The Greater of Two Evils
All was dark. All was quiet.
All was as it should have been in Prellent, a small farming village in the lands of Yre. After a long day in the fields, the denizens of the town had finally allowed themselves the luxury of slumber, that they may rise afresh for work the next day.
Prellent was a peaceful village; with a population of little more than a hundred people, and surrounded mostly by forest, it was very small and ineffectual. Few strangers ever passed through, and those that did had rarely stayed long. Thus, Prellent was left to lie, contented in the darkness and silence of the cool spring night.
Suddenly, however, there was light. And noise. Terrible light and noise.
From the woods around poured hundreds of terrible creatures. Each bore a torch, illuminating their scaly blue, brawny bodies and their angry hellish features, and each roared their own savage battle-cry into the air as they bore down upon the unsuspecting village, destroying the peace that had once reigned so benevolently.
No more was there peace. The devils laughed as they set they ransacked the houses, murdering the slowest to rise in their beds and also slaying any others who tried to flee or resist. They pillaged all they could, then gleefully laid the dwellings under the curse of fiery destruction. And then they ran back to the forest with as much as they could carry, cackling about their wicked deeds and boasting about their share of the plunder.
And so darkness and silence ruled once again.
* * * * *
Men. Giants. Wildmen. Demons. Verr men. These were the most powerful races ever to walk the face of Gaelia.
And now, thought Cranack of the Axe, A new race would rise up and take its place among them. And this new race would soon rise far above and subjugate the others, and any who resisted would be crushed under this race�s clawed feet. And this race would rule forever, as such was its destiny. It could not be stopped; it was inevitable that this race would eventually prove its superiority.
This race was the mightiest of all. He knew this because this race was his own.
Cranack was a lizardman. And he was proud of his superiority for being such.
And Cranack felt an extra surge of pride for being a lizardman above all the rest. He had been chosen by the forces of Evil for the honor of leading his grand race to its destiny. He had won the title of Warlord through his wits, his cunning, his tactical genius, and, of course, his unequalled prowess as a warrior. He had not only gained control of thousands of rowdy, uncivilized lizardmen and united them under his banner, but he had also managed to marshal them into a disciplined, well-trained army which would know no equal.
He was the one who would lead his people out of the swamps of North-Western Gaelia. Out of the swamps and into the world that would soon writhe in their claws.
During his ascension to power, he had been summoned from his homeland and brought to the mighty city of Evil; Du'Rorrum. There he was made to run a dangerous magical gauntlet which would either kill him or make him stronger beyond all reckoning.
The gauntlet did not kill him. As a result, Cranack the Axe had become very powerful indeed...
He had not run it alone, though.
There was another who had been chosen alongside himself. This lizardman was named Grungda, and he was the absolute epitome of what Cranack had tried to purge from the soul of lizardkind. Rude, loud, loutish, uncouth, and, in Cranack's opinion, stupid, Grungda was everything Cranack hated in a lizardman. If Grungda was not another lizardman warlord - or rather, and equally powerful lizardman warlord, and a champion of Evil to boot - then Cranack would have no qualms with gutting the bastard at the first opportunity that presented itself. Still, Grungda had been chosen by Evil as well, and Cranack was nobody to question his masters' nefarious will.
Still, despite Grungda's many shortcomings, Cranack had to admire certain traits about the other lizardman. The reptilian warrior had risen from the mud of the swamps, grown up surviving in the wilderness like a feral beast until he was found by a lizardman tribe and "domesticated", so to speak. Grungda had then risen to power, just like Cranack, although in a much different way. Cranack had risen to power because he knew which ear was the right to whisper in, and which back would give him most if he planted a knife in it. Grungda had merely challenged his tribe's chieftain to a fair duel and won. Either way, it got the job done, but Cranack didn't feel it was right for ascension to be that easy.
Both Cranack and Grungda had needed to survive bitter rivalries with others within their own tribes in order to keep their place in power. Both had been ruthless in their dealing with such usurpers, but both had dealt with them in much different ways. Cranack had bided his time, carefully ferreting out and thwarting the schemes of the over-ambitious and eventually killing them as an example to all others. Grungda, however - well, he was much different. Some said he could literally smell an enemy - that to him, to see someone was to know their intentions, and whether or not they could be trusted. Perhaps it was something left over from his days of living like a feral predator in the swamps, some ancient survival instinct long forgotten by most civilized lizardmen, but not by this single one...
As well, both had set about rallying other tribes of lizardmen to their causes. However, where Cranack had used finesse , diplomacy , bribery and blackmail , only resorting to all-out war when the need was most dire, Grungda had merely stomped into their lands, demanded a meeting with their chieftains, lopped their leaders' heads off, and gained control over the tribe that way. It was infuriating to Cranack that someone could gain control over another tribe so easily, but what could he do?
And then there was the manner of army each commanded. This was one of the things that set Cranack and Grungda a world apart. Cranack's troops were well-organized, well equipped, and well trained in the use of several types of weapon. The army was separated into three groups; infantry, archers and cavalry. The infantry-lizards each wore an iron helm, a breast plate, shoulder guards, thigh guards, and wrist and shin protectors. All carried a spear, a large, round wooden shield, and either a sword, an axe, a bludgeon or a dagger. Their main function was heavy melee combat.
The archers were more lightly equipped for versatility. Each had a longbow or javelins (the term �archer� for lizardmen covers both) as their primary weapon, with a short sword or dagger for use on attackers that came too close. Most of them just wore leather armor and bracers for protection. Their main function was backup for the infantry, skirmishing, and (in specialized cases) assassination.
Finally, there was the cavalry. But, since the lizardmen didn�t have horses (like most people on Gaelia), they used giant reptilian creatures, which looked like giant iguanas, called korrls. They were about the size of a horse, although not quite as fast. They were, however, much more versatile, and could negotiate even the toughest terrain. Not even water could deter these beasts. Cavalry-lizards often dressed similarly to the archers (to be less of a burden to their mounts) and carried weapons similar to the infantry-lizards. Their main function was scouting, hit-and-run attacks, skirmishing, fast tactical maneuvers, and acting as Cranack�s personal bodyguard.
All of these warriors were well trained, well equipped, and hungry for battle. All of them were disciplined and masters with their weapons. The infantry-lizards were experts at sword-play, spearmanship, marching in formation, and battle-tactics. The archers could shoot fast and accurately, and had become veterans at guerilla warfare from years of living, fighting and killing in their swampy homeland. The cavalry-lizards were sharp of eye and keen of mind, and adept at hunting and killing. They did indeed make up a force to be reckoned with, and stood in stark contrast to Grungda�s army.
Army � Hah! Cranack thought contemptuously. Somehow, the lizardman general�s terrible conscience could not bring himself to disgrace that word by using it to describe Grungda�s soldiers. Call it a horde, a mob, a rabble, a swarm, a bloody crowd for Chaggsakes, but not an army. An army was supposed to be an organized, disciplined mass of warriors, not the unruly bunch if yelling, cursing louts that Grungda commanded.
Where could one begin? They were just fundamentally barbaric. Cranack�s soldiers were not unhygienic as lizardmen go. Even Cranack had never lost his gritty, low-down nature, although it was accompanied by a seemingly out-of-place � yet somehow very appropriate � arrogance, but his counterpart�s warriors were much different. Cranack swore that all he had to do was take a whiff of the air just to know whether or not to say �Ye�re one o� Grungda�s lot, aren�t yah?� This was not an exaggeration; they literally smelled like shit.
Cranack, being the pinnacle of what a warrior should be, was frankly unimpressed by the appearance of Grungda�s army as well. They wore little � if any � armor, often painting themselves with human blood as many human warriors paint themselves with woad. Each bore a host of battle-scars, re-grown tails, tattered frills, and even a few missing hands or feet. Many wore the pelts of predators like wolves and bears, or other swamp hunters. All of them held a great variety of weapons, and knew nothing of formation or ranks. They were a motley bunch of blackguards; ferocious in appearance, but looks hardly impressed Cranack. Still, they were not to be underestimated under any circumstances.
Grungda�s warriors were not altogether an undisciplined bunch. They feared and respected their leader, and would follow his orders and his alone. Grungda drilled his soldiers, and drilled them hard, putting them through grueling physical exercises to bring them to peak physical condition. They fought with vicious savagery, impervious to pain and blind to fear. They would charge into the maw of a demon the size of the world in hopes of killing it from the inside, if their leader ordered them to.
And there was probably a half-and-half chance that they would succeed, too.
