen again. The phantom raiders were seen many times, scouting from a distance. Soldiers dared not pursue them for any great time, because they needed to stay close to their army's main body, without the Guides they would become hopelessly lost.

Fear started to filter into the Hal-Jafar, being superstitious they saw these warriors as Outland demons of some kind. Coming out of the darkness, leaving behind mutilated bodies and their fellow trooper's heads impaled on spikes. They started telling stories of dark forces moving against them and they became fearful of horrific older Gods.

Their fear grew stronger with each telling, many believed the night warriors were the first wave of evil beings coming up from the depths, to avenge their entry into the forbidden lands. Soon Talsonar soldiers were seeing demons everywhere and visions of monsters filled their dreams.

These tales did not affect the Yangmar, with their limited intelligence and conditioning, they did not know fear or care about demons. Those who ordered the Yangmar into battle, were beginning to lose their belief in their invincibility, they became reluctant to face an enemy they might not be able to kill.

More of their warriors died at the hands of Outland monsters, those few who somehow escaped the attack from the darkness, began to whisper a name that spread through the Talsonar soldiers. A name that soon became synonymous with pain and death.

Moric-Kan!

The guards standing outside the Governor's tent, listened as he screamed so loudly that the Trofar feeding nearby began to bellow. "Moric-Kan! Moric-Kan! That's all I hear! I want them destroyed, understand, destroyed!" Governor Darken beat his fist on the metal tabletop and glared at his Generals in a way that sent their blood cold. They watched the skin around the metal plate in their leaders head began to rise, as the veins in his scaly neck pounded with blood.

Darken looked at General by the name of Deth-Deltalus, a short but stoutly built man with a large nose and small pig like eyes. He was a lesser commander but so skilled at torture, it struck fear into his man. The Governor found much pleasure in that. "Why are you not able to kill a few broken Nomads? Tell me?" He beat his fist on the table again, the General did not answer. "I'll tell you why, it is because you're weak and you know what happens to those who are weak!"

The General looked at the line of severed heads, sitting on a nearby table. Their eyes had been torn out and judging by the ghastly look on their dead faces, it was done before the headsman's ax removed their heads.

The ghastly sight made Deltalus swallow hard, then clear his throat. "Ah, no your lordship, we are not weak, it's just that we cannot find them. They come and go quickly and those we do find alive, are almost dead already, either from their wounds or by their own hand but we will keep trying."

There was silence in the tent as Darken slowly rubbed the plate in his head. He seemed to calm himself some, then he began to speak once more. "Very well but I do not want excuses, I want their heads and if I cannot have theirs, I will have yours." He turned away from them, "Now go, all of you and leave me alone."

The Generals bowed and left the tent one by one. As the last of them was about to leave, the Governor suddenly motioned to one of his lesser Captains, the man stood waiting for Darken to speak. "Send me a companion for the night," he told the man, "make sure to find the best you can."

"Male or female, your lordship?" he asked.

Darken thought over his options, making up his mind he said, "Female."

The man bowed low then left, now the Governor was alone with his thoughts. _Fools;_ he thought; _why do I have such fools by my side?_

He sat in an ornate chair in front of table covered with papers, there was also a silver goblet, a gold pitcher of wine and a plate of half eaten meat. He picked up the pitcher and poured himself a cup, he'd made sure to bring the best wine in the city, after all a God must have only the finest.

_Do all Gods have such fools as their servants;_ he thought; _or do they force lesser Gods to do their bidding?_

He drank deeply of the wine, then he put it down and stared at a small table next to his bed. There was a beautifully carved set of Mindgame pieces made of ivory and gold. He went to the table and sat down next to it, looking at the intricate game's small figures, he spoke out loud. There were no slaves or concubines in the room to hear him but hearing to his own words made him feel strong.

"If only they'd move as I move you," he reached out for one of the figures and placed it on a different position on the board. "If only they could understand," then he laughed to himself' _I must find better toys;_ he thought.

He sat playing with the board pieces for a time, moving them this way and that, playing out different scenarios to occupy his busy mind. The tent flaps, were opened by the Captain and with him was a woman dressed from head to toe in a dirty robe. He could not see her face but the slim leg visible through the opening at the front of her garment, showed she would suffice for the night.

"Leave her and go," he said.

The Captain bowed low then left quickly, the Governor stood looking at the woman before him. "Remove your robe," he said coldly. He watched as the garment fell away and she stood naked before him.

_Slim legs, not too many marks,_ he thought; _she will do._

The woman was not the best of companions but the Governor had little choice. A lucky hit from one of the Nomad's guns had destroyed his pleasure wagon along with the flesh toys within. Now he had to make do with the Sin-Cravers who followed the soldiers, for a time he refused to lower his standards and use any bed companion. Events of the last few weeks had begun to take a toll on his usually unshakable nerves and he now felt the need for distraction and what better way than to indulge his flesh.

_She is a Sin-Craver that is certain but she will do._ "What is your name?" Darken asked bluntly.

The woman stood motionless, she spoke softly, "My name? My name?"

"Yes woman, tell me what they call you," Darken said angrily, "you do have a name don't you?"

The woman stood thinking. Any merchant in the streets outside the Stone City would have recognized the woman. They would have told him, she once was a gladiator in the arena and had won glory and fame with her mate. That time was past, now she was just a bed warmer to anyone with a few crystals of red Ice to spare.

"My name?" The woman repeated, then she remembered something. "My mother called me Saduk," she said softly.

It really did not matter to the Governor what name she had but if she pleased him, he could send for her again and if not, then he knew, which name to give to the executioners.

Darken went to her side and took her by the arm, he led her to his bed and they laid upon it together.

A Sillastine's lovemaking was not an act of kindness or mercy, they took what they wanted and felt little concern for their mate. Seeda had long since forgotten what a warm arm around her meant, she was content to lie quietly and empty her mind.

The Nomad Outcasts, now numbered in the hundreds and with each passing day their forces grew. How they found each other was something of a mystery, they somehow knew where to travel in thousands upon thousands of square miles of open range, to be with their kind.

They came from all the Outland tribes, the Zengarie, Ozendra, Calodon, Armrod and more. All the clans had driven out their unbelievers and they came together to make one great force. There were Elders and Frail-legs with them, the young and the old, those who refused to bend under the yoke of religious intolerance, had to leave. Some had been tortured, not for their beliefs but for offenses against those who had the Power of the Gods behind them. Petty crimes and not bowing low enough to the High Priestess brought such punishment. So they packed up their wagons and bid farewell to the tribe of their ancestors and went into the Outlands.

Coming with them were some warriors, they rode on strong Whiptails and Spike-backs, they were not permitted to take Long-Range weapons or more than a pouch full of Grana but it was enough. At first the warriors did not take kindly to sharing their Washa fires with traditional enemies and sometimes there was bloodshed. With no Talk-stone or Sun-Gazer to mediate, it was up to those they called Moric-Kan to settle arguments.

Under a stormy sky with dark clouds, threatening to break at any moment, allowing Dietas the Water Goddess to pour her gift upon the land, the warriors gathered around a makeshift altar and listen to Arn.

"No! We cannot face them in battle," he said, looking at an angry Caladon warrior. "We must wait until the time is right and our warriors are prepared."

Valen was tall and strong, with bright eyes and a warm smile he was handsome. Now he shook his head angrily, gritting his teeth as he spoke. "It is not our way, we are not cowards who strike, then run off into the night. I say we face them on the battle field and kill them like men."

Around him stood a dozen or more members of his former tribe, all driven out for various offenses against the High Priestesses, or just for not fitting in. Whatever the reason now they wanted blood and to lose themselves in the killing madness.

Arn stood up and shook his fist at the man. "If we strike too soon, it will be our blood only on the battle field, we must wait."

Kuno, standing to the left of Arn, moved forward, "Listen to him and Andra, they know how to defeat these city dwellers."

Valen glanced at the woman at Arn's side; _she is dressed like a warrior and she defeated Ashra Doom in the challenge pit;_ he thought; _but can she lead us? "_ It is this, this Half-Soul who has weakened your arm," he said boldly.

Instinctively, Arn reached for his ax but Andra put her hand on him and stopped him from raising his weapon. She turned to the warrior who had insulted her. "If you think my arm is weak, then test it for yourself."

At those words, a cheer went up from the warriors, around them. Without a word, Valen stalked around the rock separating them and raised his weapon. "They may call you Moric-Kan but I see no dragon here, come and I will..."

Before he could say anything else, Andra spun around and struck him in the face with the heel of her boot. With a loud grunt Valen went down and lay there with a cut on his lip. The warriors yelled wildly.

"She has cheated," said one.

"A trick by the Half-Soul," someone shouted from the back.

"She struck before he was ready!" said another.

"An insult to the challenge!" someone else screamed.

Andra stood listening to them for a time, then she spoke in a loud clear voice. "Yes, I cheated, I tricked him, I struck before he was ready," she said proudly. "Yet he is down, the Talsonar don't care about the ways of your people, they don't' care about your laws or challenges or honor, they only want to exterminate you!" She let her words sink in, then spoke again. "I have watched them, I've seen how they make war, if you will trust us we will show you how to defeat them." She reached down and helped Valen to his feet, she gave him a hard look, "There is no shame in being beaten, there is only shame if you give up."

Kuno smiled; _she has learned our ways, she is a true warrior._

Then Arn shouted out to the warriors, "We no longer follow the Holy Book but we are still strong." He lifted his battle ax high above his head. "We are no longer The Chosen of the Gods but if we stand together, the Gods will fear us, so now I say we are no longer of different tribes. We will fight as one, the ground will tremble to the sound of our coming, we will fight as one and our Gods will be, Earth, Wind and Fire!"

A strong breeze blew from the North, as one, the warriors repeated the words. "Earth! Wind! Fire!"

They too lifted their weapons to the night sky, as they did, the thick clouds cracked and heavy rain fell onto the Outcast warriors.

Arn felt the rain on his face and he listened for the thunder as lightning broke across the sky. The sound of thunder rolled over the Sirolian plains and made the ground shake under his feet. Some warriors looked upward with fear in their eyes.

Arn shouted out above the din. "As one!"

Andra stood by his side and lifted her ax to the sky she repeated the words. "As one."

Then all the warriors began shouting out, some beating their weapons on the ground. Flashes of light filled the dark sky illuminating the warrior's faces and making them look like maddened demons of the night.

Andra joined in the chanting but her heart was not filled with rage. _Death;_ she thought; _is this why I lived, to bring death to others?_ There was no answer just the maddened screams of the Outlanders and a War-God's booming hammer, thundering in the night sky.

#  Chapter 48. Death Skies

Isarie battled with her father, Arm-Ra, for control of the universe and when she defeated him, she sat and wept.

During their battle all the Elder Gods were destroyed and now she was alone.

Her tears mixed with the blood on her hands and droplets fell upon the ground.

A man and a woman up rose from them, she looked at them and smiled for she was no longer alone.

Now she had The Chosen to see her face.

From the Book of Isarie.

General Yung's army was unstoppable. They'd moved over the land like a great steel monster, killing all who stood before them, driving onward like the fires of the Burning Time. The Shadow-men guides, led them across the Outlands, with their help, the General was able to crush any Nomads who came out to meet him. Soon there was none to stand in his way, he laughed to himself and dreamed of glory and how he would someday rule not only the Great City but all the lands of Gorn.

