Martico looked ahead as the crimson sun set over the hills of Degra, the cool breeze blew his hair around and blew the grass on the plains on the Island of Venhue. For on this day in the third moon of spring, a battle would rage on the plains. If he had a place to call home, he might be sitting on his porch, smoking a pipe and watching little kids run around and his neighbors would say hello to him. But instead, he got to march, after marching for three days, he got to march, and when he finally got to stop, he had to fight.
He looked far ahead at his enemies, the Mortas, barbaric beings that raid villages and plunder the high seas. He saw animals, beasts of the field that murdered innocent people, who killed for fun. He saw beings that wore mail armor and wielded anything that could kill a living creature: pikes, spears, swords, axes, maces, and even clubs that had a few small spikes on them. He was not afraid, for he was a Crog, a fierce fighter, clad in thick mail and lightweight boots, and he wielded a sword and a shield.
But then again, he thought to himself, he was afraid. For with the Mortas, the archrival of the Crogs, was the feared Chevisca, commander of the Mortas forces. Wegara was a cruel leader who killed all who opposed him. But he wouldn’t simply kill them, oh no, he would have fun killing them. He would strap them to a large pig and smack the pig, causing it to run a squeal. Then would then fire arrows at the person on the pig. But if he missed, soldiers would pull a trip wire, sending the pig and rider flying. The rider was lucky if he broke his neck as the pig landed. If he didn’t die, Chevisca would simply repeat the process until the rider died. Martico wondered how the Crogs would deal with Chivisca.
“What if I have to fight him?” Martico looked around and flushed as eyes turned and stared at him. “Dang,” he said to himself still embarrassed, “I always do that at the most awkward times.” He tried to make himself as small as possible as eyes bore holes right through his armor.
“What do you mean?” asked a very tall man with an axe.
“Nothing really,” he looked at the man’s armor and saw a red strip, signifying he was a commander, “sir.”
“If your talking about Chivisca, don’t worry, he’s a coward who hides behind his army and his power. I bet even the weakest of out soldiers could kill him. So look lively and stop trying to hide soldier.
“I guess he might be right but I doubt it. Knowing my luck I’ll have to face him. But at least,” Martico thought, “we have a battle plan. What was it again? Oh yeah I remember now. By splitting into three groups of one hundred and fifteen and a sixty-five we will drive the Mortas to the hills and lay siege upon them, raising the stronghold to the ground.”
The first group, which Martico was in, would charge the Mortas head on and would attempt to push them back. Two of the other groups would charge in on either side. The fourth and final group would slowly advance the siege equipment and use bows and arrows to rain havoc upon the barbarians. By igniting a circle of tar that was laid previously, a large group of the Mortas would be cut off, allowing the Crogs to fight less Mortas at a time and not become overwhelmed.
Martico continued marching forward with his platoon on the front lines. He fiddled with his gear, nervous to the core of him. His first battle, if he lived through it, would be a battle to fourth group of remember and to be proud of taking part in. He was grateful when the commander yelled at them to halt.
With the sound of the lone horn upon the soft breeze, the two armies lined up for battle. Martico looked to his left, toward Crog commander Rosta, as Rosta spoke to the troops before the battle while standing on a lone rock, jutting from the ground like a thorn juts from flesh.
“Do not fear death, for if you die you will not be alone but with your brothers and sisters in arms. If we fail, many helpless families will be slaughtered and this entire island, our home and the home of our families who we left behind. Let us drive our enemies to the Hills of Degra and raze their fortress to the ground!”
Martico cheered gruffly in approval to his commander’s speech, along with the other Crogs. Rosta jumped from the rock and scream as loud as he could while pointing his sword toward the Morta fortress, “Chaaaarrrrrrrge!!!!!!!!!!”
Martico scanned the land before him and saw that the Mortas had three columns of troops in staggered formation, ready to defend from attack. He smiled as they quivered in fear as the Crogs took up their commander’s cry. Clashing spear and sword upon shield and screaming war cries, Martico, along with all the soldiers, charged.
Martico heard his heart beat wildly as he and the others in the front lines of battle charged and the gap between him and his foes rapidly shortened. A hundred yard…Seventy five yards…Martico placed his shield in ready position and his sword pointed at eye level with his rivals…Fifty yards and closing quickly. Ten yards…
Shields and swords clashed at full speed. Spears splintered and were hurled at ememies. Bodies fell, lifeless and limp, to the ground. Cries rang out as the forces fought on. The two center columns were fighting each other and the side columns began their attacks in similar fashions.