Grungda�s horde was half again as large as Cranack�s army, but they seemed pretty equally matched. In a pitched battle between the skill with weapons and tactical prowess of Cranack�s warriors and the brutal strength and numbers of Grungda�s, it would be any lizardman�s battle. Whichever side won, there would be many casualties indeed. At least as allies, Cranack�s army would be twice as powerful.
Lizardmen are not an altogether notorious race (although Cranack hoped that this would soon change). Many in Gaelia would mistake them for some sort of reptilian demon. They are blue-scaled creatures, about the same size and proportions of a man, except no man has claws, a long, fang-filled snout, two frills on his head, lizard-like eyes, a ridge of bony spikes running down his spine, and a long, lashing tail to boot. Generally, lizardmen are good swimmers and climbers (when not bogged down by armor), perfectly suited to their swampy environment. How they had entered the world had been anyone�s guess; their first known sighting by a human being had only been a few centuries ago. Of course, they had never left their swamps until now, which few men had ever entered � and those who had usually didn�t return�
Cranack sighed in frustration as he sat in his korrl-hide tent, looking over his recent reports. He had an entire network of spies throughout his own ranks � and many watching his allies, as well � who reported back to him frequently. They told him all about plots and conspiracies being hatched behind his back; treachery always walked hand-in-hand with intellect with lizardmen, making the dumbest the most trustworthy, and the smartest the least. So how did Cranack know that his spies weren�t lying to him for their own gain? Well, at first he just left it up to faith. Now, though, he made sure that any and every spy who reported a conspiracy meet with him and Grungda, where he would be asked if he was telling the truth. If he was, Grungda would know; he always did, somehow. If the cur was lying, then Grungda would rip his throat out with his own teeth. If he admitted that he was lying originally, then Grungda would also rip his throat out with his teeth.
Thus, Cranack�s spies were the most honest lizardmen in the army.
Now, though, something had been reported that Cranack hesitated to put past Grungda. This was because the deerskin parchment, delivered by a somewhat nervous spy. It told that Grungda, without orders or permission, had just come dangerously close to alerting the human scum of their presence in the world.
�So, lemmie get this straight,� Cranack muttered, still staring into the paper, �Grungda jus� sent 500 lizardmen to burn a wee village ter cinders, wi�oot consultin� me.� He turned to face the spy. �Noo, I�m not sayin� ye�re lyin�, but ow�d ye come �cross dis most important information?�
�Uh, that�s a wee matter there,� the spy said, rubbing the area behind his right frill nervously, �See, ter get close enough wi�oot bein� found oot an� killed, Ah �ad ter, um, ye know, borrow a disguise��
�Ye killed one o� the lout�s skinks an� took �is clothes.� Cranack said bluntly.
The spy recoiled from this unexpectedly straightforward statement, but recovered. �Well, sort of�� he trailed off.
�Och, come on,� Cranack sighed, �Doan� tell me ye sort of slit that poor bastard�s throat an� sort of stripped �im naked afores ye sort of dumped �is sorry carcass in the bog, a�right? Yeh, I know, some sod on scout detail backed up o�er it an� landed on �is arse jus� yesterday. Either gimmie a yes�r a no, an� be quick aboot et. I ain�t got all day.�
The scout gulped, his tail lashing about in tension as the color of his scales turned a much lighter blue. �Well, b�tween ye�n me,� he said shakily, �Ah�d �ave ter say, well�yes��
And �yes� was the last thing he ever did say , for at that moment a blue blur whooshed into the tent and, before Cranack knew it, Grungda was standing before him, gnashing at the air with a bloody jaw. The spy now lay dead, his throat savagely torn out.
Cranack bit back the urge to recoil in fright, and managed to keep his composure. �Noo, wazzat really, truly neccessr�y?� he asked calmly, �I mean, the poor sod din�t seem ter be lyin�.�
Grungda�s thick, forked tongue flicked out, slurping up the blood. �Oh-aye?� he muttered, �An� whut�s that got ter do wit anythin�?�
�Ye bit �is throat oot,� Cranack responded with false nonchalance, �Isn� that a punishment fer liars?�
Grungda grinned, a look that almost made Cranack swallow his tongue from shock. Cranack and Grungda looked as different as they were in their minds and tactics. Cranack, for one, wore heavy, well-fitting armor and carried (as was suggested by his title �Cranack the Axe�) a battle-axe. Grungda, on the other hand, looked like a feral beast; he wore only a pair of heavily stitched-together pants and a wolf�s head atop his own, allowing the rest of its hide to drape behind his back like a cape. He needn�t have bothered; his frills were so large, they alone would have sufficed. No one quite knew the cause for this mutation; if anyone ever asked Grungda, he�d be most likely to take it as an insult and kill the inquirer. Another feature that made Cranack wary of Grungda was his voice; his thick, unfriendly voice, with its heavier-than-usual accent, always made Cranack�s spine tingle whenever he heard it.
And now that terrible voice spoke once again. �A chunk outta one�s wind-hole�s gudd �nough punishment fer anythin�, if�n ye ask me,� it said, sending that familiar tingle down Cranack�s spine. Still, he kept a cool complexion, and gave his response.
�An� what did he do ter deserve that, me ol� mate?� he asked snidely.
Grungda flinched at this, his right-upper lip rising in a snarl. Cranack noticed that the other lizardman was squeezing the handle of the sword on his belt. He was obviously very angry at being referred to by Cranack as �me ol� mate�, but was somehow keeping it in check. Amazing, he thought, It shows restraint. I didn�t know animals could do that!
�Yer lad,� he growled, quivering with rage, �Killed one o� mine. Ah �eard �im say it meself. So�d ye, as Ah recall; ye�re tha one what wuz arskin� �im aboot et.� Grungda�s grip seemed to tighten. �Ah trust ye�d �ave told me aboot et if�n Ah �ad�t �eard �im, wouldn�t ye?�
Cranack kept up his uncaring charade. This was difficult; faced with a dangerous, unpredictable and probably mad lizardman, he was sure most people would have enough trouble not pissing themselves with fright, let alone calmly exchange banter. Still, this he did. �Indeed I would�ve,� he lied, �So, what were ye doin�, skulkin� �round ootside mah tent?�
Now Grungda actually snarled, baring his teeth as he hissed savagely. This time, Cranack thought he might have gone too far. �Ah don� skulk, lemmie tell ye that, laddie,� he barked, �Ah jus� came ter tell ye whut yer spy wuz talkin� aboot, an� decided ter listen in fer a bit, yah hear?�
�A�right, a�right,� Cranack said hastily, then changed the subject. �So, ye�ve got yer vengeance. Eye fer an eye, tooth fer a tooth, claw fer a claw. One o� me lads killed one o� yers, so ye killed �im. Ye satisfied?�
Grungda�s snarl was replaced with an awful, awful grin. �Oh, thar�s jus� one lil thing ter take inter consideration; Ah�ve a bit o� a policy, ye see. If�n ye kill one o� mine,� he pulled out a pair of lizardman heads, �Then Ah kills three o� yers!�
Cranack stood up starkly, mouth gaping in shock, his fear completely forgotten. That bastard! That bastard! That bastard! That bastard! He killed 3 soldiers, for the love of Chagg! That was just plain intolerable!
Roaring, Cranack surged forward. He head-butted Grungda in the stomach, winding the lizardman and knocking him back. For a while, Cranack knelt over Grungda, crying out in anger as he pummeled his lizard-like face. Grungda, however, was quick to respond. Snarling angrily, he brought his own fist up, hitting Cranack under the lower jaw and sending him reeling back. Then Grungda got up, roared, and lunged at his adversary, sending both rolling around in the tent, upsetting chairs, Cranack�s table, the piles and piles of reports, weapons and war-trophies as they fought, cursing and snarling as they grappled.
Cranack and Grungda did this often. Almost every argument between the two turned into a fist-fight. This was because each hated the other with a passion, but neither could kill the other without terrible retribution from the Forces of Evil. Thus they slugged it out, trying to beat the other into submission, to prove who was the better lizardman. As usual, neither won.
�So,� Cranack snarled, struggling to break free of Grungda�s headlock, �Do ye yield?�
�Feis ort, ye bastard!� Grungda snarled, squirming against the other lizardman�s arms, which were wrapped around his stomach and squeezing hard.
Cranack knew that this was useless. �Mayhaps we should continue dis when et better suits our schedule, eh?� he snarled.
�Aye,� Grungda nodded, �On tha count o� three�One�two�THREE!�
Both made like they were about to let go, then squeezed even harder.