He drove his troops across the open plains of Greenland's but now, he refused to listen to his guide's warnings. After all, he had defeated the terrors of the Outlands and held his men together, to face of the warriors who came out of the night shouting, "Moric-Kan!"

He rode proudly on a heavily armored war wagon, surrounded by his best soldiers. He knew the Gods were on his side and in the days ahead, there was nothing to fear. He watched a dusty officer run up to his wagon and shout out to him.

"General Yung," the Captain called, "the Guides say, we must circle to the mountains and not venture into the land ahead."

Yung looked at the Captain, "To the mountains?" He looked at a large stand of trees and vegetation just over the next rise, "Nonsense, there is a good location ahead to make camp, tell the commanders, we will not turn, we go forward."

The Captain saluted, "Very well General," then left quickly to carry the message to the other officers who in turn would order their troops forward.

The General peered through his heavy field glasses, scanning the terrain around the oasis they were approaching. _The mountains? Nonsense, why waste time when we can drive ahead?_ He lowered the glasses and handed them to an aid. _I have proved the stronger and soon I shall be the strongest._ He smiled at the aid, "Tell the trumpeters to sound out and the drummers to beat the march." _Let them run from us, let them know fear._

In a short time, the air was filled with the sound of triumph and the ground shook to the pounding victorious feet. They marched up the rise and could see the lush oasis before them, without warning, the grass beneath their feet began to move. At first, just a small tremble but then it grew, soon the whole surface began to move and the Yangmar at the head of the army, refused to march. They stood close together and grunted in terror, their masters lashed out at them with Rimar hide whips but still they refused to move. The Hal-Jafar jumped out of their wagons, chamber rifles ready but there was no enemy to be seen just the ground shaking violently.

General Yung's war-wagon stopped, the Trofar pulling it began to bellow and paw the ground. With the ground continuing to shake, the Talsonar army's leader saw something that made his blood freeze.

As he watched, the oasis began to rise and continued growing upward until it blocked out the sun's, turning day into night. He had no name for the monster coming towards them but any Outland's child knew, it was Ashra-Doom, Earth-shaker.

The great Land-beast had been awakened from its slumber and now it would show what happens when a sleeping God is disturbed. With a blast of sound that shook the air, the monster moved forward crushing all in its path and sending the Talsonar soldiers screaming in terror.

The Yangmar threw down their weapons and broke from the chains that held them. They ran back into the Spike-backs, sending them into and overturning the supply wagons behind them. The Hal-Jafar had never seen such a creature, some fired their chamber rifles but to no effect. The few remaining operational Long-Range weapons were unable to do anything to stop the titanic beast marching towards them. The huge monster's gigantic feet fell upon the army and ground it to dust.

Soon, soldiers were fleeing in all directions, they ran screaming across the plains, leaving everything behind and never looking back. The Earth-shaker didn't stop, it moved onward destroying everything in its path. A few officers tried to fight back, they released the Runners and watched them race at the monster to exploded in fire as they impacted on the huge legs. The charges did little more than enrage the creature, they could only watch as giant tentacles swung down to pick up their soldiers, like insects and fling them into the sky. There was nothing to stop it, no guns or Disruptors could harm it, no creature could face it, nothing could be done.

General Yung did not stand with his men, when he saw the creature coming, he bolted and ran from the battle like a coward. He turned once to see his command wagon disappear under one massive foot of the beast that seemed to fill the sky. He heard a roaring sound that shattered his eardrums and penetrated his body, causing his bones to break, he fell to the ground. He lay there for a moment, then rolled over and looked up at a darkening sky, with a scream, he saw it turn black and then came crushing oblivion.

Far North of General Yung's scattering army, were a group of warriors, led by Arn and the woman known as Moonbud, they were not a tribe known to any Outlander, they were a tribe of Outcast warriors

Men and women, driven out of their clans by the laws of the Gods, now bonded together into a force never before seen. The warrior's armor was no longer bright, it was darkly stained with Safic berry juice mixed with ash from the Washa fires, making them invisible at night. They also carried large round shields made from Itarian steel scavenged from fallen Lightships and ancient machines that dotted the land. Their Whiptails were also armored with plates fashioned to cover their vital organs. Made by the Iron-workers who came to join them and strength tested with chamber rifles taken from butchered Talsonar.

The rifles were of little use to the warriors, try as she might, Andra, could not train them to use the weapons in battle. The Whiptails panicked at the sound of the weapons being fired close to them, causing them to throw off their riders. So the guns were put aside, apart from a few that Andra mounted to her own beast, Osh and Endo also carried some in their wagon.

Other changes were made too, Andra insisted on the wagons being painted in colors that made them blend into their surroundings. This met with much resistance from the Elders who had inherited the vehicles from their ancestors. They saw no reason to insult their memory with gray and brown stripes, in the end they did as she asked.

During their most successful raids, the Outcasts acquired several Long-Range weapons. These guns were too big to be carried by a Spike-back but they managed to load them onto a wagon, along with a good supply of ammunition. Now, with Kuno as their leader, they had the ability to strike at their enemy from a distance. Andra showed them how to combine their firepower to make a devastating barrage.

The army of Outcasts made their way across the Greenland's with a new banner flying proudly in the air. Fashioned from cloth and stained a dark red with blood, it also bore an emblem, two dragons heads facing one another. This banner told all who saw it of the coming of the warriors of Moric-Kan.

Arn and Andra rode at the head of the Outcasts, their black armor and dragon shaped helmets made them look like demons from the Pit. Andra looked a little different, on her face she had a small tattoo. On her left cheek was the stylized image of a flower, its stem held thorns, it was a Moonbud, the flower that kills. Now all who saw it knew her name and knew her strength.

Riding beside the duo, was Kuno, followed by an army numbered in the thousands, warriors eager for battle and ready to die for their leader.

Arn looked up at the clear morning sky and saw a dozen or more Sun-droppers circling lazily. _They will not strike;_ he thought; _t_ _hey know we are too strong_. He looked at Andra beside him, she sat proud and straight in her saddle, she held her ax ready and her head was held high. "You will be remembered," he said quietly

Andra smiled at him, "what did you say?" she asked.

"I said your name will be remembered," he replied. "They will sing songs about you and tales of your deeds will be told around the Washa fires."

Hearing this, Andra laughed, "My name in songs? Now wouldn't that be something." _But what will they say, will I be remembered as a bringer of death or a savior? "_ I think they will sing about you more than me." She looked out over the land and saw a large herd of Rimar in the distance. As she gazed at the huge beasts and their seemingly endless numbers an idea sprung into her mind. "Tell me what you know about Rimar," she said.

Some distance behind Arn and Andra, Osh and Endo's wagon was bouncing over a large rut, as it jolted the old man grabbed hold of the railing.

"Watch where you're going," he shouted to Endo, who was doing his best to hold onto the reins, "you will throw me out of the wagon if you keep driving like that." He adjusted his robes and picked up the dried Rimar skin parchment he was writing upon, "and slow down, we will get where we're going soon enough." He picked up his writing pen from the floor and looked for the Safic berry juice, he used for marking, "Now where did my ink go?"

As he looked around, the wagon hit another rut, sending the old man tumbling into the back of the wagon. As he tried to pick himself up, Endo started to emit a sound that could only be called a laugh, although it was very guttural and ended with a loud snort.

Osh righted himself in his seat and looked at Endo, who was shaking his head and continuing to make the laughter like sounds. "What's so amusing?" Osh asked. He realized what he was asking. _Sandjar aren't supposed to laugh, maybe he is learning more than I know. "_ Did you think that was amusing?"

Endo looked at his father and pointed to him with one of his clawed fingers. "Yes much laughing," and then he snorted and started to chuckle once more.

For a moment the Callaxion was very angry, he looked at his son and heard the laughter filling the air. He soon forgot his embarrassment and started to laugh too. "Well, I guess I have something else to add to my observations, Sandjar can laugh."

He found his ink and started to write once more, a look came over Endo's face. He pulled the reins to one side, causing the wagon to strike a large rock, the impact made the vehicle shake and Osh was sent tumbling forward, causing ink to splash all over his clean robe.

Several wagons near to the old Callaxion's, heard shouts of rage mixed with the sound of laughter.

North of the Heart of Shawcona, Anais the newly crowned King, rode safely in his well-guarded wagon. Unlike all other Madrigal leaders, he did not ride in front of his warriors on a strong Whiptail, battle ax in hand. This King lay upon soft cushions with a cup of aged Po held tightly in his fist. Other King's wore war-armor, under blazing sky and freezing winds but this one wore an embroidered robe of the finest material and sat safely out of the elements. While leaders past thought only of their people's welfare, this one filled his mind with ways of punishing them.

Beside Anais lay Soffca, naked, she had been with him day and night since he'd become King, making sure he wanted for nothing. When he was hungry she brought him food, when he was thirsty she filled his cup and when he spoke she listened to every word. She lay quietly as he finally finished a long and very detailed description of how he would rule the Outlands, when the Talsonar were defeated.

"Then I will have them build a new Longhouse in the Greenland's, one twice the size of any other. There I will have a great throne made from solid gold and beside it, one of silver just for you." He took a gulp of his well-aged wine, then looked at a quiet Soffca. "Would you like that?" he asked.

Soffca nodded and smiled at him, "Yes," she said softly.

The young King smiled back, "Of course you would." He took a few more sips of his fragrant wine, then he looked at a wonderfully carved statue of the Goddess Isarie. It leaned against the inside of the wagon along with a pile of gold and silver, several large Rimar horns and a basket of polished shell necklaces. Bounty taken from the Outcasts before they were driven from the tribe.

As he looked at the icon, his face showed something it had not shown for a long time, remorse.

He turned to look at the naked woman lying on his bed. "Do you love your mother?" he suddenly asked his companion.

Soffca thought for a moment. "Yes, she gave me everything."

Anais looked into his drinking cup, "My mother gave me nothing, she was far too busy caring for my brothers and sister than me." He paused and took a sip from his golden cup. _All I wanted was for her to see me;_ he thought; _to talk to me, to hold me, now she is gone, gone._ As quickly as it appeared, the remorseful look vanished, to be replaced by the cold look of a man, who cared for nothing. "She is gone and good riddance, let them all go, I do not need them, I do not need anyone!" He gazed into Soffca's eyes, "Just you."

He put his empty cup down and took his forbidden lover into his arms, for a brief time he forgot his hate.

Safe under the Heart of Shawcona, the Shadow-men waited. They had traveled to the great rock and hidden themselves in the many dark caves at its base. They would be safe there, out of sight of all Gods and men. In the darkness of their hideaway, they made ready for the battle ahead, they sharpened their weapons and re-strung their bows with fresh, sinew from the hind legs of a dead Whiptail. The strong fiber would propel their deadly shafts over a great distance to strike deep into the hearts of their enemies. It was not enough just to kill those they hated, they also took time to coat the iron tips with the poison of the deadly Moonbud. Even if they did not die from an arrow strike, they would soon be screaming in pain and wishing they had.

There was one amongst them who wished no one harm, Egmar knew her words would fall on deaf ears. Try as she might, she could not turn the Shadow-men from their path of vengeance and so she tried to ease their pain, with ancient remedies she'd learned from the Touch-tenders. She bathed their cracked skin in the juice of the Hovock plant and used Rock-worm juice to ease their pain. It was not much but it helped her to feel that she deserved the name, mother that so many called her.

