Taggagi watched as Belrolko plodded along the frozen trail, oblivious of Taggagi's following gaze. Since the accidental death of Tagale, his father, in the last days of tribal council, Taggagi had sought to earn the respect of those in his group. The mantle of leadership fell to him by virtue of heredity, but he had not truly earned it, and Belrolko never let him forget that fact. Belrolko was clearly the stronger candidate, but Belrolko was brash, young, and sometimes foolhardy. Yet in a contest of sheer endurance and strength, Belrolko would almost certainly be the victor.
Now a year had nearly passed since the last council, and soon Taggagi would face the challenge of Belrolko. His gaze carried such hatred that any who could see his face couldn't help but tell how much he hated Belrolko, but luckily there were none there to witness it. Only Belrolko was there, moving along the great frozen trail, and he was not even aware Taggagi was there, let alone watching his back as he disappeared along the frost covered rim.
Taggagi and Belrolko both hated each other, that much was clear, but for very different reasons. Belrolko, for nothing more than he felt his rightful place was denied him; the status, the females, and the right to say and have it so done without question, often for no better reason than his whim, all was not his. And why not? He was the stronger. Everyone knew it. His word should carry the weight of leadership, and yet it didn't. And Belrolko was not allowed to challenge in the traditional way by the circumstances of the death of Tagale, the old leader, when those rights were automatically passed to his son. Without the mourning period, challenge after challenge after challenge, each one made on the heels of the other, could often result, weakening them all as the vicious cycle of vengeance for one's close, fallen friend or comrade had to be made when emotions were high. Thus, the mourning period was enforced, which allowed everyone to cool down and rethink matters. So Belrolko had to wait, since everyone would immediately fall on a challenger if they moved too soon and before the mourning was done. The lore even demanded it. Nobody would go against the word. Nobody.
Belrolko had wanted the leadership before Tagale's death, and he expected it, knew he could wrest it from Taggagi's old father, and he was about to, but Zelifi, their tribal shaman, denied it to him when Tagale had died in an avalanche of ice and rock. The old silver, Zelifi, eldest of their tribe, and tribal shaman, still carried the weight of lore and custom in many instances, sometimes even more weight than the leader's own, but then, usually only in very unusual times or circumstances. This had been such a time, or so the shaman said, though Belrolko didn't really think so. The mourning should not be so long for one who was half dead already and ready to go. Only bad luck, or good, depending, expedited Tagale's departure, which had long been expected, and so Belrolko didn't have the opportunity to take the leadership from the old one. So why should they mourn so long for an accidental death when he would have been killed in battle anyway? Dead is dead. Who cares why? But Belrolko was not in a position to dispute the shaman's ruling. The word of the lore was thus spoken, and his challenge would be denied for one whole year. During that year Belrolko's hatred grew as Taggagi made every decision contrary to what Belrolko wanted, almost as if just to spite him, or to show everyone how foolish he was. And Belrolko would not forget that insult. If he had his way, soon the son of the old leader would follow him into the next life.
Of course, death was not usually the final result of the challenge, but it could be, and with luck, Belrolko planned to make sure it would be in this case. He would kill Taggagi. Unless the weakling sought escape by backing away from the challenge. That might actually be better. Then everyone would know Belrolko should have been leader all along, and that coward should never had had it, and all his past insults came from a weakling and a coward. This reasoning gladdened Belrolko no end, but, upon reflection, he still would prefer the taste of Taggagi's lifeblood, and he savored the delicious thought of it running through his teeth while the spark of Taggagi's soul left his eyes. That would be best. He could almost taste it already.
Taggagi, well, he had better reasons for his hate, if such things could be said to exist. Like his father before him he had the sight, the ability to see further than most. He knew the Sweet Ones were always coming closer, ever closer, and each passing day brought them farther into their hunting grounds. The sweet ones were devious, dangerous, and often filled with the unexpected. They were powerful and commanded the lore of the bending rocks. Taggagi wanted to move the tribe farther up the mountain and avoid them. So far, the sweet ones rarely ventured too far up the mountain and into their lands, but there might come a time when they would. The sweet ones didn't like the cold, however, and far enough up the mountain it was bitterly cold, even too cold for them. Taggagi would move the tribe farther up and farther along the rim to the north in order to avoid them. Belrolko had other ideas. He wanted to fight them, not to drive them from the land; not because it was the wisest things to do, but because he loved the hunt, the danger, and especially the meat of the sweet ones. And if it meant sacrificing slave after slave just to gain a taste, he would, and if the sweet ones rose up and fought back with their characteristic guile, it might spell certain doom for the entire tribe, but at least it would be a glorious end. Far better to avoid them, Taggagi thought, but knew full well it would be pointless to make the move before the time of council and he could be assured Belrolko wouldn't just haul them all back down the mountain for an enjoyable battle and a scrumptious morsel or two. Yes, he hated Belrolko, because Belrolko was stupid and he always put himself before the tribe.