�ACH!� Cranack choked through Grungda�s stranglehold, �Yah�fergin��cheat!�
�Look �oo�s talkin�,� the winded Grungda gasped.
This time the two let go for real. Gasping, they separated, glaring hatefully at each other. �Why�d ye do it, Grungda?� Cranack snarled, leaning back against the tent post and holding his throat.
Grungda wheezed and, holding his stomach, managed to stand upright. �Ah tol� ye,� he explained, ��Bout mah policy��
�Och, I doan� mean that,� Cranack growled bitterly, �I mean when ye sent 500 lizardmen ter roast a village nearby the swamp.�
�An� whut would be wrong wit� that?� Grungda asked nastily.
�Whut�s wrong,� Cranack snarled �Is that word o� it�s destruction is gunna spread sometime, dat is, o� course, unless nobody saw that huge damn bonfire ye made!�
Grungda chuckled wickedly. �Dinnae worry,� he snickered, �We�ve gotter invade sumtime. Asides, mah lizards were getting� restless, whut wit� �avin� no-one left ter fight in dis swamp. Ah jus� thought Ah�d give �em a taste o� what ter expect once tha war on the rest o� tha world begins in earnest.�
Cranack gnashed his teeth. �We cannae risk mankind findin� us oot too soon! We�ve only 17500 lizardmen �tween us, an� they�re nae all equipped an� ready ter invade! We�re still gatherin� more forces, an� thar�s still recruits trainin�! Fightin� oot thar�s not th� same as fightin� inna swamp, ye ken? Tha time ter strike�ll be soon, but not yet!�
Grungda looked as if he was about to hit Cranack, then merely grinned. �As ye say, sahr,� he smiled as he left the tent. Cranack sighed; he was in the clear now. Picking up his table, he began to salvage the contents of his tent in an attempt to bring back some semblance of order. It was at that moment that Grungda poked his head into the tent, yelled �SOD!�, and withdrew cackling. Cranack, surprised by this sudden outburst, jumped up in the air and landed on one of the overturned chairs, smashing it into kindling. Cursing, Cranack vowed that one day Grungda would die.
Preferably, at his hands.
* * * * *
Although the swamps of the lizardmen were considered very obscure and out-of-the-way by most, it did not escape all of attention. Evil had come there seeking to bend its inhabitants to its will, but this had not gone unnoticed by the Forces of Good, either.
And Good would not stand idly by as Evil prepared yet another army to do its bidding. Even now, the Forces of Good sent its champion to somehow set things right. Good has a knack for this.
There was one thing, however, that Good did not expect�
* * * * *
Nalt Nelensson strode calmly through the forest in the land of Yre. Garbed in a rich woolen cloak (courtesy of a man in a village he had passed through a few days ago; it had literally cost him a song) and a golden brooch, a checkered red and green shirt covered by a brown vest, and a pair of pants and leather boots, he was off on a journey, although he did not know where to. His feet just took him there, somehow.
Nalt was an over-all good young man, and looked the part too; he was tall, handsome, had bright, friendly blue eyes and golden locks of hair. At his left thigh dangled a long, glittering sword and an ornate wooden handle, and in the pack upon his back rested a sleeping bag, some supplies, and a long, beautiful flute.
Nalt had been raised as a skald by other skalds. He and his family had always traveled together throughout his childhood, going from village to village to ply their trade for food and a night�s stay at the local inn. They never stayed in any one place for too long, giving Nalt few opportunities to make friends, but he didn�t care; he had grown up with a loving, caring family, and anyone for whom he played his music usually had no wish to make him their enemy. Finally, at the age of eighteen, Nalt had departed from his family to travel on his own for a while. They didn�t mind; they were happy that he was trying to make his way in the world, and had promised that they would see him again some day.
And so Nalt wandered the land, living as he always had off of his amazing talent. He had, of course heard of the turmoil in the rest of the world. He knew that the men to the North grew strong quickly or died at the hands of wildmen, giants, monsters, or even the raging spirits that controlled the weather in their frigid homeland. He knew that the dark skinned men to the South lived at constant odds with the innumerable hordes of demons that marauded the sands of their homeland. He knew that the men of the Eastern Mountains shed their own blood every day defending their homes from vicious hordes of the savage, rat-like verr men. He knew that even the dazzling trees of the Western lands, his home, grew tall and magnificent upon a foundation of the decomposed flesh and bones of men slain by their fellow men, and that every day their roots were nourished by more blood�
All this he knew, yet still he retained his innocent naivet�. He had seen friends and foes sit together in harmony to enjoy his music, seen them laugh and cry together as they listened to his tales. Love of entertainment seemed to be one thing all people, no matter how different in age, gender, appearance, or (probably) species, had in common. When he sat and thought about it, it seemed that all wars were only ever about peoples� differences. Personally, Nalt liked difference in people; it made them unique, interesting, more fun to be around. Apparently, though, the rest of the world didn�t. Maybe it was just their nature; Nalt did not know.
If this indeed was the case, then why couldn�t people try to concentrate on how they are similar instead? Maybe if they did, there would be no more violence, and everybody could live in harmony. It would be a perfect world, with everybody perfectly happy.
But it wasn�t a perfect world, and nobody would ever be perfectly happy. Still, there was little Nalt could do for that, save for keep traveling around, bringing people together by sharing tales and playing music. Who knows? � perhaps somebody who could change the world would learn how he viewed it, and do something wonderful�
A twig cracked in the bushes. Nalt looked up�
* * * * *
Petorrick had come from a completely different side of the path as Nalt. Nalt was tall, handsome, fair skinned, well dressed and had bright, friendly eyes. Petorrick was squat, ugly, battle scarred, dressed in grubby, itchy brown clothes, and had an angry, mud-coloured left eye. His right was but an empty socket. Nalt was easy-going and calm. Petorrick was quick-tempered and violent. Nalt had grown up with a loving family that cared for him, and he wished to see them again some day. Petorrick had been �raised� by a surly, drunken oaf of a father and a submissive, quiet mother, who had subjected him to beatings and hard, heavy labor until he finally ran away. He wished to see them again, though; if only so that he could kill both for pissing him off because of their existing.
Nalt had a beautiful voice, could sing and recite poetry like a master. Petorrick thought a skald was something morons got when they stuck their hands in hot water. Nalt could play a song on his flute that could lull a dragon to sleep. Petorrick mostly used his breath for yelling, cursing and cracking rude jokes, and the iron hand that replaced his hacked-off right hand ensured that he would never play the flute, even if he did have interest in doing so. Nalt carried a beautiful sword. Petorrick lugged around a big, studded club.
Finally, Nalt was kind, generous and a good person in general. Petorrick, however, had a heart like coal, and was almost as compassionate.
It is already known that Petorrick�s childhood was an awful part of his life, one that left him angry, bitter and hateful. However, after he ran away at 15 years of age, he had no-where to go and no-one to take care of him. He had wandered alone for a while, his lack of social skills and decency ensuring that nobody would offer to apprentice him for a trade, and he had no wish to join any tribe�s army. He made his living off of theft and murder, and soon enough he had become a man completely unprotected by the laws of any tribe � any man could do anything to him without any fear of punishment.
Eventually, Petorrick came across a few other outcasts like himself. Kindred spirits they were; wicked, ruthless men who were damned to persecution by any tribe that could catch them. All were thieves, all were murderers, and all were willing to accept a fellow villain into their fold. He soon came to respect them as co-workers, and eventually even as friends.
There were three others in the beginning. First, there was Kir, a mongrel of a man. He was scruffy, ill-kempt, probably had fleas, had rotten, brown teeth, and a gruff, barking voice. He had a fierce, wiry strength about him, though, and was deadly with his sharp, rusted blade.
Next was Sant, a tall, gangly man with a permanent sneer etched across his ugly face. He was a man bred of a cross between a Western woman and a Southern man, giving him darker skin than usual. He wore only a pair of dirty red pants, leaving his chest, criss-crossed by dozens of scars as it was, completely bare. From his nose, ears and several other places on his body dangled metal rings, which jingled when he walked. He carried a pair of large sickles, which he could swing about to deadly effect. He was unusually silent, and seemed to regard almost everything with a look of hatred. His head was completely bald; he had once worn a shawl, but had lost it some time ago (how shall be explained later).