She sat in her wagon looking at a small table that held several bowls of cooked Rimar, Kasha bread and some sweet fruit. She picked up a few morsels of food and put them into her mouth, she chewed slowly, then looked up at the Darkman, who was sitting across from her.

"Are you not eating?" he said in a soft voice.

Egmar had gotten used to her lost son's horrific features but she still felt pain when she saw his cold eyes.

"I am not hungry tonight," she replied, she took a small sip from a silver cup and looked at the Shadow-man. "You were gone a long time, where did you go?"

The Darkman took a piece of meat from his bowl and held it up with his claw like fingers. "The grass eats from the earth, the Rimar consume the grass, we consume the Rimar, we are swallowed by time and time, is devoured by eternity. All things are food for something else," he smiled and put the meat into his mouth.

Egmar shook her head slowly, "Is there nothing that gives your heart pleasure my son?"

The Darkman leaned back in his chair, "Pleasure?" he asked. "Those who have pleasure are never satisfied, they live their lives seeking even more pleasure until they die. Pleasure? Yes, one day I will be fulfilled." He reached out and poured himself a cup of wine, he drank some then spoke again. "When all who made me what I am, are dead and I sit drinking their blood, like I drink this wine, then I will have pleasure."

Egmar reached across the table and touched the Darkman's rotting hand. "When there is no love in your heart, everyone is an enemy and no one can destroy them all."

Her son pulled his hand away, like a Blaze-ant had bitten him. "I will," he proclaimed. He smiled, turning his features into the face of a laughing demon. "From the north come the people of the Outlands, from the South come the Talsonar soldiers, soon they will meet here. Each thinking they will have victory, each believing the People of the Darkness will come to their aid." He took a small sip of his wine, "They are fools, they will destroy each other and when their bodies lie rotting in the sunlight, they will know how we feel. How we have lived our lives, how we have suffered and then all the lands will be ours and even the Gods will have to bow to our power!"

Egmar sat quietly looking at her son. _H_ _ow much he has suffered;_ she thought; _how bitter the years of his life. "_ Is there nothing for you my son? Nothing that will quieten your soul?"

He shook his head, "No, nothing, for I have no soul." Then he stood up and left the wagon. Outside he saw his people gathered around small fires, readying their weapons for the battle ahead. They did not speak or sing or dance, they did not pray to Gods for courage or mercy for their souls if they fell on the battlefield, none of that mattered anymore.

Walking amongst them, the Darkman could not help but think of the life that might have been, of a world in the sunlight, filled with the sweet sound of wind and rain and life. The sweet dream soon came to an end and his thoughts turned once more to revenge and a sky filled with death.

The ground quaked, it rolled all over the Greenland's and shook the Mountains of Kresh and the great Western Sea. To the Nomads, it meant their victory would soon be at hand, the shaking was a sign from the Gods to The Chosen of Gorn.

When the Talsonar felt the ground move under them, it meant their victories of the past weeks had been enough to awaken the Spirits of the Earth a signal that a new order was about to begin. A world ruled by the iron hand and will of their leader.

To the Outcasts the shaking was an omen of things to come, a sign that they would triumph, the old ways were breaking apart and a new age of the Nomads was at hand.

To Osh it was something else entirely, he sat by his Washa fire under a night sky crackling with electricity and full of clouds that rolled in, then suddenly vanished leaving flashes of red and green and blue. He felt uneasy, it wasn't just these strange storms raging overhead or the prickly feeling over his body, like a million crawling Blaze-ants. It was a small voice in his head, a voice he'd heard before in the dark cave in the Hollow Hills. A voice that wasn't a voice, knowledge without knowing, Osh ignored his companions and the delicious meal they were enjoying, he stared into the fire.

_That voice;_ he thought; _answers, answers to questions, almost, a feeling?_ He heard Andra speaking to him, "Osh? Osh, are you alright?"

The old man shook his head and looked across the fire at Andra. "What? Yes, yes I'm fine," he said, "I was just thinking."

"You think too much," Arn said with a laugh, "There are just so many thoughts that can be done in one day and you've used them all."

Andra took up the lighthearted ridicule, "Yes, let it all go for now, join us."

Osh nodded his approval, "Yes, you're right." He took a spoonful of Hagar soup and savored its spicy taste, he looked at Andra, "Don't tell me you cooked this?"

For a moment Andra looked pleased, "And why not?" She remembered what a disaster she was at cooking and her she knew that it was far from a secret from those present. "I didn't cook it, so what?."

Arn was just about to say something, when Endo pointed to himself, "I cooked the soup, I cooked good," he said proudly.

Osh smiled at his son, "Yes, you cooked it to perfection, you're learning very well my son."

The Sandjar looked very pleased then he turned to Andra. "Did I cooked good mother?" he asked.

Andra looked at Endo, then at Osh. "Why does he keep calling me mother? I didn't give birth to him, therefore I'm not his mother. Tell him to stop calling me mother."

Osh looked at his friend, "Tell him yourself."

Andra looked over at Arn, then at the Sandjar, she inspected his large yellow eyes, wanting to see a creature that neither knew love nor feeling of any kind. In those eyes lived something that separates those who dwell in the light from the vile beasts of the darkness. In those eyes was intelligence and love, the love of a son for his mother.

_He hurt me;_ she thought; _but all children hurt their parents, am I just a bringer of death or can I be more, a giver of love?_ In that instant of time, she thought she saw her mother standing behind Endo, smiling, then like a phantom she was gone _._

_A giver of love?_ She smiled and held out her empty bowl to Endo, "Your soup was delicious, may I have some more?" She did not say anything else but it was clear, she was telling Endo she cared for him, that she would be his mother.

Endo took the bowl and poured hot soup into it, then handed it back to Andra, "Good soup, father taught me, I teach you?"

Hearing Endo offer this skill to Andra made her laugh, "You're going to teach me? Now I've heard everything."

The Sandjar nodded, "Yes, anyone can learn."

A great laugh broke the air as Arn repeated his words. "Did you hear him? Anyone can learn." He looked at Endo, "I was wrong about you, you may not be a warrior but you're Lord of the Cooking Pots."

There was more laughter and it continued far into the night, lightening the hearts of those who heard it

Darken watched the flashes of light in the night sky, he stood outside his tent, trying to count the bolts of lightning streaked across the churning sky. He wondered if the Gods were watching. _Tomorrow we will reach our goal;_ he thought; _a place the Guides call the Heart of Shawcona, there Leeander and Yung will join with me and defeat the last of the Nomads._ These words in his mind made him feel strong. _I will be a strong God for my subjects. I will show them that the weak have no place in my world._ He looked up as a bolt of lightning flashed close overhead and _when the parasites are gone, I will have strong toys to move as I wish, toys fit for a God._

He looked out over the campsite and smiled, the camp fires reached out as far as he could see. He knew it was filled with soldiers, toys who would do as he wished. He went back into his tent. Standing at the opening he gazed at Seeda, laying naked on his bed. Beside her was a bowl of red Ice, he could see a few crystals caked around her mouth. It didn't really matter, she was just a bed warmer, nothing more.

_A broken toy;_ he thought; _but still useful._ He walked purposefully towards the sleeping female.

The Outland tribes, led by the Almadra made their camp some distance from the Heart of Shawcona. They dared not go closer to the scared rock lest they lose their ability to wage war against the Talsonar soldiers.

Obeying their ancestor's the laws, they made camp, away from the landmark and not too close to the fields of Moonbuds, in bloom under the lightning skies. They took comfort, knowing Obec, the High Priestess and the other Holy Women of Isarie, had assured them, the Goddess would come to their aid at the right time. With her divine power, she would destroy the invaders and return the land to the care of the Outlanders.

So as the heavens flashed and thunder boomed, the women who spoke for the Goddess met under Obec's Holy Tent and listened as she told them of things to come.

"Isarie will guide us," Obec said with a firm voice, "if we trust in her power, we will be saved."

Around a large table sat many Nomad High Priestesses. Behind each, stood a tall powerful Thungodra each had a mark on their face denoting their tribe, their ears were filled with wax to prevent them hearing. They wore dark armor and held sharp battle axes, in the flickering torch light, they seemed like dark warriors from the Pit of Marloon.

Handmaidens, dressed in a simple red robe with a thin band of gold around their foreheads stood around the room. Each held a silver tray filled with sweet fruit, tea and other things that might be needed. They waited quietly and would stand there all night if need be, it was their duty to their mistresses and their Goddess.

With their safety assured the Holy Women waited, the most powerful sat closest to Obec while those of lesser authority sat at the further away. Writings in the Holy Book said, all The Chosen are equal in the Eyes of the Goddess but this passage was often overlooked when it came to seating arrangements.

Samtha had waited a long time for this moment, ever since their meeting in the underground chamber near the Eye of Isarie. She prayed and dreamed of the time when all of Gorn would know the laws of the Holy Book. She stood up and spoke loudly, "The words of our Holy Mother are true, we must trust in the Goddess, only she can stop the Half-Souls who walk our lands." Samtha sat down.

Another woman stood up, it was Elna, the blind Priestess of the Armrod. She held up her thin hand, her words were soft but strong, "Samtha is a wise woman and her words are true but I have heard, there is another power in the land. Two dragons in the west, striking terror in all who see them."

There was a low murmur from the Holy Women, it ended when Obec stood up once more. "There is only one power, the power of the Goddess, all else is nothing." She let her words sink in, then spoke again. "I have said that we are the hammer and when the Shadow-men come they will be the anvil. Together we will forge a weapon that will destroy the unbelievers and any phantom creatures that strike in the night."

A loud boom of thunder shook the tent and Obec took full advantage of it, as a sign from above. "You hear that? It is the weapon Isarie used to defeat Arm-Ra, beating in the heavens, its power will be ours, for we are The Chosen, we are her true children." She reached out and took a few Grana crystals from a golden bowl. When she did the holy women also stood up and took some, of the green crystals from a bowl in front of them. Obec closed her eyes and spoke with the voice of authority. "Togasttra emo entralac, give to us your strength, the Salt of the Earth."

The others around the table repeated the Holy Mother's words. "The Salt of the Earth," then they put the sacred crystals into their mouths.

Outside the tent, the Thungodra stood guard, they watched the flashing sky and bolts of lightning striking the ground. One glowing shaft struck a wagon, blasting it into a million fragments and killed several warriors sitting nearby. As the camp ran to aid the victims, the dark armored warriors stood unmoved. They were told to guard the tent and they would do so and even if Atos the God of War stood before them, they would not desert their posts.

The storm continued to rage all through the night, bringing howling winds, torrential rain and fear. All the lands of Gorn felt its power, reminding those who looked to the sky of forces undreamed of, waiting in the darkness.

#  Chapter 49. Red Ruin

Blood and Pain, Fear and Death.

These are the lands we tread.

We march to madness in dark dreams.

And sing to forgotten dead.

We ask no mercy from the Gods.

And give none in return.

We battle in our Goddess' name.

And in dark fires burn.

War song of the Almadra.

The sky still flashed with power as the morning broke over the Outlands, all through the night the thunder and lightning continued, violent winds blew and the ground shook as if monsters were moving under the earth.