Martico rushed and jabbed his sword at the Morta in front of him. The Morta deflected the stab with his sword and attempted to stab him. Martico sidestepped and shoved the Morta with all his strength, knocking him to the ground.
Martico, gasping for breath as he pulled his sword from the chest now lifeless Morta flung his shaggy brown hair from his eyes and screamed, “Arrows overhead! Arrows over head! Shields up! Shields up!”
Arrows fell like rain upon the middle and back sections of the Crogs forces. But due to Martico’s warning, those behind him placed their wooden shields above their heads and continued charging, deflecting most of the arrows as they stuck into the shields. Martico, expecting that he would have slain his foe, continued running, colliding with the Morta. As he fell to the ground, the man next to him speared the Morta Martico had run into.
Martico stood up and continued fighting, helping to force the Mortas back. The Mortas had numbers far greater than the Crogs but Martico had hope, for the enemy was being driven to the Hills. Martico was only a young soldier from the port of Felox with shaggy brown hair and was of average height. But he, an average soldier, turned the tide for the Crogs when he struck down the Mortas’ commander Chevisca.
Martico had just slain another Morta and looked around for the closest Morta to attack. As he turned, Chevisca hacked his sword down upon Martico’s shield, splintering it. Martico threw down his now useless shield and delivered a powerful, two-handed hack upon Chevisca. Chevisca sidestepped, but the blow caught the side of his shield and knocked it from his hands. Martico delivered a quick slice upon Chevisca that cut off his right hand. Chevisca screamed in agony as blood poured from his wrist. He turned to flee, but as he did so Martico pulled his dagger from his belt and hurled it straight and true. Chevisca gasped and looked down at the blade that seemed to be growing from his chest. He fell to the ground dead and Martico pulled his dagger out of Chivisca’s back, put it in its sheath, and continued fighting.
When the Mortas saw their dead commander, they turned and fled, screaming to their commrads that Chevisca was dead. All was going well, the Mortas were running towards the Hills, and they had no leader. Everything was going as planned, until the sunset.
Like an epidemic, darkness covered the lands as the sun hid below the Hills like a small child hiding behind its mother when a stranger approaches. Martico looked around, straining to see what was happening around him. The Mortas, accustomed to the dark of night from raiding towns at night, swarmed the Crogs, slaying many with blades of steel. The Crogs, along with Martico, fled.
As the Mortas followed, arrows poured down like a waterfall on them as the siege team, atop their siege towers, fired arrows at them. Martico quickly used his flint and steel to start a spark, lighting the circle of tar laid before the battle by the Crogs, igniting the darkened sky and trapping a large number of Mortas. Those who weren’t trapped found the only way to go was through the blistering hot fire or into the cold, ferocious armies of the Crogs. The Crog’s with hope restored after a successful ambush, rushed the armies of the Mortas, driving them back to the perimeter of the inferno and slaying them.
The remaining Mortas began retreating, ignoring shouts from commanders and the heat of the flames. Martico cheered wildly along with his comrades as the Mortas fled. With a large number of Mortas trapped, few escaped to the Hills of Degra. Unknown to the Crogs, a small group of about twenty Mortas stole East towards Lake Bunar.
The Crogs pursued the Mortas, slaying any who were too slow to escape. When the Crogs were within six hundred yards of the fortress and well out of the range of foe archers, they set up camp. Martico slept on the ground with the other soldiers and tried to sleep until the battle continued in the morning. The Mortas too were sleeping an uneasy sleep.
When the sun spread its light over the top of the Hills of Degra, the Crogs advanced. After a quick count, they had one hundred and fifty plus the sixty-five in the siege group, less then half of those who began the battle were alive. The Crogs were in two lines of fifty with a siege tower in front of each line and one placed in the middle of the lines. Martico was toward the front of the second column.
The remaining fifty men had left only three hours earlier. They were ordered to sneak around through a secret passage in the Hills of Degra and set up an ambush for the Mortas if they tried to escape. If the Mortas fought, they would then rush in through the back gate and destroy the Mortas and their trebuchets before they could take down the Crogs siege towers, distracting them from the main attack and allowing the front gate to be breached.
Martico looked up at the two-leveled fortress. Made of stone, the fortress had a first level with a high wall with two small towers on them for archers. He was confident that they could take the fortress fairly easily. Each of these towers had approximately ten archers on them. The second story had a tall wall with two large towers. So large in fact, that a trebuchet sat on top of each one.
Rosta, as accustomed by attacking forces, offered a challenge to the Mortas. He said, “Send out your best fighter. If he can slay our best fighter, we will leave you and surrender. However, if we win, you will lay down your weapons and surrender to us. Send out your best fighter.”