Finally, there was Ildred. He was, by far, the only one of the group who could have been taken for a normal person. He, of all the group, had revealed the most information about himself � that is to say, he had told them that he had Mhein-Otar blood. Of course, he was not pure-bred, although it was plain to see proof of his heritage; his black hair, his tall, muscular build. He was a bastard, of course � the Mhein-Otar have no concept of marriage � and had admitted that he was the son of some salve-wench. Such offspring are supposed to be put to death, but he wasn�t. Apparently, the legion his father served � and the one that had possessed his pregnant mother � had been attacked and wiped out by another tribe�s army. Her father had died in battle against them and her mother had gone from being a slave to the Mhein-Otar to being a slave to the other tribe. And so Ildred grew up as a slave until one day, during his teenage years, he managed to escape his masters to make his own way in the world. He carried a large battle-axe, and was an excellent killer.
For a few years, the band had traveled the Western lands, putting any who crossed their path to the sword and stealing anything of value that they might have had. Often they would raid an unprotected village, taking all they could carry and scorching a few buildings just for the hell of it. One day, however, the group raided a village that would be their last in the Western realm.
Apparently, this village was on the outskirts of a tribe allied with the Mhein-Otar. Upon sight of them, a horn had blown and drums had started beating. Instantly, dozens of Mhein warriors, along with the town guard, had surged out of their shelters and attacked. During the ensuing battle, Petorrick had lost his right hand and eye, Kir had lost his life, as had many Mhein warriors. Ildred had escaped relatively unscathed, and all Sant had lost was his shawl. The two had driven back the Mhein warriors and carried their badly wounded comrade to safety, where they managed to crudely bandage his bleeding stump before setting out again. However, word of their attack on the village had spread to the Mhein-Otar, who sent a force out to find and kill them. It was then apparent that the West was no longer safe, so the small group traveled North-West (stopping only to threaten a blacksmith into making Petorrick his iron hand) until they reached the obscure land of Yre.
This was a good place; they had not heard of the group here, and there were good pickings when it came to robbery. And now, the group crouched in the bushes in one of the forests, waiting for the next poor fool to fall into their trap�
Petorrick knelt forward, accidentally snapping a twig. The intended victim, a tall, blond, richly dressed man, turned to look right at him. Instantly, the man�s had strayed towards his blade.
Oh shit, Petorrick thought bitterly, then lunged out, swinging his club.
* * * * *
Nalt�s blade went from sheathed to ready with blinding speed. Crying out with shock, the young man was just able to parry a swing from his assailant�s club. The bandit grunted as he withdrew his club, then swung again, this time bringing his right hand � which, as Nalt, noticed was made of iron, its fingers bent so that it looked like it was half-way into making a fist � at the young man as well. Nalt jumped back, avoiding both, then surged forward, swinging his blade in a double-handed stroke. The robber was quick, though; blocking the blade with his stout wooden club, he delivered a stinging blow to Nalt�s left shoulder with his iron hand. Then he swung again with his club, forcing Nalt to block.
Nalt, however, did not want to hurt the man, so he turned tail and started to run, only to find that his way was blocked by a large, lanky man with dark skin and two sickles. He turned around again to see that his first attacker had been joined by another man, this one with a large battle-axe. All three were now starting to close in.
�What do you want?� Nalt cried, terror rising in his voice.
�Your money or your life,� the man with the club and iron hand smirked, �Though I would enjoy taking both.�
* * * * *
Sant, Ildred and Petorrick all attacked at once. Nalt swung his blade around wildly, terror and desperation turning him into a cyclone of death to anyone who dared step too near. The tall, dark man swung with both blades at once, but Nalt turned both away with a single slash of his blade. Immediately, he whirled around, separating the axe-head on Ildred�s weapon from its haft. He swung about again, just able to parry another blow from Sant�s right hook. Then he dodged a slash from the left blade and drew a fresh gash across the tall man�s chest.
Then Petorrick moved in. Swinging about mercilessly with his club and iron hand, he forced Nalt to block again and again, loosing ground and walking backwards into Sant�s reach. Then, just as the dark man was about to strike again, Nalt whirled around, tearing another, deeper gash across his other opponent�s chest as he did, and turned about just in time to face Petorrick again.
Ildred, however, had picked up his weapon�s old axe-head. A look of extreme irritation crossed his face. �Son of a bitch!� he snarled, then roared as he charged forward. Petorrick, hearing his comrade�s war-cry, jumped aside, leaving Nalt exposed to the other bandit�s wrath.
The young skald was caught completely unprepared. Ildred batted aside the young man�s blade as he swung the axe-head, embedding it firmly in Nalt�s chest. Then, leaving the blade in his victim�s body, he smirked as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Nalt gasped with indescribable pain as he fell to his knees, his sword clattering to the ground beside him. Slowly, shakily, his hands moved to the blade in his chest. When he looked down at them, he saw that they were stained red. That�s blood, he realized with horror, That�s my own blood! He coughed, and felt that he was choking on the same stuff.
Nalt fell back with a moan, his eyes clenched shut with agony. I can�t breath, he thought desperately, Can�t breath�More blood bubbled up from his throat and welled up in his mouth. The blood overflowed and trickled down his face, and the poor young man could feel his shirt and sweater becoming soaked, but all feeling seemed to be slowly leaving his body. Soon, all he felt was cold, enveloping his senses, darkening his vision. He wanted to embrace the cold, to let it wash over him�
No, some obscure part of his brain urged him desperately, No, you can�t go yet! You need to see your family again! You have so much to live for! You don�t deserve to die like this! You can�t! It�s not fair!
It�s not fair�was the last thing that crossed the mind of Nalt Nelensson before the cold consumed him completely.
* * * * *
The Forces of Good had watched all this with a mixture of pity, sorrow, despair and, finally, fury at those responsible. This was not supposed to have happened! Their chosen champion should not have been waylaid on the road by a bunch of cut-throats! It had not been part of the plan! It wasn�t right!
It wasn�t fair!
Regret was felt as well. A perfectly good young man had died, had been led to his death uselessly. They should have prepared him better for the journey, in case something of this sort were to happen. Still, they hadn�t, and they would now pay the consequences.
Still, there was a glimmer of hope. The men responsible for the young man�s death were evil, but they were not aligned with the Forces of Evil. This was surprising, as they were almost powerful enough to become champions of Evil. Perhaps Good could use this to their advantage�
Still, the one whose hands were stained with Nalt�s blood would have to be punished. The others were probably just as bad, but they could not all be punished; as the saying goes, a corpse is no good to anybody. Still, Good was now formulating a plan which could both punish the murderer of their champion and turn the other two into unwitting pawns.
Even now, an agent of the Forces of Good sent one of its agents to carry out their plan. Hopefully, it would work�
* * * * *
The three bandits rummaged carelessly through Nalt�s pack, turning out every inch in the hopes of finding something valuable.
�We�ve got a good catch here,� Petorrick said, uncovering the supplies. He took a bite out of a loaf of bread, chewed it and swallowed. �Nice grub, this,� he muttered, �I�ll shit easy tonight.�
�Indeed,� Sant commented, �There�s enough to last us for a while. We won�t have to raid a traveler for at least a week.�
�But we�ll still raid travelers, won�t we?� Petorrick said between bites.
�Of course,� Sant assured him, �We just won�t need to so badly.�
Ildred smirked. �You two can stuff your faces till they burst,� he said, picking up the blade, �I�m going to the real goods.�
Petorrick glanced at the sword and snorted. �It�s just a bloody sword,� he muttered, �You can pretty much nick one of those off any dumb bastard on the road.�
Ildred sighed. �You don�t know the value of weapons like these,� he said, �We can sell it for quite a bundle, you know; could buy me a right beautiful new axe with that sort of money.�
Sant frowned (nothing out of the usual). �Why buy a new axe?� he muttered, �Why not just mug a blacksmith?�
Ildred snickered. �Good point,� he conceded.
Petorrick wasn�t listening any more, though; his eye had been caught by Nalt�s golden brooch. �Well, then,� he muttered in a far-off voice, �That�s a pretty little trinket there��
Ildred and Sant both looked at what he was talking about, then just stared at it in awe. For some reason, the brooch seemed extremely captivating. None could explain why � it wasn�t the most beautiful piece of gold � but still, it was so attractive�
�It�s mine,� Ildred said, snatching the trinket from Nalt�s cloak, �I killed the bastard, so I get my pick of the spoils.�
�Wait a minute,� Petorrick said, standing up, �What do I get then?�
Ildred thought about this briefly, then tossed him the sword. �It�s yours,� he said simply.