The Outcast warriors had risen well before dawn and prepared themselves for battle. They feasted and told stories of past battles to raise their courage, they sang the old songs of great heroes and their deeds. They painted their faces red and black, making sure their Journey Nails were about their necks. Some prayed and some simply looked up at the vaults of heaven. The fire of war burned in all of them, a dark fire, soon to consume them in an orgy of death and destruction. When all was done, they dressed in their dark armor and took up their battle-axes and shields. They sharpened their daggers in case they were needed but prayed they would die in battle rather than have to take their own lives in defeat.

They did not feed the Whiptails, knowing they were going to war, they wanted their mounts hungry and therefore more dangerous. The great beasts seemed to understand, soon they would be feasting on man flesh, they pawed the ground and roared in anticipation.

The Spike-backs were also uneasy, perhaps it was the thunder and lightning or maybe they could smell death in the air. Whatever the reason they grunted and swiped their powerful tails from side to side making it harder for their riders to prepare them for war. The Iron-workers had fashioned large steel plates that now hung from the beast's sides. It would protect them from the Talsonar's chamber rifles and offer some protection from Long-Range weapon shrapnel.

The heavy guns were cleaned and re-cleaned, Andra had insisted upon this and it was done. The armored gun wagons were attached to strong Trofar and pulled into position. Kuno took up his place at their head, he was eager for the fight to come but he busied himself by chewing a piece of seasoned Rimar meat, washed down with several cups of seasoned Po.

At the back of the long column came the supply wagons, with them, the Elders and the young. They would not be engaging in battle and stayed well behind, they would tend the wounded after the fighting was done. They hoped for victory but were prepared to end their lives and take the children into the Afterlife with them, rather than fall into their enemy's unforgiving hands.

At the head of the Outcast warriors rode Arn and Andra on their Whiptails, they did not speak, there was no need. Their ancient armor was fitted with long red cloth cloaks that furled in the wind, making them easy to be spotted by their warrior's on the battle field. The battle plan had been settled and the leaders of the tribes in their army, had pledged to follow those orders, even to the death. It had taken most of the night to get agreement but they'd still found a few moments to lie in each others arms and forget about war and death, if only for a short time.

Arn shifted the weight of his battle ax, then looked at the woman with whom he'd chosen to spend his life. _Isarie, if I am to die today;_ he thought; _t_ _hen let me die beside her._

It was a simple prayer to a God he no longer believed in but looking at his mate, he hoped he was wrong about his belief and that the Goddess would show mercy to a disbeliever and grant his request.

Andra knew that the rain had made the ground soft and that the wind would carry their scent. That might be to their disadvantage but the booming thunderclaps masked the sound of their Whiptails, as far as she knew, Talsonar scouts had not spotted them yet. She let these and many other questions roll through her mind, then looked over at Arn.

_I don't want to die today;_ she prayed but _if I do please let me die bravely, standing beside him._

She did not know if the Gods of her dead world still existed but she hoped that somewhere they would hear her prayer and show her mercy.

Behind Arn and Andra came Osh and Endo's wagon. It took time and a lot of talking from Osh to convince Arn and Andra to let them join in the fight. Osh's arguments proved formidable and in the end they reluctantly agreed to include them in the army. Osh sat next to Endo, wearing pieces of armor, clearly too big for his small frame, he tried to calculate the odds of them winning.

"If reports of their force are true and if we can maintain the element of surprise and if they continue on their present course, we should encounter them very soon." He scratched his large head,"Now let me see, our warriors are coming from the west at a speed of approximately four point seven marks in a..." He looked at Endo driving the wagon, the Sandjar shook his head from side to side.

"To many thoughts, let them go," Endo said.

The Callaxion smiled, "Yes, let it go," then he settled back into his seat and emptied his head of everything except the smell of fresh grass on the wind.

What thoughts went though the Sandjar's mind were unknown. He sat quietly, holding the reins tightly in his clawed hands. He wore a metal breastplate and a pair of strong leggings, on his head was a round helmet with a short spike protruding from the top. It was not the style of the Nomads but the Iron-workers who fashioned the headpiece thought it added menace. Beside him lay a chamber rifle, strange as it seemed Endo had become very good at firing the weapon and now carried one wherever he went. Now as he guided their wagon to a battle that would decide the future of a world, he said nothing.

To the South of the Heart of Shawcona, Darken Droganus' forces marched forward in a great wall of steel. The Yangmar were at the front then the Hal-Jafar and the heavy guns behind them. It was their regular formation and it had proved unstoppable in the past. Far behind them came the supply wagons and the camp followers.

Beside the Governor's great battle wagon were the Guide's armored vehicles, inside the Shadow-men who had proved themselves by leading the Talsonar to victory after victory. They found no pleasure in what they had done, for they knew they were only a small piece of a greater plan. A plan to lead the Talsonar into a trap, with no chance of escape, a trap that was soon to close, crushing the Stone City people like a Rock-runner in a Sun-dropper's claws.

Governor Darken stood proudly, on the observation deck of his huge command wagon. Beside him were his officers and three slaves to hold food and drink, lest he wished to quench his thirst or fill his stomach before the coming battle. The Sillastine was too excited to eat or drink, his mind was filled with visions of glory and a vast battle field strewn with the bodies of the Outlanders.

_I've done it;_ he thought; _I've waited all my life for this day and when it's finished there will be no one to challenge me as the God I am._

Above him lightning flashed and with it thunder, to some of his officers, it foretold of dark things to come but to the Governor it sounded like the Gods welcoming him into their circle.

The sound of thunder woke Seeda from her dreams of pleasure. Now she sat shaking with cold in a dark corner of the command wagon and trying to remember where she was and how she got there. She could not remember days past or even her name, that was all gone now, frozen in long, forgotten dreams of worlds beyond worlds and times long past.

Standing on a ledge jutting out from the Heart of Shawcona, Egmar and the Darkman looked out over the land, below lay the entrances to the caves, the hiding place of the Shadow-men. Above them rose the high cliffs of the great rock and above that rolling clouds in the sky. They stood against the wind and the sound of thunder that filled the air and waited. They waited for a meeting of worlds, a meeting that would decide who the Gods favored, the Half-Souls of far Off-Worlds or the people who called this land their home.

Egmar and the Darkman had wrapped themselves in long robes against the wind and shielded their eyes with hoods, the sunlight wasn't strong but the flashes of lightning made them turn their heads. Beside them stood several black clad figures holding long Rimar horns, at their leader's command, they would signal the People of the Darkness to come out into the light.

The Queen's forsaken son pointed to the horizon, to a long cloud of rising dust, "Here they come." His voice was full of anticipation, "I told you they would come." He turned towards another swirling dust cloud to the North, "Coming to greet them, The Chosen of the Gods." He spat the last word out like bitter root, "How easy it was to get them to come, I simply offered what they wanted most and they accepted my invitation gladly."

"What did you promise them?" Egmar asked.

The Darkman laughed softly, "What all creatures of their ilk want, I told them, they could destroy their enemies and my people would help." He laughed again, "They would die rather than give up what they have but offer what they want and they come with hands held out, like beggars in the streets."

Egmar listened to him laugh again, then she said, "You would stand by and watch your own people die without helping them?"

"My people?" his voice rose in anger. "My people left me to die in the Wastelands, my people would have killed me on sight. My people made me what I am and now I will watch as they are wiped from the face of the land and with them the city vermin will die too!"

Egmar stood looking at her lost son, then she spoke softly, so that only he would hear, "And then?"

The Darkman looked hard at her, "What do you mean?"

"With all of your enemies gone, what will you do with your hate, will it die with them?"

The Darkman stood in silence, then he leaned close to his mother, "I will always have my hate," he said softly. He turned away and looked out over the land.

Obec had waited all her long life for this day, she had planned and schemed and killed to make sure this day would come. She sat in a chair at the front of the Holy wagon, her cold heart began to beat faster and a smile lifted the corners of her thin lips,

At last; she thought; a _t last the day is here, the power of the Goddess is in my hands. I will wield it and cleanse the land of all who doubt her strength, I will watch as The Chosen purify this world with fire and steel._

She sat back and listened to the Handmaiden's chanting and listened to the Voice of Isarie as it broke the skies with her thundering words of truth.

Anais did not hear words of truth, he only heard thunder and it made him afraid. He did not want to lead the Almadra warriors into battle but the High Priestess insisted he show his bravery. She told him he had nothing to fear, because he would be surrounded by a whole company of her strongest Thungodra.

He sat uneasily on his Whiptail, holding his battle ax in a hand that shook with fear. _W_ _hen the day is done and I am victorious, I will rid myself of this old woman and rule as I see fit. I will make Soffca my Queen, then together we will see the bent knee of all who displease me._

Hearing those words in his mind made him feel less afraid but his hands still sweated and his heart pounded like the war drums that sounded in his ears.

With the Almadra warriors came the other Outlands tribes. The Armrod, the Caladon, the Bal-Borie, they were all present and with them came their King's, Kadar and Balgar were eager for the battle to begin. Their warriors were rested and their weapons sharpened, it would be a glorious day to remember and songs of their victory would be sung in the Longhouses for ages to come.

As the storm clouds increased and the winds blew in waves over the land, the two great armies came together at last.

It cannot be said who made the first move, the sound of beating of drums and the sound of signal horns filled the air at the same time. The Nomads screaming their war cries, charged into battle like demons of death. As their roaring Whiptails raced forward, the Talsonar heavy guns opened fire. The shells came whistling overhead and fell upon the first line of Nomads. In a blinding flash of fire, a dozen or more of their best warriors were blown to pieces and their bloody remains fell upon the riders behind them, coating their armor with gore. This did not turn their charge, they dug their spurs in and continued to race ahead. Again and again the guns fired and more warriors were killed but still they came in a great wave of hate and death.

High above the carnage, the Darkman watched and laughed. "You see, the fools race to meet death like a lover to his love, how quickly they die and for what? For a Goddess who does not exist."

Egmar watched her people being slaughtered, "They do not die for nothing, they die to protect their families, the ones who love them."

"Love them?" the Darkman shouted, "they poison their own children in the name of their Gods, there is no love in them," he turned to watch those who had cast him out to die.

The Governor smiled as he watched the Nomads dying by the score; _f_ _oolish toys;_ he thought; _so_ _small and weak, soon they will be no more._ He turned to an officer by his side, "Give the signal for the Yangmar to advance."

The officer quickly lifted a banner over his head, the sign for the huge soldiers to march. In a matter of seconds, the Pigmen's masters blew their horns and the armored beasts marched forward.

They fired their chamber rifles as they advanced at the oncoming warriors. The volleys were very effective against the unprepared Nomads, those at the front went down, causing those behind to stumble over their bodies, causing even more to fall. With their guns empty, the Yangmar drew their hand weapons and roaring in fury they fell upon the Outlanders.

They had very little fighting skill but their great size and thick armor made them a match for the Nomads. They could withstand heavy blows and suffer wounds that would kill lesser creatures and all the while, they stuck back powerfully bringing down rider and beast alike.

They still suffered greatly, the Whiptails ripped and tore into them, biting off great chunks of flesh or impaling them on spiked tails. Even when their riders were killed they fought until their limbs were shredded or their heads cut from their bodies.