His reply was silence. A silence so great, that Martico could hear the heart beat of the man next to him. He felt deep down that something was wrong, but thought better of saying anything.
“If you will not reply to my challenge,” exclaimed Rosta after a period of some time, “then you may send out your two best fighters to challenge one of ours!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Martico noticed that the archers in the two towers were slipping away one by one. He walked up to the front line, pushing people aside to reach Rosta as soon as possible.
When he reached the front he called out to Rosta, “Rosta sir! They are slipping their archers away one at a time. I believe they are going to try and escape from us!”
Rosta gazed upward and exclaimed, “By Hogath your right! They’re slipping away like rabbits from hounds! Come on men…CHAAAAAAARRRRGE!!!!”
Horns blew wildly and soldiers screamed as the siege team advanced toward the walls and a battering ram moved toward the front gate. The ram advanced quickly and began beating at the gate, trying to break through. The siege towers moved steadily toward the walls.
The siege towers were almost at the walls when a roar pierced the now gray-blue sky. A roar so loud, that even Rosta quivered in fear. A roar of anger and anguish. A roar that came from the very heart and soul of Zegragak.
The Mortas had retreated out the back exit and flooded the narrow canyon as they charged the fifty Crogs who were waiting for the Mortas. With little space to fight in, all of the Crogs hid behind rocks to avoid enemy fire. Every Crog that is, except Zegragak.
Zegragak was a beast of a man. He was a head taller than any man. He had the strength of ten men and wielded a heavy axe. It was rumored that he was raised by bears Wekjara Forest and thus received his strength.
Zegragak pulled yet another arrow from his bleeding body, making a total of three arrows that had pierced his tanned flesh. He continued to charge, ignoring arrows and slicing and hacking at any man who stood in his path.
He charged toward the wall angry with himself for not being there to hold off the enemy. Angry at himself that eleven of his men had fallen wounded or dead. Angry at himself for talking with soldiers rather than watching the wall like a good leader should.
He rushed the enemy who were in lines four wide and nine long with three standing in the back of them. As he let out another blood curtailing roar, now only twenty yards from his enemies, they stopped. They stopped so suddenly and quickly that Zegragak began to slow down, surprised by this unusual behavior. Within 10 yards of the Morta’s line, he stopped. As he stopped, the line split right down the center.
Out of the center walked the three men who were in back. The three of them wore black breastplates with a red lion on them and black gauntlets over thick, heavy, black mail armor that covered their legs torsos and arms. They were each holding a thick iron chain that led to an iron collar. And that collar was around the neck of a male lion. This was no ordinary lion though. This was a Red Lion. Red Lions have red fur that is said to be because of all the blood they have shed. They are twice as large as normal lions and have six claws on each paw. They weigh about a thousand pounds. This Red Lion, also called Olopian, the ancient Morta term for “war machine,” weighed a thousand and twenty pounds: for he was an alpha male. Making him over three times as heavy as Zegragak.
The three men in black spoke in turn, starting with the tall one on the left, then the stocky one in the middle, and ending with the medium-tall muscular man on the right.
“We three are the Guardians.”
“The Guardians of Olopain the Red Lion.”
“The Red Lion who will be your undoing and the undoing of your forces.”
“Yes your few forces who challenge the mighty Mortas.”
“Prepare to die.”
“To die at the mighty paws of the Red Lion.”
At the front of the fortress, the Crogs had broken down the main gate and the siege towers had reached the walls. Men were pouring through the gate and climbing the inner ladders of the siege towers, flooding the fortress. But there were no Mortas in sight.
“They must already be out the back gate! Shouted Rosta, “Hurry men, to the upper level and out the back gate!!”
The Crogs stormed through the first level and began ramming the gate to the second level with all of their might. The gate split with a mighty crack and the Crogs rushed through. When they reached the back gate however, they were dismayed, for they heard the unmistakable, terrifying, roar of a Red Lion.
As the Crogs began moving the ram into position, Martico climbed the stairs to the top of the wall. As he peered over the top, He heard three men in black talking in turn, saying things he couldn’t make out. He also saw the Red Lion and Zegragak, only ten yards apart from each other. Suddenly, he heard the familiar sound of an arrow being let lose and he ducked. As he ducked, four more arrows flew over his head.
Martico knew he had to do something. If he didn’t, Zegragak could die and so could the other thirty-eight soldiers hidden behind the rocks about one hundred yards off, fear of the Red Lion preventing them from helping their leader.