�Pagh!� Petorrick spat, �Girls and girly men use swords. I want the bloody brooch.�
�Well you can�t have it,� Ildred said simply, �It�s mine.�
�I should be the one to have it,� Sant snarled, �It was I who had my blood spilt in this fight, you know.�
�Yeah,� Ildred growled, �But neither of you spilt a drop of his yourselves.�
�Hey,� Petorrick barked, �We�ve both proven our mettle a hundred times over! I hope you�re not calling us soft!�
�I�m not saying either of you are soft,� Ildred snarled, �I�m just saying that the brooch is�� he looked at his hand, only to find that the brooch wasn�t there. �Gone!� he exclaimed, �The brooch is gone!�
Suddenly, a small sound caught the ears of all men. Sant, Petorrick and Ildred all turned to see a large Yrish elk standing before them. They did not notice the glimmer of intelligence in his eye, though; all they noticed was the golden brooch in the creature�s mouth.
The group stood, staring at the brooch in the elk�s mouth for a while. The elk just stared calmly back. Finally, however, Sand burst out �The damned deer has the brooch! Get it!� He hurled one of his sickles at the creature, which dodged aside with unnatural speed.
As one, the bandits charged. Seeing them do so, the elk merely turned and ran down the trail. The group pursued it, Sant stopping only to pick up his lost sickle.
The chase was long and hard, yet the men kept it up. Most others would have stopped by now; they had left the food, the clothes, even the sword behind with Nalt�s corpse, but none of that mattered. All three men�s common wills were set on finding the precious brooch. And they wouldn�t let some bloody deer take it from them!
Gradually, the trail became less and less well maintained. The trees around them started to differ in size and type, and the ground became muddier and muddier. Eventually, the bandits found themselves chasing the elk into the swamp from which no-one ever returned.
All was going according to plan.
* * * * *
Kelge and Riptail were an extraordinary duo of lizardmen. Real friendship was not common amongst most lizardmen; it was quite against their nature to act in a friendly way to one another for any reason save for utter necessity. Kelge and Riptail were different, though; they stuck together, they hunted together, and they did everything else together, too. They were like brothers, except real lizardman brothers don�t tend to be as friendly to one another.
Another abnormality about the pair was that neither were particularly bad, either. They hunted only for food, and lived alone in the swamp; they had no wish or reason to join any other tribe, because then you had to obey rules, carry out duties, go to war when another tribe pissed you off, and all of that. They even crafted their own arrows; both were archers of unmatched skill, albeit in different ways.
Kelge was a smaller, more calculating lizardman. He was the brains of the pair, and it seemed appropriate that he shot the most accurately. He could shoot a spider out of its web at fifty paces, he was so accurate. Riptail, however, was larger and not quite as smart. He was a moderately accurate archer, but made up for it in the sheer volume of arrows he could have in the air at a time. Somehow, his hands moved so fast that they were almost like a blur when he was really in a frenzy; Kelge had once seen him empty an entire quiver within two minutes. He could also notch multiple arrows to his bow and fire them all at once, a skill Kelge never had perfected. Riptail�s record for that was five at the same time, although he was confident that he could eventually bump it up to six.
Kelge looked at Riptail, then pointed to a bird on one of the top branches of a tree. �See that, Rippy?� he said, �That�s fer dinner tonight, ye ken?�
�Ach,� Riptail chortled teasingly, �Ye cannae shoot it all the way up there, can ye?�
Kelge grinned. �Jus� watch me,� he said, notching a single arrow to his bow. Then he peered along the arrow, lined it up with the bird, and fired. There was a squawk as the bird fell from the branches and plummeted to the ground.
Kelge and Riptail hurried to where the bird had fallen, ready to pluck it and then, well, eat it. There was no need to cook for lizardmen; their bodies were always able to digest raw meat, although some preferred to cook their food first. These, however, were generally thought to be �soft�, although only either a stronger or stupider lizardman would say it to their face. Kelge and Riptail may have been friendly, but they had an unspoken agreement that neither of them were soft.
Alas, this bird was one that would not be eaten, cooked or otherwise. It had fallen into a large, stagnant pool. Kelge and Riptail could only wait and watch in disappointment as it sank to the bottom.
�Damn,� Kelge muttered, �Shoulda remembered that pond was there.�
�Aye,� Riptail agreed. Then, after an uncomfortable pause, he said �Supposin� I went doon there an� fished it oot?�
�Nah,� Kelge said, �Tis lost in the mud, an� asides; tha bloody thing�s gunna be covered in shet sure enough.� He sighed. �Looks like we�ll �ave to find somethin� else.�
Something caught Riptail�s eye. �Look no further, then,� he grinned.
Kelge looked up to see a large, Yrish elk standing not twenty feet away. What one was doing in the swamp was none of his concern; that beast had enough meat on it to last quite a while! �Get it, Rippy,� he urged, �Before it gets away!�
He need not have asked. As he said this, Riptail had pulled out three arrows and let them loose all at once. The elk, however, moving with blinding speed, jumped out of the way.
In its place, a few feet away, stood three humans, standing as if petrified. The middle one, a large, dark-haired fellow, stood, transfixed by all three arrows.
Riptail gulped nervously as Kelge stood, staring in shock. The humans stood, staring back. The one who had been hit just fell forward.
�You�slimy�BASTARDS!� one of the remaining humans, who held a large club, snarled, �You killed Ildred! You toads are dead!�
Then both men charged.
* * * * *
All the while, Halloth stood in the bushes, watching as his masters� plans came into fruition. He was a guardian, a spirit that served the Forces of Good. The elk was merely one of many forms for a being such as him.
The four mortals had already started fighting. The lizardmen, Kelge and Riptail, kept retreating, firing back at their pursuers as they did so. The two humans, Sant and Petorrick, just surged forward regardless. They were fueled by the fires of anger and hatred, and in creatures who had so much of both to begin with, these could keep them going forever.
Kelge and Riptail would both survive this one encounter, he knew, yet he did not feel right about just letting this happen. Halloth knew that neither lizardmen were all that bad people; they�d be content to just live together in the swamp until the day they died, hunting and fishing and not bothering anyone else. It was unfair that they would soon be caught up in a conflict not of their own, but such was the way the War worked.
It wasn�t right, but it had to be done.
* * * * *
Kelge and Riptail met up again about an hour after the fight. Panting and huffing from exertion, they both lay back against a nearby tree. �I thinks,� Riptail wheezed, �We lost �em.�
Kelge looked around the tree, then got up again. �Nay, we�ve not,� he said frightfully, �They�re still houndin� us! They knows where we gone! That big brown feller can track us, ye ken? Those bastards�ll �unt us to the ends o� Gaelia!�
�But what can we do?� Riptail said despairingly, rising to start running anew, �We cannae run forever!�
�I ken,� Kelge said as they began to do just that, �But we can �ide. I�ve �eard o� these two new warlords; some sod named Cranack, an� another named Grungda. Apparently, they�s workin� together. Frae what I�ve �eard, Cranack�s a right bastard, an� Grungda�s no� much better. Still, they say Grungda don�t let nobody mess wi� his troops.�
�So whut�re ye sayin� we do?� Riptail panted.
�Only thing we can,� Kelge responded gravely, �We joins �em up.�
* * * * *
Grungda examined the two new lads critically. They had stumbled into camp beleaguered, muddied sods carrying only a bow and a quiver of arrows each, along with their sodden, torn-up pants. His soldiers had brought them to his small, squalid yurt for personal inspection. Their miserable expressions were painted with worry, although anybody would be while being eyed by Grungda.
Finally, Grungda looked them in the eye. �Weel, ye�re a couple o� mangy lizards, aren�cha noo?� He turned around. �Whut d�ye thinks, Gollith?�
The lizardman leaning casually against the wall of Grungda�s yurt nodded. �Aye, thur,� he agreed.
Grungda bent nearer to the two. �Tha�s Gollith thar,� he whispered, ��Ee�s mah second in command, an� �ee don� like people talkin� �bout �is, er, speech problem, ye ken?�
�Ye thay thomethin�, me general?� Gollith asked.
�Oh, uh, nothin�,� Grungda assured him, then turned back to the two recruits. �So, what do yew dogs call yersel�s?�
�Kelge,� Kelge said glumly.
�Riptail,� Riptail added.
Grungda wrinkled his snout questioningly. �Riptail?� he said, �Why ye called that?�
Riptail raised its tail, which was abnormally shaped and had only very small spines. �I lost it when I wuz jus� a wee bairn,� he explained, �It grew back, but t�will ne�er be the same.�
Grungda nodded. �Oh-aye,� he muttered, �Well, tis a gudd name. So, Ah suppose tha two o� ye wants ter join mah mighty army?�
�Aye,� Kelge said gloomily.