Tamar-Ran watched the carnage from his war-wagon, the Hal-Jafar had not yet been called into battle, so he amused himself, watching the fighting and taking sips from a large tankard of Marsh-beer.

_The Nomads fight well;_ he thought; _such a waste of good soldiers._ He took another long drink and continued watching.

Anais didn't watch, when the first barrage of shells hit his warriors, he turned his Whiptail and rode away as fast as he could to Obec's Holy Wagon. There were tears of fear in his eyes when he jumped from his mount to catch hold of the moving shrine.

His fear gave him strength and he clung on for his life, he climbed up to the first level, then with Talsonar shells bursting around, him he started up to the lookout deck. He climbed to the highest part of the vehicle and raced to the ornately dressed old woman who was surrounded by Handmaidens. "You promised we would have victory!" His voice was breaking with terror, "You said I would be victorious!"

Obec sat calmly in her chair and with a soft emotionless voice said, "Did I? Do you really think the Goddess would give power to a weakling like you?"

Hearing the old woman's words made the cowardly King trembled with rage. "You are nothing but a frail old woman and I do not need your false Gods!" Saying those harsh words, Anais drew the golden dagger from his belt and went towards the High Priestess. Before he could take more another step, a slim but strong hand shot out and struck him on the side of the head. Dropping his weapon, he turned to see who dared to strike a King.

He looked at Soffca, her naked body was stained red and her long hair was braided with gold twine, her face showed no emotion.

The young King looked at her with disbelief. "What have you done, you cannot do this, you love me."

The Handmaiden shook her head. "I cannot, I am promised to Isarie and my love is for her alone."

Anais' heart felt a wound much greater than any Talsonar weapon or Shadow-man's poisoned arrow could inflict.

_Lies!_ _A_ _ll lies! She does not love me,_ he thought, before he could utter a word, he was seized by two strong Thungodra. "Let me free, I am the King!" he shouted. He heard Obec's cold voice.

"Not any longer," she said quietly, she looked at her guards. "Throw this coward onto the ground where he belongs." At the High Priestess' command, the two warriors picked up a screaming Anais and threw him off the moving shrine onto the hard ground below.

Obec looked back to the battlefield, while the Handmaidens stood silently by her side.

The sky darkened and the wind rose as the two armies battled on. The Nomads charged, again and again at the sea of steel before them. Balgar on his Whiptail, was the first to lead his warriors into battle, like a true King. His ax was the first to draw blood but even his many years experience of warfare, could not break the massive enemy wall. He did not turn and flee, he stood his ground and screamed out his tribe's battle cry as he died beneath the Yangmar weapons.

Kadar, King of the Armrod drove his men into the right side of the huge soldiers, he fared better than his fellow King. After a wild charge he broke through their outer defenses and into the heart of the enemy, where his warriors killed to left and right. The savage Pigmen had no choice but to stand and fight, their chains forcing them to stay and die together. With the Nomad's war-axes cutting them down like ripe wheat, they did just that but the Nomad victory was short lived, the Governor was watching them.

Darken lowered his range glasses and turned to one of his officers. "Give the signal for the Hal-Jafar to attack." The officer bowed, then left to give the order. The Sillastine looked back, at the surrounding scene of war.

_They win little;_ he thought; _t_ _oys cannot defeat a strong God._

The order to attack sent the Hal-Jafar into action, with Tamar-Ran at their head they jumped from their armored wagons and began firing their chamber rifles, the effect was devastating. These well-trained, seasoned warriors were skilled at handling their guns. They fired round after round and with each bullet they brought down a rider or his mount. Soon the Nomads, were being driven back and after them marched the Talsonar. Along with the Hal-Jafar came runners, they were set free to race towards their enemy, exploding themselves in a holocaust of fire and steel.

High above the fray Egmar watched her people being exterminated. _They die_ , _they die and I live, I cannot stand and do nothing;_ she thought sadly. She started to leave, when the Darkman called out to her.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

The Queen looked at him, "to be with my people," she replied, she turned and left, leaving her son behind.

The Shadow-man was tempted to order his men to detain her but he did not. He watched her leave then turned back to the battle below; _if that is her way, then I will not stop her._ His words did not keep his cold heart from feeling pain but it only lasted a moment and then it was gone, now he felt as he'd always felt, empty.

The feeling did not last, soon the hatred that consumed him returned and with it a terrible vengeance. He turned to the robed men nearby, "Give the signal to attack," he watched them put the Rimar horns to their scarred lips and blow a long deep note that echoed over the land.

When she heard the sound of the Shadow-men's horns, Obec sat upright in her ornate chair, her wrinkled face showing a little smile. _H_ _e has kept his promise,_ _now the power of Isarie shall be unleashed._

She watched columns of dark robed warriors burst out from the caves in the Heart of Shawcona's base. They poured out like a dark river of death that would never end, a mass of warriors and beasts. The Shadow-men numbered in the thousands, each carried a powerful bow and a good supply of arrows, poisoned with Rock-worm venom. They did not shout any war cries as they rode forward, they simply moved as one great mass. When they were in range, they loosed a flurry of arrows that filled the sky to rain down upon the Talsonar, like a dark veil of death.

In a matter of moments hundreds of soldiers were killed. They were not prepared for an attack of deadly arrows, even if the shafts only scratched them, they soon fell to the ground screaming in pain, their mouths foaming as they died horribly. The Yangmar died by the score, they were far too slow to avoided the wooden shafts, although they only felt like pin pricks, they soon rolled on the ground, roaring in pain. This made them an easy kill for a vengeful Nomad.

Darken saw all of this, in an instant he knew what had happened, he had been betrayed and his ally was now an enemy. He was still confident of his power, he knew something no one else knew, Generals Leeander and Yung would soon be with him, their combined forces would quickly put an end to these treacherous toys.

_He thinks he has won but the game has only begun;_ he thought

The High Priestess's face was full of joy as she watched the Talsonar soldiers falling by the hundred. She was not frightened, even when a Long-Range shell exploded nearby, killing several loyal Thungodra, it was preordained, the will of the Gods and the Wages of War. Around her the Handmaidens started chanting of war and death, songs not sung in ages, songs of blood and pain. To the old woman, they were the sweetest of lullabies, soft sounds to fill the mind and make glad the heart but it did not last.

As she watched the battle, the Shadow-men turned their bows towards the very heart of the Nomads and fired a massive flight of arrows into them. When the shafts struck the warriors, they fell screaming in pain, some arrows left their Whiptails roaring like demons of the pit.

Obec rose from her chair and clutched her wagon's handrail, "What is this? He has betrayed me! He has betrayed me! Valcoush! Sacrilege, he turns against the Gods!" She screamed at the Thungodra, "Destroy them, destroy them all!"

The battlefield erupted into a mass of death, the Shadow-men drove into the Talsonar and the Nomads alike. They killed anything that was not of the darkness and even though they also died by the thousand, they did not turn or run. They were like demons of the Outlands, caring nothing for themselves, wishing only to kill and kill again.

Darken's face was showing his rage, he rubbed the ornate plate in his head and paced back and forth on his observation deck. "Where are they, why are they not here?" His words were directed at no one in particular. The officers, around him stirred uneasily lest they were blamed for his anger. He was about to vent his fury, on a soldier by his side when he heard a loud trumpeting, turning East he saw General Leeander's army marching fast to his aid. Seeing thousands of soldiers, his anger subsided.

_Now they will pay,_ _now they will see what a strong God can do, now they will die in red ruin;_ he told himself.

#  Chapter 50. The Gods Arise

I am the God of Heaven and Earth.

Before me was my father, the God of past and future.

After me will come another God, greater than those before.

But that time is beyond Eternity and it is only the beginning.

From the Book of Isarie.

General Leeander gave the signal to attack, he'd ordered is soldiers to march all night and now he ordered them into battle. They came from the East, ten thousand and more seasoned troops and hungry Yangmar. They moved quickly to the aid of their comrades, eager to feel the enemy die at their hands.

The Nomads were caught in a trap, there was nothing for them to do but fight and die with honor. They would not die quietly, they screamed their war cries and swung their battle-axes in fury, the fighting madness was upon them now and nothing would stop them from killing, killing, killing.

His face caked with blood and bleeding from numerous cuts, Kadar shouted to his warriors, "We die but the Gods will remember our names!" Then he continued to fight and men fell to his weapon again and again.

From his battle wagon, Darken smiled as he watched his reinforcements pouring into the fight. _They know my power,_ _they know they face a God;_ he thought _._

As the war raged on, the Shadow-men struck at all around them, they killing Nomad and Talsonar. Long years of hiding and the torment they had undergone, poured out in a frenzy of blood and death. When their arrows were exhausted, they drew steel weapons and continued to kill the people of light.

Obec and her Handmaidens, watched the carnage, the battle had reached the Holy Wagon and her Thungodra were fighting for the High Priestess' life as well as their own. The warriors of Isarie, were strong and they had the power of belief, the strength of a Goddess. They stood together like a dark wall of death and no one, Shadow-man, Talsonar or any who did not believe passed them. They died with a prayer and a smile on their lips, knowing they would soon be standing at Isarie's side, to guard her in the Golden Hall.

Overhead, the sky grew more violent, thunder shook the dark clouds that rolled over a land soaked red with blood, mixing with the cries of death.

The Darkman stood without moving as he looked down from his lair; _they die,_ _t_ _hey all die;_ he thought. The sight did not make him weep, on the contrary, it made him smile. _Let them all die, let it be finished._

It was not a prayer for he did not believe in Gods, simply words to fill the emptiness in his heart. To the men behind him, he said. "Give the signal to the Sky-Riders."

The men blew their signal horns, loud and strong, for a moment there was nothing then from high overhead came the sound of huge beating wings and wild cries that filled the air.

The Darkman looked up with a smile to see hundreds of creatures flying off the plateau above. They blackened the sky and their screams mixed with the thunder to make a cacophony of terror, each Screecher carried a Sky-Rider on its back and now they plummeted down onto the battlefield.

The Sky-Riders fired arrows down upon the warriors causing more death and pain, then they dipped low to rake the Talsonar soldiers with claws and sharp beaks. The Talsonar fought back with their chamber rifles and fired explosive shells into the sky to blast the winged creatures into pieces of flesh that fell upon them like blood rain.

The Talsonar Long-Range weapons continued to roar death and the blast shook the ground. Fire swept over the land, wagons, men, and beasts burned. As their shells rained death, the Disruptors prepared to fire, they had been waiting until the Nomads were in range. They started charging, ready, to fill the air with their devastating sound but then something happened for which they were not prepared. One by one the Disruptors were blown to pieces.

Powerful blasts sent the weapons flying into the sky, putting an end to their destruction before it started. When the last of them was gone, the Long-Range weapons came under fire, from where and by whom they did not know. Before an enemy could be found, they too were destroyed and their rain of death from the sky ended.

Darken saw his heavy guns being destroyed, seeing his power being diminished sent him into a rage. _What is this_? His mind was filled with fire; _who would dare to challenge a God?_ Before he could find someone to die for his rage, the command wagon began to tremble, slowly at first then increasing. The Governor grabbed the railing and looked frantically about for the cause of the shaking. Then as he glanced to his rear, he saw something that made his heart sink. Over a small rise came hundreds of thundering Rimar.