The ram was just past the second level gate and would take a while to reach the back gate. He looked over the walls and onto the Plains of Musavia. Then, he had an idea. It would be risky, but he had to try.
He rushed back down the steps and ran to Rosta. He asked Rosta’s permission to commence his plan. Rosta agreed but had his doubts.
Martico rushed through the torn down gate of the Second level and ran down the dark-gray, weather worn stones that made the fortress. He ran up the stairs of the first wall, gasping for breath and only stepping on every third step, moving as fast as his body would let him.
He ran to the closest siege tower and asked for Jay-Ku, an archer and a good friend. Jay-Ku was luckily in that same siege tower. Martico went into the siege tower and took the extra ladder from it as Jay-Ku approached.
“What’s the meaning of this? Why do you need me and the ladder?”
“We will talk on the way for we must hurry!”
“All right Martico, what’s this all about?” Jay-Ku said as he grabbed the other end of the ladder.
“Zegragak and his troops are being attacked by the retreating Mortas and a Red Lion.”
“What’s the ladder for?”
“We will place this on the boulders the back gate wall is on. I will climb onto the rocks and get to the ground as quickly as possible so I can help Zegragak. You will shoot at the Red Lion from the rock and distract it, causing Zegragak and I a chance to finish it off before it rips our troops to pieces.”
“A good idea, but risky.”
“Will you help?”
“Of course I’ll help!”
They reached the rocks and they laid the ladder against them. They climbed up and snuck to the edge of the rocks, careful not to be seen. When they reached the edge they saw Zegragak and the Red Lion only ten yards apart. The Crogs, hidden in the rocks, were too terrified to help Zegragak defeat Olopian.
Martico whispered quietly in Jay-Ku’s ear, “When Zegragak screams, fire an arrow into the haunch of the Red Lion. This will cause him to stand up. When he stands up, Zegragak and I will be able to slay him.”
“Okay I will. But what about the gate, should I tell them to wait until the beast is dead, or allow them to charge through?”
“Leave that to Rosta, he knows of my plan and will do as he sees needed to defeat the Mortas. Just remember, wait for my signal.”
As he said this Martico crawled to his left, away from the gate and Jay-Ku. He slowly slid down the rocks until he reached the bottom. When he reached the bottom, he ran to meet Zegragak before he began fighting the Red Lion.
“Martico, what are you doing here!?”
“I’m here to help, just follow my lead.”
“This had better work.” Zegragak exclaimed.
“It will. We’ll charge at your signal.”
“What’s the signal?”
“A scream.”
“AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!”
As Zegragak screamed, many things happened in a few moments. Jay-Ku released his arrow, causing the Red Lion to stand on its hind legs. Martico sliced its neck open as Zegragak chopped a massive blow to the beast’s stomach, sending it flying back wards. It happened to fly back and level the three Guardians, crushing them to death.
As Martico and Zegragak slew the Red Lion, Rosta and the troops on the far side of the back gate rushed threw as the ram flew the gate open. Crogs poured through the back gate and began attacking the surprised and dumbfounded Mortas. The Mortas began running away, only to be taken down by the Crogs in the rocks whose bravery returned with the death of the Red Lion.
By mid-afternoon, the battle was over and the remaining Crogs burned the bodies of their enemies and buried their dead before heading to their barracks. The Crog’s were praised as they passed through villages for their bravery, for they had defeated an army of six hundred barbarians. But none were praised as much as Martico, for he had a large part in winning the clash for the Crogs by slaying the feared Morta leader who had terrorized the people of the Island of Venhue for a decade and a half, and for devising a plan to defeat the Red Lion. But the return to the barracks was not a happy march, for many had died to safeguard the lands to the south. Of the four hundred that had left to fight, only eighty-nine returned.
At the barracks, a feast was held in honor of those who fought at the battle. The Crogs’ barracks master, Nianiah, a tough, stern man who looks as though he’s ready to fight an entire platoon by himself, though many say he could, who’s flashing green eyes that seem to pierce through you, gave the toast.
With his deep transfixing voice he said, “We give this toast to those who shed their blood for these land and its people. May we remember their sacrifices for the rest of our lives. A toast, to the resting dead and to our returning soldiers!”
In unison the soldiers who had filled the dinning hall cried “A toast!!!”
So the feast began. Roasts of all kinds were present. Martico looked and saw duck, deer, boar, and others were being passed along. Pies of apple, blackberry, and raspberry were served. Salads and soups were prepared. For drinks there were October Ale, goat milk, Birch Beer, and water.