Grungda grinned. �So, ye wants ter come wi� me an� me horde o� loutish lads, livin� off�n all tha plunder �n loot ye c�n carry off wi� ye, eh? Ye wants ter lay waste ter tha vile hoomin scunners, bathe in their blood an� gorge yersel�s on tha fruits o� their �arvests? That whut ye want, eh?�
Riptail gulped. �Actually, we joined up cuz uh, see, cuz uh, we�s wanted lizardmen.�
�Wanted by humans,� Kelge added hastily, �Tis them humans whut wants us deid.�
Grungda nodded gravely. �Weel, thar�s no� a safer place fer ye than �ere,� he assured them, �Ah looks after tha lads, an� tha lads follers after me in return. If�n dem hoomins want ter kill one o� us, they�ll �ave ter kill tha lot o� us! So long as ye�re part o� mah army, ye�ll be unner mah protection frae any scunner outside whut wants ye deid. Ye ken?�
�Aye,� Kelge replied, �We ken.�
�Guid,� Grungda laughed heartily, �Verrah guid. Noo, Ah�m supposin� from yer weapons that ye�re archers, tha both o� ye?�
�Aye,� both responded at the same time.
�Guid. Could use a few more o� those,� Grungda said. �Ye�re lizardmen o� skill wi� tha bow?�
�We could give ye a demonstration,� Kelge suggested.
�Aye,� Grungda chuckled, leading them out of the yurt, �A prize idear, that! Noo, show me whut ye c�n do!�
Kelge nodded, then looked up in the trees. �There�s a red leaf up there,� he said, �An� I�m gonna split it in �alf, ye ken?�
�Go ahead,� Grungda laughed. This would be interesting�
Kelge aimed carefully, then let loose his arrow. It zoomed up into the treetops, then fell down. Grungda turned to a nearby guard. �Fetch tha arrah, would ye?� he requested. Nodding, the lizardmen hurried off, and Grungda looked to Kelge. �Ye sure ye got it?� he asked.
�Aye,� Kelge responded gravely, �Jus� wait an� see.�
Sure enough, the lizardman warrior came back holding an arrow upon which was impaled a red leaf. Grungda grabbed the leaf off the arrow and laughed as he looked at it. �By gods, ye�re right!� he cackled, �Ye spit it right doon tha spine! So,� he turned to Riptail, �Ah suppose ye c�n match yer matey �ere?�
Riptail nodded. �I can pepper the side o� yer yurt wi� an �undred arrers in less�n a minute,� he suggested.
�Go ahead,� Grungda laughed, not believing it to be possible.
Grungda, however, was about to be astounded. Riptail�s hand moved like a blur, taking several arrows at once, firing them and reloading all with blinding speed. It wasn�t until the side of the yurt was a veritable pincushion that Riptail stopped. �I�ve run out,� he explained, sheepishly presenting an empty quiver.
A shaken Gollith teetered out of the tent. �Thon of a bitch!� he gasped, �Whut wath that?�
Grungda laughed heartily, slapping both Kelge and Riptail on the shoulder. �Tha new lads, matey,� he chortled, �Ah thinks we�ll git along jus� fine!�
* * * * *
Sant and Petorrick surveyed the lizardman camp from the shelter of the trees. It was placed on a large area of flat, grassy land surrounded by marsh and forest. From the look of it, the camp was actually split in two; one part was filled with orderly, disciplined looking lizardmen, the other with unruly blackguards. The difference between them was also reflected in their manner of shelter; for the former, there were hundreds of large, hide tents, each able to fit several lizardmen and all set up in neat rows. The latter, however, seemed content with a random scattering of different-sized yurts and huts. Lizardmen from both camps roamed the spaces between the tents, perhaps on patrol, perhaps doing some assigned duty, perhaps wandering around like idiots. Petorrick couldn�t tell and didn�t care; they weren�t the ones he was after.
�Do you see the two bastards in there?� he asked Sant, who was examining the camp closely.
Sant sighed, shook his head. �No use,� he muttered, �Too many damn lizards in there; they all look alike to me. Still, all we can do is keep looking until we find them.�
�And then what?� Petorrick asked, �It�s obvious that the cowardly newts have come to this army for protection, and they�ll probably get it. I�ve heard stories about lizardmen; they�re sly, cunning beasts, who�ll stab each other in the back if they can get something out of it��
�Kind of like us, eh?� Sant snickered.
��but apparently, so far as I�ve heard, these lizardmen absolutely hate us men-men. You saw the way they shot at us when we were chasing them; I�ve never had to think so much about dodging arrows in my life! They�re good archers, and this army probably won�t want to waste them, especially by handing them over to the likes of us. So, what can we do about this situation? Ildred�s blood cries out for vengeance, and must not be ignored.�
Sant thought for a second. Then, he said, �First we watch, see if we can identify the two heads we want to roll.�
�Then we sneak into camp and kill them?� Petorrick guessed.
�No,� Sant said, �That will not do. You see, this army is as a snake, and its men � lizards though they be � are its armor of protective scales.�
�Go on,� Petorrick urged.
�Well, if we just cut off two scales, we�ve not only done insignificant damage to it, but we�ve also just damned ourselves to the wrath of the enraged snake, you see?� Sant continued, a wicked smile playing across his ugly features, �But if you lop off the head, then it will writhe for a while and then die��
��leaving the �scales� at our mercy!� Petorrick laughed, clapping Sant on the back, �By gods, man, you�re a genius! All we have to do is kill their leaders, then butcher the two we want! Haha!�
Sant smirked. �Butcher them we will, my friend. Butcher them we will.�
* * * * *
And so it had begun; Sant and Petorrick, driven by hatred and thirst for bloody vengeance, had started their own private war upon the armies of lizard mankind. Most would have scoffed at the idea of two men facing the armies of a soon-to-be rising power in the world; how could they possibly prevail?
But then again, Good knew, most had not met Sant and Petorrick. They were dastardly men, bereft of the barest trace of decency or kindness, completely self-centered and self-serving, hateful, ruthless, malicious, and murderous. Still, they had potential to become mighty warriors, although they had not yet caught Evil�s eye. It was these types of men that could single-handedly tear an army to pieces, and would do it even for the pleasure of vengeance. These men may have been wicked and cruel, but they were also terribly resourceful, clever and killing machines to boot.
In short, they were the perfect men for the job.
This was, indeed, a battle with no true champion of Good, save for the two miscreants who had unwittingly stumbled into this conflict. It was a battle in which the greater of two evils, whichever it may be, would win. Good could only hope that the victor would be the one in their employ.
* * * * *
Kelge and Riptail settled down uncomfortably in the korrl-hide tent they had been given by Grungda. Thrushes and ferns scattered the floor, making it softer to sleep upon. Here and there on the floor were scattered remnants of past meals, a few beasts� hides and assorted trophies, and other different odds and ends. The three other inhabitants of the tent sat and watched the two with silent curiosity.
Kelge didn�t like sleeping in a tent. It didn�t feel natural. Give him a tree to lean against, or a nice bed of moss to lie back on, or anything else where you can hear the birds and the bugs and the wind, or the snap of a twig under a potential enemy�s foot. In here, all the sound outside was dulled, leaving a cramped, uneasy feeling. It smelled in here, too; only the tent flap was available to let out the stink of the other lizardmen and the rotting vegetation that matted the ground. He cast a glance at Riptail; the other lizardman seemed equally uncomfortable.
This wasn�t even any good company to share the tent with, either. Kelge knew that the original three inhabitants were hardened, heartless killers, each one sporting a body corded with powerful muscles that made his own light frame seem small and frail. They were a motley bunch indeed; each one looked quite different from the others, though all bore a host of battle scars streaking across their scaled bodies.
Finally, one struck up a conversation. This one was the largest lizardman in the tent, probably a full head taller than Kelge, with frills twice as long. He sat in a crouched position in front of a gigantic wooden shield. He was garbed only in a dirty, filth-encrusted kilt, and his arms � especially his left � were both very large and muscular. He spoke in a low, grating voice, and said this:
�Ye�re Kelge and Ripped-tail, then?�
�Aye,� Kelge responded hesitantly, �That we are.�
The lizardman nodded, bobbing his head low and letting Kelge see the large hump on his back. ��M Etloo,� the big lizardman rumbled, �I bears th� shield that carries Warlord Grungda intae battle.�
��Am Shrogakroo,� another lizardman introduced himself. This one had a much higher voice, was just a wee bit taller than Riptail, and had a cunning look in his eyes. This one wore a pair of tattered pants and a breastplate of korrl-scales, covered with a flea-bitten cloak. A quiver of arrows lay by his side, suggesting him to be a fellow archer. A long dagger was also thrust into his belt � what did those little notches scratched into the flat of the blade mean, anyway?