Monpedi came along the trail next, but he was looking for Taggagi, and he easily found him. Monpedi was an excellent tracker. He probably just followed Taggagi's trail and found him here. But the tracker didn't come for fun and gossip or even politics. He brought grave news. Once again the sweet ones had invaded their land, but unlike before they were moving around toward the top of the mountain, near the sky where none could farther walk. It shocked him to learn this for he had never imagined the sweet ones would want anything that far up, and the bitter cold should have dissuaded them. Yet Monpedi assured him they were indeed there. In fact, there was some evidence the sweet ones had come for butchery. A family of Blue Eyes had been murdered and left to waste upon the ice. From long standing agreement, Taggagi's tribe and the Blue Eyes never bothered each other. Besides the tribe, only the sweet ones could have killed them, and only the sweet ones would have left them to waste upon the ice like that. This marked the beginning of the end, then, if they would dare to venture forth and kill so indiscriminately. Taggagi had no choice now, and that should please Belrolko. These sweet ones had to die. Better yet, they had to 'disappear.' Their disappearance would remain a mystery, and often the sweet ones' own fear of the unknown would hold them back. Taggagi ordered Monpedi to gather a shock troop, eight slaves trained in war. The hunt was on.
"Why have they come?" asked Monpedi after he reported back with the troop. Taggagi gazed at the holy ice bubble as Zelifi danced around it, conjuring some blessings of the lore to carry into battle. "I do not know. The sweet ones often have mysterious reasons, but mostly the stupidity of greed and avarice drives them." He gazed malevolently at Belrolko while he said this, practically implying Belrolko was no better than the sweet ones in that regard. "And as this is probably the case here, we must make certain they never reach home alive to report our weakness or their success. They must all die. No exceptions." Zelifi shouted the chants now, barking them out to the sky above. Then he turned a circle and sat. "It is done. The blessing will go with you, but you must destroy them this day before they leave."
"I will take the troop and lead them into battle," commanded Belrolko, but the immediate silence of all present showed he was overstepping his bounds. "STOP!" barked Taggagi. "You will not lead them; I will." Belrolko leveled his gaze at the smaller leader. "You? You are not half the fighter I am. The troop will follow me because they know I am strong. They will hesitate under you." Zelifi stood abruptly, his old, gray eyes meeting the challenge of the younger one. "You dare make a challenge before the time of council? The lore will damn you for this, and you shall be . . ." Belrolko cut him off with utterances of submission. "No, I, er, it's not like that. I misspoke. I only suggested, no, sought to suggest . . ." "ENOUGH!" commanded Taggagi. "You are out of place and you know it. You have admitted it and it will so be noted. I could have you expelled from the tribe for this, but I need you now. I will lead the troop, but you will be the second. Now, we will not waste more time here. Let us go." And with that, they headed out toward Sky's Reach.
As they moved skyward, Taggagi wished he could have taken advantage of Belrolko's blunder and expelled him, but for the good of the tribe he needed his strength against the sweet ones. Belrolko was, after all, the better fighter. And the sweet ones were too dangerous and cunning not to use all their resources when battling them, and now was no exception. "At least," he felt, "Belrolko will see the wisdom of my leadership now, and feel the mercy I have granted him when I didn't have to do that. Perhaps he will not challenge me now." The troop moved out along a line at Zelifi's order, hoping to cut the trail of the sweet ones.
Belrolko did have a change of heart, but if anything, it was into a blacker mood. "He makes me look a fool in front of the silver one. Even if he leads the tribe, battle should come to the strongest. Always he does this, searching for every opportunity to belittle me. I will kill him and eat his frozen heart; I swear this by the lore under the sky," Belrolko vowed to himself.