The moved like an unstoppable wall of roaring death, their massive feet pounding the ground, sending up a great cloud of dust and causing the ground to rumble like a Land-quake. They stampeded straight for the Talsonar army and they could not be turned. Behind the huge beasts rode the Outcasts of the Gods.

Andra shouted as loud as she could and the Nomads with her, beat their shields and screamed out their tribal war cries. Arn rode besides her shouting and waving his battle-ax like Atos the God of War, together they led their army into battle and glory.

It was Andra's plan, to use the great beasts to shatter the Talsonar army, Arn told her that once the Rimar started to run, there was nothing that could turn them from their path. She now used this knowledge to smash the forces of the Stone City and send them fleeing for their lives and flee they did.

The Hal-Jafar tried to stand but soon found that their chamber rifles had no effect on the huge creatures. The Rimar's armored hide was much too thick to be penetrated by the projectiles from their guns. Although they caused some pain, it only infuriated the beasts further and made them charge all the faster. Seeing it was useless to fight, the Talsonar soldiers threw down their weapons and began to flee in panic.

Darken watched his troops run. "Cowards, cowards!" he roared, "they are all cowards!" He watched in horror, as the men, around him began to flee one by one. The Trofar that pulled the wagon began to panic, they lurched forward and raced to escape. Their drivers let the reins drop from their hands and abandoned their posts. _Fo_ _ols, I have foolish toys;_ he thought.

With everything around him shaking, he looked up to see the figure of a naked woman with red marks on her thin body.

Seeda had awoken from her cold sleep, the sound of war and the shaking had roused her, she stood looking out at the battlefield and listening to the thunder in the sky. _Where am I?_ _W_ _hat is that noise, is this the Afterlife?_ In her waking dream she looked at Darken's face; _is he my mate?_

Before she found an answer, the command wagon struck a large bolder and overturned. With a splintering of wood and grinding metal, its massive bulk shattered and split open. Its contents burst out like the entrails of a slaughtered animal as it lay on its side in a cloud of dust and dirt. The Trofar that had been pulling it, broke free from their harnesses and raced away, trampling more soldiers under their massive feet.

Seeda managed to leap clear as the armored vehicle crashed, now she staggered to her feet and looked around. She saw dozens of dead Nomads and the veil of forgetfulness began to slowly lift. Maybe it was the sound of steel on steel, or the smell of death and the cries of the dying. Whatever reason, the cold that had taken her began to melt and in its place came the warmth of life.

Close by Darken Droganus rose to his feet, blood flowed down from the smashed plate in his head like crimson ringlets and his right hand had been severed at the wrist. He still stood proud and defiant, he saw his plaything looking at him. "What are you looking at?" he shouted. "You are nothing, you're just a toy!"

Seeda did not understand him, she still did not know how she came to be here or why. She looked at a fallen warrior by her feet and suddenly felt compelled to pick up the blooded ax in his hand, her fingers grasped the wooden handle firmly, in that moment she remembered her long forgotten name. _Seeda? They called me Seeda!_

With the weapon in hand, she walked cautiously towards the reptile man. Faces began to move in her mind, faces without names but they filled her heart with emotion, the faces of Arn and Agart. _They called me sister, they called me warrior._

As she got closer to Darken, another face came into her mind, the face of Egmar. She called me daughter and I called her mother. She stood close to the Talsonar Governor and would be God. One more face flashed before her, Almec, he called me his mate and he was my world.

Darken looked at her and he smiled. "What do you think you're doing? You are nothing but a broken toy, a toy that is mine."

Seeda stood like a statue but in her eyes burned the fire of vengeance, she struck like lightning. The battle-ax whistled through the air, cutting deeply into the self-made God's chest, sending up a spray of blood that washed over her naked body staining it dark red.

Darken stood motionless, he looked at the heavy blade protruding from his body and he knew he was going to die. _K_ _illed by a toy;_ he thought; _c_ _an a toy kill a God?_ There was no answer, just the mocking laughter of far off Gods. _Laughter, what are they laughing at?_ He fell to the ground and all was darkness.

The earth beneath Seeda's feet began to shake hard as the wave of Rimar bore down on her. She turned to looked at the wall of death coming towards her, she did not flee. She stood proudly and lifted her arms to the sky, in her hand she held the Judgment of Isarie and on her lips, the death song of her tribe. She listened to the crashing thunder and felt the wind on her face, in that instant she remembered it all, all the glory and pain. All the fear and love, the glorious life that once had been hers, she remembered it all.

And she was enthralled, the forgotten Princess of the Almadra shouted a name that filled her soul with warmth. "Almec!" She closed her eyes and waited for the Angel of Death to take her. It did not matter, because for one shining moment she was once again a proud warrior of the Almadra.

High above, the Darkman watched as his dream of conquest came crashing down. He watched as the wave of Rimar charged over the Talsonar soldiers, driving them forward onto the weapons of his people. They did not stop, the Outcast warriors continued driving them forward, the great horned beasts pushed against the Shadow-men breaking their ranks and sending them fleeing like the rest. The Sky-Riders began to fly off too, their Screechers feared the horned beasts and refused their rider's commands.

The Shadow-man stood alone, those who were with him were gone. He watched his people dying before him and with them the creatures of the light. _They die;_ he thought; _they will all die._ For a moment he felt fulfillment, then something came to his mind; _they die but they die together._

Knowing he had no one to stand with him, cut deep into his cold heart and he wished he was down with them, dying proudly and walking into the Afterlife together.

Below Obec prayed to the Goddess, around her the Handmaidens also prayed, they prayed for Isarie to save them and come to their aid. They prayed for mercy but the Gods did not hear them. As the battle raged around them, the Thungodra held their ground and the old woman looked up at the flashes of lightning in the sky and saw the clouds turn red. "Why have you abandoned me?" she shouted, "I am your right hand, I am your voice, I am your strength!"

The Holy Wagon was shaken violently as the Rimar slammed into its side, the force of the blow was immense and the platform on which she stood broke and tumbled to the ground. Several Handmaidens fell with her, amongst them was Soffca.

Soffca lay with blood on her lips, looking at her mistress, she spoke with a pain filled voice. "Will I see her face?" she asked.

Obec gave no reply and the young woman raised her arms to the sky. "I know your book, I follow its teaching. I believe," she said quietly. Then Isarie's trusting servant passed from this life into the next.

Obec rose gingerly to her feet, the Rimar had passed and around her lay dozens of dead Thungodra. They had died to a man without quitting their posts, seeing them did not bring tears to the old woman eyes. She saw a mass of warriors and Shadow-men riding towards her. Some were on fire, their bodies ablaze they screamed as death came for them. The beasts they were riding were also burning, as they came closer she saw their riders waving their weapons like demons from the Pit of Marloon.

Then came a vision that had once comforted her in days long past, a vision that now became all too real. Fire and steel. As she stood screaming in terror, her eyes filled with fire but not the fire of the battlefield, it was the eternal flames of the Pit of Marloon.

At the center of the army of Outcasts, Osh and Endo fought from their wagon and did their best to stay alive. The young Sandjar fired his chamber rifle and brought down a Talsonar with each shot, beside him his father handed him ammunition and killed two soldiers who tried to climb onto their vehicle. He was afraid but his fear for his son's life, was greater than his fear for his own life, so he found the courage to fight and together they managed to stay alive.

Arn and Andra fought side by side, they rode their war maddened Whiptails into the very heart of battle and handed out death left and right. The fighting madness was now with them, Andra had been in many battles on many worlds and in all of them she had been afraid. Now the fear was gone, beside her stood the man she loved and their bond was complete, their minds were one and they fought as one, no enemy could stand before them.

Arn fought like a God, with each blow from his mighty war-ax an enemy fell, his reptilian armor was covered in blood and gore and sweat ran down his face in ringlets. Still he fought on and on, he looked over to see Andra screaming and fighting like a she demon and it made him feel very proud. _She was sent by the Gods to stand at my side;_ smiling he turned to deal out death once again.

Andra could see her lover battling for his life, she could feel his heart in her mind and its beat made her strong; _if I die, then I die with him;_ she thought. She turned back to face her foe and left her life in the hands of fate.

General Leeander watched his troops, being trampled by the thundering Rimar, with their defeat he saw his own plans for glory being ground to dust. While his soldiers threw down their weapons and ran away screaming, he did not. He knew, running would be useless, so he stood his ground and with his head held high he watched the wall of pounding death come towards him. _I have been beaten but I did not run_.

With pride in his eyes, he stood to attention and met his end with honor.

For a time the battle continued but as more Talsonar soldiers fled, so did the Yangmar. Having nowhere to run, they raced for the Heart of Shawcona, hoping to find some shelter and perhaps regroup for another attack. As they came close their hearts began to beat faster, they saw no enemy just a vast field of small white flowers.

Without pause, they raced into the vegetation and as soon as they did, they knew something was wrong. Any skin not covered by armor began to burn and with the burning came intense pain, soon they were screaming in torment and ripping at their legs mad with pain. The Yangmar fared no better, their thicker hides allowed them to race further into the flowers and prolonged their deaths. Suddenly they stopped and began roaring in pain, some tried to run back but other warriors pushed them back onto the deadly blossoms and to their death.

The Moonbuds had no effect on the Rimar, centuries of exposure to the small poisonous flowers had made them immune to its venom. They rushed forward crushing the dying Yangmar under their huge feet.

The Shadow-men also died, many of them threw down their weapons and turned to meet their fate at the hands of the Outlanders. The Nomads did not find pleasure in killing defenseless enemies, when they saw that the Shadow-men had given up the fight, they let them live.

As the light began to fade, the war in the Outlands slowly drew to an end.

The Talsonar who had not died in the fight ran from the battlefield and scattered to the winds. There weren't many but those who survived, would live long enough to tell how the Nomads and the Gods defeated them.

Standing on a small rise, looking back at the carnage, Tamar-Ran stood bloody and tired, his body was cut and bruised but he was still alive, with him were several other lucky Stone City soldiers. He wiped his face with the back of his large hand and smiled to himself. _They are strong but we fought well;_ he thought.

He turned with his men and began to walk away, with a little luck, they could return to the Stone City by following the markers they'd set out as they entered the Outlands. As they walked the Lion-man began to smile, he knew the city would need a new Governor. Maybe he could fill that need, he may not last too long but during that time he would have all the Marsh-beer he could drink.

Egmar walked carefully over the land, littered with the bodies of her people. Nomads and Shadow-men lay side by side, in life they were enemies but in death they were together. With them were the slain Talsonar, in the blood and debris it was hard to tell them apart. To the Queen it did not matter, her heart felt pain for everyone and her tears fell for all.

She walked quietly among the bodies looking for signs of life but there was none, only the silence of the grave and the beating of her merciful heart. She heard soft moaning, like a tiny bird calling for its mother, she went towards the sound and saw a hand reaching out from under a dead Thungodra. She took hold of the hand, "Do not be afraid," she said gently, "I will care for you."

Gathering her strength she pushed the dead body aside and looked at the face of the person in need. She saw, her son Anais' bloody face, there was a deep cut across his face and eyes, from the look of the wound, she knew he would be blind forever.

_He lived in darkness_ and _now the darkness has taken him._ She knelt at his side and took him into her arms.

He looked towards her and spoke in a whisper. "Who is there, who are you?"