Only the last lizardman remained silent. This one was interesting indeed; for clothes he wore but a pair of patchy black pants. Yet the rest of him was still not left uncovered; his scales seemed to glitter dimly with all different colors. When he realized that he had gained Kelge�s attention, however, the scales turned to a normal blue once again, leaving the lizardman looking somewhat embarrassed.
�Tha�s Jisp,� Shrogakroo explained, ��Ee seems a bitsy shy, but ye�ll get tae know �im. �Ee wuz �atched unner tha star o� Chagg, givin� �im a share in that mighty god�s power . As ye can see, �is scales are imbued wi� Chagg�s verrah own magic. Too bad �is former tribe�s chief �ad �is voice box cut out ter keep �im frae castin� spells.� Jisp raised his head, revealing a scar on his throat. Shrogakroo shrugged. �The sod got whut �ee deserved, though; t�was Chagg�s own wrath whut burned on �im when Grungda tore �is �ead off.�
Kelge nodded uneasily. Riptail gulped with shock, his hand straying to his own throat. Jisp shrugged, tossed a knife up in the air and caught it expertly.
�Anuthur thing,� Shrogakroo added, �Ee�s got three magic knives whut �ee throws. They comes back to �im af�er they �its their target, ye ken?�
�Aye,� Etloo agreed, a note of awe in the hunchbacked lizardman�s voice, ��S Chagg�s own fire whut burns in this lad. An� we�s gonna use that fire tar burn any whut stands in oour way!�
�Really?� Kelge asked, �Whut�re ye plannin�?�
Etloo horked out a laugh, and Shrogakroo snickered wickedly. �Do ye no� ken?� Shrogakroo guffawed, �We lizardmen�s a risin� power! Soon we�s gunna set out frae the swamps an� tak� o�er all the lands beyond!�
Kelge and Riptail exchanged glances. �Really?� Riptail muttered, �Thar�s a lot o� world tae take o�er.�
Etloo grinned, displaying an amazing array of perfect, pearly, razor-sharp fangs. �Thar�s a lot o� lizardmen, too,� he laughed, �The swamps o� our homeland stretch far, even further than the border o� the land o� Gaelia. Thar�s noo countin� us, laddie; we mus� number in tha �undreds o� thousands!�
�Millions,� Shrogakroo smirked.
Etloo shrugged. �Tha�s a wee hefty, mate,� he muttered, �But whutivar. Point is, thar�s a lot o� us, an� we�re gun� be top cu soon. Ye can count on that, sonny!�
Kelge and Riptail both shifted uncomfortably. If Kelge had his way, it would have been left at that, but Riptail had no intention of letting the conversation die there. �But why�re we doin� this?� he asked the grizzled warriors, �What�s the purpose?�
Etloo exchanged confused glances with Shrogakroo, while Jisp, predictably, stayed silent. �I, uh, dinna ken yer meanin�,� Etloo muttered.
�I mean, why�re we goin� tae war?� Riptail pushed on. Kelge tried to shut him up, but it was too late.
��Twas meant tae be, lad,� Shrogakroo explained, �We wernae meant tae be stuck in these swamps fore�er. We wuz meant ter rise, ye see, ter rule o�er the whole, entire world!�
�No swamp could e�er be big enough fer us!� Etloo agreed, �No� when we�re meant tae rule the world!�
�But it always �as been,� Riptail argued, ��Twas enough few me an� Kelge, an� still is! Whut, are the rest o� ye no� happy �ere?�
Etloo and Shrogakroo exchanged glances again, but this time they looked somewhat embarrassed. �Weel, no, �tis no� that,� Etloo muttered, �But see, um�� he sought an explanation, then found one. �Nummer one, we�s meant tae rule. Nummer twa, we�s a growin� race, as ye ken. An� seein� as thar�s only so much room en even these swamps, we need more land.�
Before Kelge could stop himself, he asked, �Then why do we no� ask fer it?�
Silence reigned in the tent as all stared at him, dumbfounded. �Tha�s a richt daft thing tae be sayin�, if ye don� mind me sayin� so,� Shrogakroo stated.
�But think o� it?� Kelge argued, �Why not? Why do we no go oot intae tha world, intermingle wi� its peoples, make them our friends, earn their trust?�
�Oh, I ken,� Etloo laughed, slapping his knee, �Then stab �em in the back, richt? Nah; �tis a fine ploy, but t�will tak� too long. War�s quickest, eh?�
�No, no, no,� Kelge gasped, shocked and horrified by this line of reasoning, �I meant�ne�er mind.� He coughed, his scales darkening under the baffled gaze of the three veterans.
Riptail, however, was still miserably confused. �But�why?� he asked weakly.
Etloo rolled his eyes. �Ye�re either green�r yeller,� he muttered, �Either way, ye�d best let it drop, afores it gets ye intae trouble, ye ken? Grundga�s a gudd soldier, but he�s no� hot on smarts. We�re doin� this cause it�s oor nature an� oor destiny.� He lay back and prepared to settle down for the night. �Jus� leave it at that.�
Kelge and Riptail exchanged hopeless glances. Whatever they had gotten themselves into now, it was not going to change for the better in a hurry.
* * * * *
Wise Seer Cobratooth sat cross-legged with his back to the door in his small, solitary yurt on the outskirts of the lizardmen�s camp. He was old, older than any other lizardman in the army, with faded blue scales covered by a patchy cowl. Granted, he belonged to neither Cranack nor Grungda�s force; he was just there, the lizardman beseeched by both in matters of magic and spirituality. Some said that he truly heard the voice of Chagg, and thus knew his will. This he did; all that his god let him know he knew.
For instance, he knew exactly who was but 5 feet from the entrance of his humble abode.
As the visitor respectfully entered the humble dwelling, Cobratooth idly tossed a handful of crow bones. This was an unnecessary practice, of course; if there truly was a way to read fate or fortune or anything from the patterns in which the bones fell, then he knew it not. Cobratooth knew only what his god let him know, but tossing bones around was as good an explanation as any for the knowledge Chagg had bestowed upon him. Also, they made a good excuse for ignorance when such was present.
�The bones told me o� yer comin�, Cranack who holds the Axe of Lizard Mankind,� Cobratooth hissed, �Speak what�s o� yer wantin�, an� leave me be.�
Behind him Cranack bowed respectfully, something he did to no other lizardman. �Wise Seer, who�s seen through the ein o� Chagg hisself,� Cranack addressed him, �Pardon this �umble one fer interruptin� ye in�whute�er, but I needs yer counsel.�
Cobratooth nodded slightly, rocking forwards and backwards and hissing rhythmically through his long, snakelike teeth. He was of the rare poisonous lizardmen, beings truly blessed with Chagg�s venom flowing through their veins. Only one in every hundred thousand was hatched so blessed, which was impressive until compared to the secretive Jisp, whose gift was literally one in a million. Such beings as he and the mute lizardman truly enjoyed Chagg�s favor, as they did the favor of the entire rest of their race. Much opportunity awaited any hatched with these strange, inexplicable blessings.
�Many words ye do speak,� Cobratooth hissed again, �When askin� a mere question. Foolish,� � he was the only lizardman who could ever get away with calling Cranack foolish � �Am I the ears o� Chagg? Mah duty is tae know, ye ken, not hear. Now tell whut ye�re wantin� an� be done.�
Sometimes Cobratooth found it amazing the amount of shit he could shove down Cranack�s throat and still have the general praising its taste. Cranack felt true awe for Chagg, his favored and, indeed, any and all who wielded magic. Cobratooth was old � far too old for laughter, in his opinion � but sometimes it was quite amusing to prod the other lizardman, to try and see how far he could push his own luck. He had not pushed Cranack over the edge yet, though, and certainly would not do so now. He wasn�t quite in the mood.