Toward the top, near the sky, where none may farther walk, they finally halted. The sweet ones had been here, for their trail had been cut several times. Yet they had vanished. For over a day they continued to search, but nothing they did would turn them up. Even Monpedi seemed at a loss, which was staggering, really, for his tracking was second to none. But they were simply no longer on the land. Taggagi and Zelifi conferred. The old silver had heard tales from generations past, of sweet ones unlike all others, perhaps gods among the others. They could walk the sky or float on clouds, it was said, and at the summit where none may farther walk, apparently, they had. Or something. They sure weren't here anymore. Giving up the search, Taggagi order them homeward then. Whatever they had come for, whether they got it or not, they were gone now. Nothing more could be done.
Days pass. The sky gods circled the land and their light sisters aligned themselves along the holy sites of lore. Soon, perhaps 7 or 8 more lights, the shortest light would come and the time of council would be here. At least, that is what the silver one said. Even Taggagi didn't fully understand it, how the old great silver could measure the time and know so certainly when, but the old silver was more than most. He possessed the inner spirit of the mountain. This let him know more lore than the others could manage, and even when the old silver showed patience and tried to carefully explain it, even Taggagi felt lost, and he even had the sight. Yet he wanted to learn, at least, he normally would want to, but now he had other things on his mind.
Belrolko had apparently not softened when Taggagi showed leniency. If anything, it had made matters worse, and for the first time it dawned upon Taggagi that if he didn't relinquish his right without battle, Belrolko was going to try to kill him in the challenge. And if he did relinquish, he might be killed anyway. Until now he had thought to do his best in the challenge and submit gracefully if he lost, though he would fight well, and his pride would not be diminished. He would still have his rank, his family name, and his right to mate with one, though only one, but he would not be leader. Now, it looked as if he would be dead. He closed his eyes in thought. "Oh, by the lore of the sky, what good is my sight when dim muscle will rule anyway?" he silently lamented to no one in particular. When he opened his eyes, Monpedi again greeted him.
The wind had changed, as if often does (though most think little of such unimportant things and feel they couldn't bring danger), but now the wind blew down from Sky's Reach and it carried an unmistakable scent upon it. Sweet ones! They had returned. Once again they scurried over the top of the summit looking for something. Taggagi stood up at the news and grimaced. "How long have they been up there?" he asked. "By the sheer stink of it, they have been back for several days already. They are running all over the place, looking for something, acting as if OUR hunting grounds are their home, crossing it with impunity. Belrolko is gathering a troop of slaves already." Taggagi sighed. There seemed to be no stopping Belrolko's initiative, though this time he had not crossed the line as it was any warrior's right to gather a shock troop. But Taggagi would have to get there soon if he wished to prevent Belrolko from prematurely leaving without orders. These were sweet ones. Dangerous. Perhaps gods and skywalkers. They needed the lore's blessing before going into battle with them, and that would take time.
Another day passed. The troop was gathered and Zelifi once again danced around the Icy Globe of Manipulation, the holy relic of their tribe. Taggagi and Belrolko watched the mystic silver one, felt the power, but never understood it. Belrolko's mind only thought about battle and the sweet taste of impending victory. Taggagi worried about fighting gods, wondered about Zelifi's power over the lore, tried to understand it all, and failed. He mused, "Power vs. power. It has always been so. Which was the stronger? If only Belrolko's power could fight my sight instead, then he'd . . ." he let the partial thought trail off. "Yes, my sight. I can see further ahead than Belrolko. He isn't even worried these sweet ones might be special, might even be skywalkers. And here I've been trying to keep him from charging headlong into battle," he smiled to himself. "I'll have to be careful, though. The skywalkers are dangerous, and I cannot be said to be a coward. The battle will come; I must be part of it. But if they are skywalkers, I can retreat without losing face. Belrolko will not. He's too stupid to even think he can be defeated." So Taggagi thought about it and decided. The battle would come and they would try to win. But if not, if it seemed to go against them, he would not order Belrolko's retreat. He'd let him die. Of course. It was simple. Then he would be unopposed in council and could move the tribe higher up and to safety. At least, that is, until he found out what the sweet ones were doing. But it would buy him time.
14/12/745 A.E. Night Fall.