Egmar gazed at his dimmed eyes, "Someone who loves you," she said quietly. She cradled his head to her breast and gently rocked him as she sang a song from his childhood.

In all the nights of your dreaming.

I will be there to hold you.

In all the days of your waking.

I will be there to love you.

Anais heard his mother's words and for the first time in many years his face felt the warmth of remorseful tears.

The fighting was done but not the battle for control of the Outlands. The Shadow-men put down their arms, perhaps it was because they had exhausted all their hate but for whatever reason, they now stood side by side with the Nomads.

On the blood stained ground, Arn stood looking at Kadar. They were surrounded by the warriors and lesser Kings of the many, different Nomad tribes. The wind still blew, thunder and lightning raged overhead, now and then the earth shook but none of this seemed to matter to the two warriors.

They stood watching the Outcast King and the Armrod leader as they faced each other. Their armor was caked with blood and gore and they were bleeding from numerous cuts on their arms and legs. Kadar's one good arm held a battle-ax and so did Arn.

Then the old King spoke. "You were made Outcast, yet you returned, why?"

Arn looked over at Andra and next to him Osh and Endo, behind them stood the Outcast warriors, Kuno, Valen and the rest who stood by him, he looked back at Kadar.

"Because my people were in need," he said proudly, "but if you wish to challenge me then I am ready," and saying that he lifted his ax and braced his feet.

The old King did not raise his ax, he simply smiled, "Not on such a fine day." He dropped his weapon and began to laugh and soon all the Outland's warriors were laughing with him.

As the air filled with the Nomad's cries of victory, the lightning suddenly stopped, the wind ceased and the ground was still. It was eerily quiet, with nothing stirring, the warriors stopped cheering and stood like statues. In they heard a voice their minds.

It spoke without words, sound or a language, it was soft but strong and it spoke as if it knew their inner hearts. Then they heard the ground shaking but this time it did not roll over the land, it came from everywhere, it seemed to come from deep underground, from the planet's very core.

Around them, boulders that were strewn about, began to rise slowly off the ground, moving upward as if unseen hands were lifting them. One by one, they rose and continued upwards into the sky. Cracks began to open in the earth and from them, more rocks began moving up into the heavens and all the while the people of the Outlands stood watching.

Why they did not flee in terror was a mystery, others would have ran screaming for their lives. The wordless voice, told them they had nothing to fear, so they stood watching silently.

The voice spoke again, heard and understood by all, a clear message. "The Gods will arise."

Andra standing beside Arn, watched as the world around, began to change, without thinking she took her lover's hand and together they watched something impossible but it was happening.

With rumbling and loud cracking, the Heart of Shawcona began to rise, ever so slowly. The great rock, pulled free from the hard ground, sending up a cloud of earth and dust. It rose slowly until all connection with the earth beneath it was severed. It floated like a gigantic dark spot in the thundering sky, boulders the size of Rimar fell from its base, to crash back to the ground but still the huge mountain continued to rise and with it the Darkman.

He looked down on the place that gave him birth, the place where he had lived in pain and sorrow and as it moved slowly away, he no longer felt hatred. It seemed to leave him like the world below, the voice he had refused to hear for so long, spoke to him and he listened at last.

What it said will never be known, the words were for him alone. Maybe it spoke of forgiveness and a place where he would no longer feel alone and afraid, a place filled with sunlight that did not burn.

The Darkman listen for a moment and his heart was moved, then he suddenly, shook his head, "No!" he screamed, "I will not listen, I will not listen!" With a shout he threw himself from the cliff face and fell headlong to the earth below.

Andra watched the sky and she remembered the dream she had so long ago, a dream of a battlefield littered with dead bodies and a sky filled with lightning and thunder. A dark mountain rising in a heaven filled with fire, now the dream was coming true, seeing it brought tears to her eyes. _The Gods are rising,_ _we are not alone._

Arn looked at Andra; _if this is our end then I am_ satisfied _._

All over the World of Gorn beings stopped and looked to the heavens, they saw great chunks of earth rising into the cosmos. From the Great Western Sea to the Forests of Caltarine, to the Plains of Darmock and the Breast of Isarie, they all watched. The Galu in the dark jungles of Yug stopped feeding and looked up to see earth lifting into the sky, the Finger of Solus was no more, it was pulled upwards. The Mountains of Kresh broke apart and huge sections moved skyward and the Sky-Riders in their caves, huddled in fear while their Screechers took to the air in panic. In the Greenland's the giant Earth-shakers rose from their sleep and soared into the heavens.

Leviathans of the deep oceans swam down into realms without light, far beyond the sight of angry Gods, it was the same in all the lands of Gorn. The ground rose up and the voice continued to speak, even the Great Pyramid Cities were affected.

In the mighty Talsonar pyramid, the people streamed out and looked up to the heavens, they prayed to their many Gods and beat their hands upon their chests. Some cried out that it was the end of the world, while others stood immobile and shook with fear. The inhabitants of the world of Gorn shook and waited for the Gods to decide their fate.

Osh watched the sky and heard the voice, it was the same gentle voice that called to him in his dream. The same caring voice that haunted him with visions he could not understand but now the images in his mind came together. He saw them form into knowledge he could understand, standing beside his son, he wept, for all his questions were answered, all was revealed.

How long the rumbling lasted was not known, time itself passed unnoticed. The shaking did stop and the people of the Outlands looked up to see a night sky that had changed. There was an extra moon in their world, a new smaller sister to join them in their endless quest across the heavens. A new Goddess to which all who believed in Isarie, could pray.

#  Chapter 51. Moonrise

Let all The Chosen look to the skies.

There they will see me and my children.

In the dark nights of your loneliness.

Look to the heavens and know you are loved.

From the Book of Isarie.

In the days and nights that followed the Nomads worked together as they always had but this time they were not alone.

The Outlanders had lived through blood and death many times, they always knew their enemy and facing them in battle, they felt the joy of war. It was their way and it was who they were. Now they put their weapons aside and sat around their Washa fires taking about what they'd seen in the heavens. Some said it was a punishment for turning against the Goddess and not following her Holy Book, while others said it was a sign to end the feuding and join together in a new world. A few said it was a trick of dark demons and they should search out those who were not of The Chosen and destroy them.

They looked up at the night sky and saw the new moon slowly moving across the star dotted heavens, they remembered the voice that spoke to them. The voice told them, they were not alone and they would always be watched over.

So they listened to the voice and let their hearts soften, they sat beside the People of the Shadows, the children of their bodies. They shared their food and their love with them, in return many of the Shadow-men let go of their hatred. They would no longer live in the darkness and could share the light with those they called enemy. They would return home, those who chose not to rejoin their kin returned to the Poisoned Lands. There were some in the tribes who wanted revenge for what they had done but in the end they were left alone and to the earth's darkness.

As for the Gods, the High Priestess was gone, they found a new Holy Mother, one who knew their pain and would not speak of laws or punishments but of love and mercy. Her name was Egmar.

The former Queen of the Almadra would now be their voice to the Gods. Egmar would guide them into a new future, a future filled with hope and love. So with Egmar leading, they buried their dead and sang their clan's songs and there was peace.

Egmar told them to bury the Talsonar as well as their own. There was much grumbling amongst the warriors, who said they should be left to the scavengers of the Outlands. The new Holy Mother told them, the Gods look down on all and they should be treated with respect. So in the end they were all laid to rest, the Nomad graves were marked with a stone and upon the stone a war-ax was placed, so all would know who was the victor.

Soon the different tribes were going their own way, returning to their homelands and the ways of their ancestors. Whether the peace would continue nobody knew but for a time they could say, The Chosen had come together and together they were victorious.

Not everything was joyous, many had been killed and it would be a long time before the tribes would be strong again. The names of the fallen would be remembered with pride, they would be written in the Book of Isarie.

Seeda's body had been found amongst the dead, few recognized her, she was not the same person who had feasted with them. The tattoos on her face were known and marked her as a Princess of her tribe, the daughter of a King. She was bathed and clothed in a fine suit of well-made armor, a newly fashioned battle-ax was placed in her hand and a golden Journey Nail was driven through her palm to hold it fast. There was a silver bowl filled with Grana, some Hagar soup and a small loaf of Kasha bread and beside that a tankard of well-aged Po. All the warriors knew that the Princess possessed a strong thirst.

Another bowl was placed beside her, this one held blood given by the warriors of her tribe. It was there to warn any night demon that might come for her soul that here lay a great warrior of the Almadra and she should be left in peace.

Arn was at her graveside with Andra at his side, he wore his best armor and stood proudly as he looked down at his beloved sister's lifeless body. _I will miss you my sister,_ _whenever I see a Sun-fall I will see your golden hair and whenever I hear a roar of a Whiptail I will remember your strength._ Then he looked up and spoke to the mass of warriors around him.

"Seeda was a great warrior of the Almadra," he called out in a strong voice. "There were few who could stand before her in battle. Along with her courage, I will remember her kind heart and warm words." The King held up his ax, "Let all who travel this way look upon her grave and look up to the sky, then shout her name so the Gods will hear. Seeda!" he called out so that all could hear.

Hearing the name, the warriors of the Outlands also cried out, "Seeda!" over and over again.

Arn listened to the shouting Nomads, then he whispered so only Andra could hear, "Farewell my sister."

As the warriors beat their weapons upon the ground and continued to call out her name. Handmaidens lifted incense to the sky and Egmar wept bitter tears, she had lost a daughter and a part of her heart she could never replace. _Wait for me in the Golden Hall,_ _wait for me at your father's;_ she thought.

As well as the Outlanders, an Off-World woman, their King's mate also wept. _I never had a sister;_ Andra thought; _but I will think of you as if you were._

As the light of the twin suns bathed the Sirolian plains in a golden light, the Princess of the Almadra was laid to rest. Her grave was marked with several large stones, they were marked the warrior woman's name and her deeds. The Nomads piled armor from the defeated Talsonar upon the stones until they formed a steel monument.

In future days, all who saw the shrine knew who lay there and they shouted her name to the heavens.

Obec's remains were also found, her broken and mutilated body was brought before Arn. For what she'd done to his brother and the tribe, he cut off her fire scarred head and attached it to his riding saddle. There it hung for many cycles, as a grim warning to those who might place themselves above the laws of the Nomads and the will of the Gods.

Now all was quiet in the Almadra camp, soon they would leave the Sirolian plains and return once more to their life of endless wandering. Tonight they would sit quietly and look into the flames of their fires and remember, all that they had seen and done, it would be told and retold along the long journey of their people.

In their nights they would hear a faint whispering, a small voice telling them they were not alone. Below, in the darkness of their world, something was watching them, keeping them safe from outsiders and those who do not believe. The Outlanders would whisper back to the voice and tell it of their lives and wanderings and the voice was content.

Now all the people of the Outlands gathered around their fires and sang together. They sang of wars and victories, of death and pain, of love and mercy. The young would listen to the songs and in time, sing them to their children and their history would be handed down so all might know and believe. It was their way and it was right.

Arn and Andra sat around the Washa fire near Osh and Endo's wagon. They had taken off most of their armor but their war-axes were by their side. They'd feasted on tender Rimar meat, Kasha bread and bowls of Hagar soup, with plenty of Ulon spice, all washed down with several tankards of the best Po. They talked of things past and things to come.