��Tis Grungda, great ein o� Chagg,� Cranack explained humbly, �He�s bein� a richt arse, ye ken, an� I�m getting� fed up wi� it. He�s getting� oot o� control. Jus� yesserday �ee sent 500 lizards oot tae roast a village, an� �ee shows nay respect tae me or any other lizard. An� so��
�Ye come seekin� mah guidance,� Cobratooth finished for him, a look of detachment coming to his eyes, fading in vision as they were. Ah yes, Grungda, Sword of Lizard Mankind; contrary to what Cranack had said, there was a lizard who knew the meaning of respect. Cobratooth knew that Grungda disrespected Cranack for but two reasons; because the other lizardman disrespected him, and because Cranack, for all his lack of respect for others, demanded that respect be paid to he himself. Grungda, in truth, held contempt only for those who held him in contempt, but didn�t take shit from anybody. He treated Cobratooth with the respect due to his faded scales � and Chagg�s own blessing � but the old reptile knew that Grungda, unlike Cranack, would not put up with any lip from anybody, and that included the Wise Seer.
In short, Grungda was the one Cobratooth favored the more.
The old seer poured the contents of a pouch of black dust into his gnarled palm and sprinkled it on the fire, causing the dim flame to flare with black light � an interesting effect, especially how darkness could glow like this. It served no real purpose, of course, but obviously impressed the hell out of Cranack, due to the other lizardman�s awed gasp.
�All I can tell ye is tae be firm but careful in yer dealin�s wi� Grungda,� Cobratooth hissed, rising slowly and turning to face Cranack�s still-bowed form, �Show �im nay weakness, lest he use it against ye. But show nay all yer force, lest he feels ye a threat. I �ave spoken.�
�An� I thank ye wi� greatest o� gratitude, Wise Seer,� Cranack groveled, �Anything ye wish ye�ll �ave, I swears.�
Cobratooth nodded. �Then arise, Axe of Lizard Mankind, an� be silent that ye may receive the one request e�er I�ve given ye, an� one request e�er I will give ye.� True, Cranack promised anything Cobratooth wanted every time he visited, but always had the elder lizardman turned him down. Now, though, was different.
So Cranack rose to his full height and stood at attention before the other lizardman who was, in comparison, quite frail and diminutive. That such a lizard would lay down his life and everything for such a small creature was amazing indeed, but it worked to the latter�s advantage.
And so spake Cobratooth, �I�m old, an� by middle night tonight I�ll �ave breather me last.� An expression of shock plastered itself on Cranack�s features, but still Cobratooth continued. �When the moon�s climax is reached, linin� it wi� the star o� Chagg pointin� North, the Spirits o� Death will come an� guide me tae the Hereafter. Be nowhere near to me home at the middle of the night, general, or all the axes in the swamp or, indeed, the world will save ye frae bein� culled by their wrath. Noo, say nay another word, but begone. I�ve noo spoken me first an� final request.�
Cranack didn�t even bow, so shocked was he by the news. Rather, he merely stalked out of the yurt, leaving the wizened seer alone, the once bright flames of his fire but embers beneath the smoke-hole, through which could now be seen the moon nearing the middle of the sky, where it would align itself with the star of Chagg and let the grim prophecy come to pass.
Cobratooth then stared intently into the shadows of the tent. �I know ye�re there, Spirits o� Death,� he hissed, �An� I�m noo ready tae receive ye.�
There was some muttering from the shadows, one saying �What�s this crazy lizard talking about?�, and another whispering something about thinking they�re spirits of death. A brief expression of puzzlement crossed the grizzled lizardman�s features for the first time in many years. The whispering continued for a while, then a harsh, not particularly spiritual voice called out from the shadows.
�Yeah, um, aaaaaaargh, mooooooooo � shut up, I�m trying to sound like a ghost, dammit � what do you mean, a bloody cow? � Um, I am a Spirit of the Deeeeeeead � hey, you don�t know what a bloody ghost sounds like either, so stuff it, eh? � anyway, um, I am here to suck your bloooooooood � gods dammit, Sant, stop shaking your bloody head�oompf!� A new, much different voice did then speak to the lizardman.
�Forgive the incompetence of my, er, associate, seer of the lizardmen � shut up! � Um, he�s new. Anyway, we come with wish for knowledge��
�And to drag your sorry arse into the Hereafter,� the other voice added helpfully. There was an exasperated sigh from the shadows, then the sound of a fist hitting a face and some muffled cursing.
�Anyway,� the second voice continued, �That lizardman, Cranack, was the leader of this army, was he not?�
�Aye,� Cobratooth muttered, �He an� Grungda, whose frills span behind him like the wings of a great bat, lead the armies of lizard mankind.�
The two spirits discussed this, then the second voice asked, �So, their names were Cranack and Grungda, were they?�
�Yes,� Cobratooth answered, shuffling nearer to the concealing shadows, nervousness rising in his voice. �But why do you refer to them with words such as �were�?�
It was then that the two spirits stepped from the shadows, revealing themselves not to be spirits at all, but men � nasty looking men, each with a wicked grin as well. �It�s because they will soon be �were,� the taller man smirked wickedly as the shorter one swung his club at the frail old lizardman�s head�
Cobratooth fell back, his body smothering the lingering embers of the fire, his brains spilling onto the ground. The moonlight shone down upon him from the smoke-hole, the great orb in the sky now perfectly aligned with the star of Chagg to the North. Looking pitilessly down at the old lizardman�s broken carcass, Petorrick spat in the mess of brains and snickered. �Just like you �were� alive, eh?�
* * * * *
Grungda was not, by any means, an early riser. He hated waking up the way a woman hates an offending spider hanging in the corner of the ceiling; there�s little that can be done about it, but that did not mean that he had to like it in the smallest bit.
And considering Grungda�s nature, it was generally regarded as safer to let sleeping dragons lie, so to speak. Grungda rose from his pile of furs in his own time. Few lizardmen could dare wake him without having to run like demons were chasing them (a situation that most would have found quite preferable).
That was why Grungda had drifted muzzily through the mists of pre-consciousness to find that he was strangling Gollith with a single claw.
��Afores Ah decides whether �r not Ah should murder ye,� Grungda grunted, sitting up, �Mebe ye should tell me jus� why ye�ve woken me, eh?�
�Thumthin��important�� Gollith gasped.
�Oh-aye?� Grungda growled, throwing the other lizardman away, �An� whut�d that be, then?�
Gollith gasped, clutching his throat and struggling into a sitting position. �That lithard-theer,� he lisped, �The Withe one, ye ken? Thumthin�th �appened tae �im!�
�Thumthi�er, sumthin�?� Grungda asked, interest rising, �Whut d�ye mean, lad? Out wi� it!�
Gollith staggered upright, backed out of swatting distance and, after rubbing his claws worriedly for a moment, he conceded, �He�th dead, thur.�
This didn�t have the effect Gollith had obviously expected. Grungda put on a neutral expression, took a moment to digest this information, then asked, ��Ow�d �ee die?�
��Ee wath killed by a blow tae tha heid,� Gollith explained, �Thaw the body methelf; brainth all o�er tha plathe, an� all that junk.�
Grungda nodded. �An� �ow many did �ee take wi� �im?�
�Pardon, me general?�
��Ow many other bodies were at tha scene?� Grungda explained patiently, �This musta bin some band o� raiders �r sumthin�. �Ow many did �ee kill afores �ee died?�
�Ach, we canna be knowin� that, me general,� Gollith said, �There wuz no bodies, nor sign o� scuffle. There wath a thent, though; one we could nay recognithe.�
Grungda�s nose wrinkled as he digested this new information. �A�thent?�
�Ye ken, a thent, a�a�� Gollith shifted uncomfortably. He hated it when his speaking disability came to light. �A thmell. Aye, t�wath a queer thmell there, whut we�ve not the kenning o�.�
�An� �oo wuz tha �we� whut wuz thar?� Grungda asked.
�Me�n a couple o� our ladth,� Gollith explained, �Tho�th Cranack, �ith thecond in command-� Gollith gave a brief, lisping hiss when mentioning the name of his rival, �Daggle, aye, tha�th tha one, an� a couple o� their ladth, tae.�
Grungda rubbed his chin. �Any footprints?� he asked.
�Ach, nay,� Gollith responded, then remembered, ��Cept fer one. �Ad nay toeth�re nuthin�. Like a foot, but with only a thole.�
�Thole?� Grungda muttered incredulously under his breath, but didn�t pursue the subject. �Verrah well, Ah thee � see yer point. T�is some kind o� monster, eh? Ach weel; cannae be �avin� wi� monsters runnin� roond, can we? Tell yah whut; bring me tae tha place o� that killin�, an� Ah�ll see if�n we c�n piece it together.� After a moment�s pause, he added, �An� bring those two strappin� young lads whut ken �ow tae shoot real gudd. Might be o� use, eh?