Monpedi entered the holy cave. "They are making a flowing, black cave. It will soon be up. If we wish to attack before they finish, we must leave now." Zelifi circled once and sat down. "The blessing is upon us once again. We must hurry." Taggagi, Belrolko, Monpedi, and Zelifi went forth, silently into the night, leading the shock troop of eight of their best battle slaves. The hunt was on again.
"What is that strange, black thing?" asked Taggagi as Zelifi drew near enough to hear the softly spoken inquiry. "It could be some new lore. Sweet ones have all sorts of strange tricks, and the bending rocks, they shape them to their will with the fire." Taggagi shuddered at the thought of those who used fire. Even the sight of it sickened him. He had been told his grandmother died in fire, and how like water it had spread over her, but unlike water, it burned blue and yellow and she could not outrun it or shake it free of her fur, since it clung to her until she died in agony. This is how he knew sweet ones were evil. They used fire to kill, as well as bending rocks, and those bending rocks were used to kill, as well, with edges sharper than most any normal rocks. Butchery. Sweet ones knew that art well. Now it was time to teach them a short lesson in a new art, though they wouldn't have time to profit from it. Now it was time to feel the lore of the tribe.
"Send in the shock troops. Keep out of sight, yourselves, until those are spent. Circle them, and when the last one goes down, we all attack. Got that?" The freeborn all nodded in agreement while their slaves looked on, waiting for orders in the lower, rough language of the common ones. But once given, the troop moved in, silently and under the cover of darkness. The sweet ones were oblivious to their careful movements. Taggagi was glad they had these common slaves, even happier they were considerably dimmer than Belrolko such that they never questioned orders or could understand the holy language of the freeborns. When they were in place, he gave the signal. Attack!
Gillmesh knelt by the fire, poking it up with a stick, stirring the coals, making sure all parts of it were burning satisfactorily before he tossed the stick into the burning mass. From out of the black night a Worg leapt out and tore at Gill's throat. Luckily, he still wore his armor, not having taken it off for the night yet. The yellow teeth slid along the metal but could find no decent purchase, and though he staggered back a bit from the blow, he was undamaged. Cyris was not so lucky. A fang had caught him along the arm and a streak of red appeared on his forearm. Lycorne similarly had a gash along the back of her leg. A well-coordinated attack, the eight worgs had surprised them and a few telling blows marked first blood. The others, though shaken, had emerged unscathed. One worg was on each of them and they began to collect their wits.
Spells were cast. Hibernating bats were awakened and summoned forth to do battle at Cyris' bidding. Gill artfully used his sword and danced among the giant wolves in a very Costneresk manner. He could see the deadly flashing of Katsumi (her sword I mean) and knew he was in good company. At Bell's conjuring, a ball of flame erupted into existence close to Gill, but it moved toward a worg. Silver streaks of light trailing golden tips of energy emanated from Lycorne's fingers, the Magic Missiles producing a satisfactory howl from its intended target. Aarkon was twirling his staff, and though he couldn't connect, he kept the worgs at bay with his fluid-like movements. Jarmain's Prayer is answered and the blessing of Zeus settles upon all here, though it's more like a curse from the worg's point of view. Yipping and howling fills the night, cloth is heard ripping as yellow fangs find it and tear toward the flesh it conceals. The battle rages on.
Taggagi is dismayed at the power of the sweet ones, but Zelifi is merely curious. "Look, they are the gods of the sweet ones." The old silver nods. "Perhaps, but let us continue to press the attack. Even gods have weaknesses."
Minute follows chaotic minute as the battle continues. The sounds of battle and the energy of spells abound, though the natural magic of teeth and claw also do their work. Both sides begin to show considerable wear and tear. Garren makes his plea and healing spirits are summoned at the behest of the cleric, their unseen healing touch invigorating the adventurers to continue to stand so they may continue the fight. The worgs begin to diminish, too, but no healing spirits are there to aid them. The firelight flickers and the din of battle echoes across the mountainside. Rock Bunnies near there think better of checking it out and continue to hide amongst the rocks. The four Winter Wolves watch as the sweet one's power begins to visibly wane. Can they finally kill them? Whether they can or not, they will have to try.