Andra took a sip from her cup and looked at her old friend, "When I first saw you, I thought what a strange old man you were and how did he ever get where he was." Then she laughed, "later, I realized it was because you talk far too much."

There was more laughter and Arn spoke up. "You were a burden at times but you proved your worth in the end."

Endo looked over at his father, "He has taught me many things and I will learn many more."

"Just make sure he doesn't talk your ear off," Andra chuckled. She saw Endo touch the small flap of skin at the side of his head. "I will be careful," he replied.

They all laughed some more, all, except Osh. He adjusted his long robe, then smiled, it was clear there were things on his mind other than making jokes around the fire, it did not go unnoticed by his companions.

Andra looked at him, "Is there something troubling you my friend?" she asked.

Osh turned to her but didn't speak. So Andra tried again, "We have come a long way and it looks like you were right about the Gods having plans for us. So tell me what's wrong?"

There was silence, then Osh said, "Isarie does not exist," he said softly.

Andra and Arn just sat looking at the old Callaxion, Andra shook her head, "What are you talking about?" she asked. From the look in his eyes, she knew what he was about to say would be painful for Arn but she could see it had to be said.

Then he began to speak, this time, not with the words of a cipher. "Millenniums ago there was a race of beings whose knowledge spanned the galaxy. They had powerful minds but they were weak of body. They wished to rule over all the worlds of the Outer Rim, so they decided to create a race of warriors to fight for them. They used their skills to make the most powerful and fierce soldiers that ever lived. To do this they needed a planet where they could create and train them to their will. They searched long and hard and finally the found the perfect world, a world of extremes, there they set about their work."

Osh took a sip of his Po and continued to speak, "They labored in the dark places of the earth for they shunned the light of day. When at last their work was finished, they had an army to conquer the heavens. Then something went wrong, they'd also created a being, an organism, a life force that broke free of their laboratories, it found refuge in the deep reaches of the planet, there it found safety. There it lived, growing in the darkness, until it reached to all the places of its world and its power was greater than its creators. So great that its very thoughts could send out pulses that could destroy."

_The electromagnetic waves,_ _they come from the creature;_ Andra thought.

The old man continued his story, "It had the power to stop technologies, to end their power and kill them with a disease without a cure. After they died, only their warriors were left, not wanting to be alone, the being gave them a crystal, it held life."

Arn looked at Osh but did not speak. _Grana,_ _the Salt of the Earth;_ he thought _._

Taking another sip of his Po, the Callaxion continued, "So for ages the warriors roamed the land, then another race came to their world, a race whose name is now forgotten. They tried to take the lands for their own but eventually they died too, leaving only empty monuments to their glory. More ages passed and in the Outlands, a nation of wanders rose up, people who were created for war and would fight to keep the land for themselves. To answer questions without answers, they created a Goddess and Gods, to pray to and give them comfort in the night."

_There is more but it will come in time;_ he thought.

Then he looked at the Nomad, "You and your people were made for war, it's your purpose, it is your place in the universe. We all have a fate and we all have Gods, perhaps I am wrong about Isarie, my Gods live in worlds beyond this one and I do not know if they exist or not. Yours lie beneath your feet."

Arn sat not moving, then holding his battle-ax, he rose and looked straight at Osh. "You lie old man," he said. Then he slowly moved away from the fire and into the night.

Andra was about to go after him when Osh spoke up. "No, leave him for a while."

Andra wanted to be at Arn's side but she listened to her old friend's words and let her mate walk away. She sat down again and observed the fire for a time, then at the Callaxion. "When you spoke, you didn't sound like your usual pompous self, you sounded more like a story teller, why?"

Osh smiled at Andra, "Well I guess even an old cipher like myself can learn," he smiled. "I just wanted to transfer my Mindlock in a way that was not to upsetting."

"The dreams, the voice, it all meant nothing?" she said softly.

The old man shook his head, "Everything means something, when I first came here I was just an old man waiting to die. Now I have a family and a new beginning, we cannot see the hand that moves us, we can only live the time we are given and learn from those days and nights."

Andra listened to her wise companion., she looked at Endo sitting beside him. _He can learn and so can I;_ she thought. She looked up at the night sky; _Osh is wrong, there are Gods above us but it takes a lifetime to see their faces._

Out beyond the light of the camp's fire, Arn stood alone and in silence, his mind was filled with countless questions, questions that ate at his soul and cut into his heart.

_I betrayed a Goddess that did not exist but my prayers were answered;_ he thought; _how can this be?_ He looked up at the night sky and in his mind he heard the three questions of Isarie.

Do you know my book.

Do you follow its teachings.

Do you believe.

He was suddenly filled with a strength he never had, not strength of the body but strength of the soul. _I know your book Goddess but I know so much more now. I will follow your teachings but I will follow my heart first. I believe in the woman at my side but do I believe in you?_

As he watched his world's moons arcing slowly through the sky, he heard someone call him.

"What troubles you my son?" his mother was standing near to him. She was dressed in a simple green robe with a small silver bell around her neck. Her scared face looked beautiful to her son and her eyes shone with love. She came closer to him and put her hand on his arm. "I can see in your eyes that something is fighting inside you."

Arn looked at his mother, "Agart is dead, while Anais sits inside his tent alive, for his treachery, he should die."

Egmar looked deep into her son's eyes, "Will you kill him?" she asked softly.

Arn shook his head, "No, he is helpless now, let him live in his darkness, it is punishment enough."

"The Gods will reward you my son," she said touching his arm lightly.

Arn looked at his mother, "I asked once, if the Gods hear our prayers, what if the Gods do not exist, where do our words go?"

His mother smiled at him, "They go where Gods are born." She placed her hand over his heart, "They go here, Gods are our hearts calling out to us, they live or die by the way we feel. To say they do not exist, is to say we do not live and we do not love."

Arn listened to his mother's words. He looked at her closely, he knew her scars would heal in time and she would be there to hold him when his heart was in pain. "You made me what I am," he said quietly, "You are my Goddess," he reached out, took her into his arms and held her. In that brief moment, he knew, the old man was wrong, they were not alone in their journey through life. He knew there would always be a mother to love the Goddess and a forgiving heart, where she could live.

His mother released herself from his embrace and smiled at him. "Your father would be proud," she said, "you will be a great King," with one last look she turned around and left.

As he watched her go, he thought he heard voices calling, voices from his past, voices of his childhood and in the darkness of the night he could almost see his brother and sister's faces. They were sitting at a long table in a great Golden Hall, filled with laughter and the songs of his people and his father was sitting with them. He watched as the old King lifted a silver cup to him and bowed his head, then the images vanished as he heard footsteps coming.

He lifted his weapon, not knowing if an enemy was coming to kill him but walking towards him in the dim moonlight, he saw Andra. She looked beautiful, her long hair flowing gently in the wind, she stopped in front of him.

"Are you going somewhere?" she asked.

"No," he replied, "I will stand with you always." He kissed her softly, a kiss that held the love in his heart and it was a kiss they would remember for the many cycles ahead of them.

Andra looked up at the night sky, she saw the shining moons of Gorn, Eka, Rowgal, Fromic and all the children of the heavens. Another moon now traveled with its brothers and sisters, a tiny moon, over millennia to come, it would slowly grow and shine upon the world below.

A moon the Nomads would someday call Andra. It would help to guide them and they would tell stories of how it came into being, with each telling, its legend would grow until the name symbolized the power of a Goddess.

Andra, also known as Moonbud looked at her mate, "Where are we going?" she asked.

The Nomad smiled, "Wherever you like," he replied.

"Will we be together?"

"Yes," he said gently, "through this world and all the worlds to come."

Before them lay the lands of Gorn, there to do as they wished with it. They would travel it together, feeling all the pain and joy it held. After they journey through all the great Forests, haunted jungles and forbidden lands of their world, they would be buried together in the Valley of Omar-Ran and their tomb, far greater than any before. On the crypt's stone doors, the images of twin dragons, Moric-Kan would be carved.

In ages yet to come, Nomads still unborn, will sing songs to their name and they will lay offerings at its entrance. They will fall on their knees, beat their breasts and pray to their Gods to grant them a life filled with as much honor and glory as those who sleep within.

Their names will be written in the Book of Isarie, as long as the stars shine, the wind blows and the moons journey through the heavens. The people of the Outlands will read their names and they will never be forgotten.

#  ENDINGS

Now my journey is almost complete, I sit looking down on my home, the world that bore me, a world I left to seek wisdom amongst the stars. I cried over a life without meaning but now as I look on the land below me once more, I can see it holds all the answers I will ever need.

Soon I will fall from the stars as once did my mother and I will see the green pastures and listen to the mating cries of the Rimar. I realize, we are no different, we all look for someone, to care for us, to hold us in the long nights of loneliness.

I look at my clawed hands, they once held so tightly onto my mother's back and would not let go. I look at my reflection in my Dropship's window and I see the green face of an old Sandjar, who once looked to his father for love. Beyond I see the children of Gorn, I see the small moon named for my mother, I see it following its brothers and sisters across the heavens. One moon missing, Fromic for it has left its orbit and now wanders thought the Outer Rim. Perhaps, it too is seeking wisdom and maybe someday it will return to the mother, who gave it life, as I do now?

I know children must someday leave those that gave them life, I also know, they will always carry in them a part of those who came before. With each child, the fragments become smaller, perhaps that is the way of the universe. We are all pieces, moving apart to reach the hidden places in the darkness, someday we will all come together again. The cycle of life and death will start once more, a future I will not know. I close my tired eyes and see the loving faces I have missed so dearly.

Will they be waiting for me? Or will the cycles of rebirth have ended for them and I will find only emptiness? These questions are soon to have answers. Greater questions, asked by intelligent beings of the Outer Rim, are there Gods? Is there an Afterlife? If there is, will those I loved be waiting for me? Answers to these questions I do not have, in all my wandering I have only found more questions.

As my end draws near, I have come to know one great truth, it gives comfort to my failing heart, the one thing all creatures great and small want, to be loved.

I walk the trackless lands of my birth and I see Nomads still roaming, strong and free. I hear the beating of Mating Drums and the roars of the Whiptails. I listen as naked Handmaidens sing ancient songs to the Gods and I hear the laughter of children playing in the endless grasses of the vast Sirolian plains. With each step, my soul finds peace, my tired eyes dim but once more, I see the faces of those who loved me. I see them reaching out to hold me and I am content.

I am home.

#  Map of Gorn

Gorn

Reference map only, electromagnetic waves make accurate readings impossible, guide stars and electronic markers will not function on the planet's surface and only indigenous lifeforms know how to navigate.

#  About the Author

Gary Mark Lee was born in Pasadena California in 1947, he graduated high school then went into the art and entertainment field. He worked for many special effects companies in the mid 1980's and then went into the theme park design business, he has worked for the Walt Disney company, Warner Brothers and Universal Studio's.

Gary doesn't consider himself a writer but more of a story teller, Nomads of the Gods is his first attempt at writing a novel.

He and his wife Margaret live in the Riverside area of Southern California and enjoy watching old movies, having friends over and their two very spoiled dogs.

Gary has written a number of movie scripts and short stories. All the drawings and illustrations in this book, were done by him. Nomads of the Gods is the first book in a three part trilogy. Book Two, NOMADS The Fallen God is finished and should be available on Amazon/Kindle very soon, the last book, is being written.