The last worg goes down, its spine broken by a katana, and as its toothy grip lessens, Lycorne is set free of the nasty brute. Yet, as the chaos of battle subsides, they still see shapes moving in the night. Bigger than before, more menacing, it is there that they lurk. Finally noticing them in the shadows where they have been watching, the party members see them, but it's almost too late, for they are done watching. They attack. Rushing in, they can now see them clearly; large, white, silvery in color, even almost majestic looking. Winter Wolves!
Clouds of frosty breath issue forth from the maws of the winter wolves, the arctic blasts freezing the skin of Gillmesh, Katsumi, Isabelle, and Lycorne (despite the fact there were 5 Mirror Images of the mage by that time, she was unfortunately one of the three hit). A Light spell tries to settle on one of the wolf's eyes, but it fails, though it hangs in the air nearby and illuminates the battlefield quite nicely. The gleaming, beautiful silvery coats of the winter wolves can finally be appreciated, though the adventurers do not take the time to stop and marvel at nature's handiwork.
The chaos of battle continues for many rounds, and the clerical power of healing support stays the hand of death from our intrepid adventurers, though there is no such moratorium for death's icy grip for some of the tribal members.
"Feel the Wrath of Zeus!" someone calls (I wonder who) and a bolt of lightning streaks out, crashing into Belrolko. The largest wolf goes down. A rolling ball of fire, Bell's flaming sphere, then engulfs Taggagi - or did it?
Zelifi, seeing the flames engulf the pack's leader, evokes the holy power of the tribe's relic. A step back, another path taken, not that one but the other one, and Taggagi wasn't there where the flaming sphere had gone. Not at all. Never had been, either. He had taken the other path - fought the other opponent. Everyone saw it that way, remembered it that way, for it had actually been that way. Anyone who might even think Bell's flaming sphere had engulfed Taggagi would have simply been mistaken. That had never happened. I swear by all that is holy (in an icy relic kind of way of manipulating things), that Taggagi took another path and never made contact with a sphere of magic fire. It's true. Take my word for it.
Taggagi, having just used his breath weapon on a foe who stubbornly continued to stand, wisely decides these are skywalkers who, despite the tribe's best efforts, are still too powerful and continue to be dangerous beyond the tribe's means to extinguish. To press the attack would be tantamount to suicide, so he orders the retreat.
"Poor Belrolko," he would have laughed silently to himself, if not for the fact they were all getting their tails singed at the time, and the sweet ones were still a considerable threat to his tribe. They attempt to scurry away, bounding into the night as he barked out orders to retreat. A few more blows find their mark upon the remaining 3 winter wolves before they manage to disappear well beyond the campfire's diminishing spherical realm of illumination. Into the night they escaped, the welcome blackness finally achieving victory over the puny efforts of the camp's fire.
The battle over, the party breathes a sigh of relief. Healing again, magic is so handy, they take their rest and clean up a bit. Gill takes the pelt of Belrolko, and though he does a bad job of it, perhaps it will be worth half of what one in good condition would have been worth.
NOTE: Taggagi survives the battle, of course, as all the freeborn winter wolves did, save for Belrolko. But more importantly, Taggagi avoids the challenge and retains leadership, and he soon moves his tribe farther up Mt. Windus, securing their survival perhaps for generations to come. I mean, sweet ones, or humans, really do have little reason to be up that high on the mountain, and this rare exception is likely to keep the winter wolves away from even normal humans for decades, if not centuries longer. All in all, losing this fight may have saved the tribe. And that's a good thing, isn't it?
14/13/745 A.E.
During the next day they make their way toward Korale, and when they finally arrive, they actually look pretty good, their wounds having been healed, their spells having been relearned. Only their smell left something to be desired. Stale sweat and urine, the very breath of country living upon them, they would be unfit for human company until they could get a decent bath. Luckily, The White Wolf (the tavern at Korale, you may recall) had such a place, and though they'd have to take turns or share, they were more than willing to do that. But this was not unexpected.
They made a mental note of the fact there was a large ship (a dwarven galleon, so called because of its diminutive size compared to the larger vessels, and having nothing to do with the dwarven race) was resting in the harbor. Men and women were busy unloading an incredible amount of cargo. Still, the bath beaconed, and such matters could probably wait. And so they would.
SESSION ENDS:
© July of 2000
by
James L.R. Beach
Waterville, MN 56096