He began eating greedily for it had been over a week since he had had a full, solid meal. He piled his plate high with meat and drank Birch Beer by the pint. He laughed along with soldiers as a clearly drunk soldier began dancing a wobbly jig on in the center of the room. Soon music was being played and all who were eating were happy and content.
But not all were feasting. Some of those who returned from the battle were wounded. Nurses and doctors, giving stitches here, or a splint for a sprained this or that there were tending to patents. Others were being prepared for operation. Of the eighty-nine who returned, twenty-eight were wounded.
For the next few days the remaining soldiers, about six hundred and the remaining eighty-nine from the battle that has been come to be know as The Battle of the Resting Dead, rested and worked on a counter attack for the Mortas, or even if one should be held. One thing is certain though; the Mortas would have a new leader.
As the Crog’s celebrated and rested, the Mortas faced a large problem, not only had they lost the battle, but the leader was dead. Their leader had no sons, so the strongest, smartest soldier would become the new leader. The two contestants were Grimshaw, a tall man with hair like fire and a body the size of a tree trunk. His mind was so clever and so quick it is said he could get out of a prison cell with only a lock of hair.
His opponent was a man by the name of Musaka; a fearless beast of a man with eyes the color of stone and a scar running all the way down the left side of his face. His wits were sharper than those of a fox and a tendency to trick his superiors into giving him what he wanted.
Their first challenge was a to see who could move a rock across twenty feet of flat ground, using only a ten pound hammer in under five minutes. The challengers would go at separate times to avoid cheating. Grimshaw went first and when he saw the rock he was amazed. The rock was twice his size! He decided to use his strength to move the rock by shoving the rock. When this failed he used the hammer to pry the rock, causing it to be moveable. After much struggle, the five minutes was over and he came short of the finish by 8 feet. Musaka saw the rock and knew just what to do. He used the 10-pound hammer to brake off a piece of the rock. He threw the small piece of rock over the end line. The rules never said which rock had to be moved, only that a rock needed to be moved. The judges said he would be claimed the winner if he could defeat Grimshaw in a fight. Musaka accepted the challenge.
The very next day the fight was scheduled to be fought on Rock Jaw Arena. A stadium shaped piece of large rock that look similar to a jaw and could seat up to one hundred people to watch a fight or punishment of a traitor or prisoner. The fight would last until a person gave up, or until someone was knocked unconscious or killed. The crowd waited with anticipation for the contestants to arrive. Some placed bets on who they thought would win, others crowded around the outside of the arena to watch the fight from afar, and others ran to find the favorite contestant to wish them luck.
As the sun rose the crowd became quiet. The world seemed to stop moving as everyone in the camp waited for the drum roll to start, signifying the start of the fight. The drum roll boomed out across the silent camp. The crowd roared and the fighters emerged with their ceremonial garments on. Their shorts were made of lion skin, fur out, allowing the fighters to slide yet be able to be grabbed by their opponent and their chests were bare.
Both Grimshaw and Musaka had smiles on their faces as they charged each other from their sides of the arena. The multitude went silent, the drum roll stopped, and the only thing everyone heard was their heartbeats. Then, a “Crack!” followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. With his long legs, Grimshaw had plowed over Musaka with a double dropkick. The crowd roared with excitement as Musaka rolled over, tripped Grimshaw, and put him in a headlock. Grimshaw pulled free and stood up, promptly followed by Musaka. Circling each other and looking for an opening, the opponents were breathing deeply. Grimshaw rubbed his neck and smiled as he watched Musaka wince whenever he breathed.
Grimshaw moved in to attack Musaka. Each of the men threw punches as fast as lightning, but his opponent always narrowly dodged them. Grimshaw thumped Musaka in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards. With a battle cry, so vicious and brutal that many of the spectators in the stands gasped at the intensity and volume of it, Musaka charged, jabbed with his left and at the same time threw all his force into an uppercut with right. Grimshaw dodged the jab, but was hit square on the chin with the uppercut. Grimshaw felt a piercing pain in his chin as he felt and saw himself get lifted off the ground. He began to flip upside down and saw the crowd, upside down. He tried to catch himself but before he did, the lights went out.
A man from the crowd stood up and started the count “Ten.. nine.. eight.. seven.. six.. five.. four.. three.. two.. one.. All hail Musaka; the new leader of the Mortas!!!!”
As the Mortas cheered for their new leader, the Crogs were creating a scout team to discover the Mortas’ camp and find out their plans.
When the team was finalized it consisted of Martico, Nianiah, the Crog’s barracks master, who insisted on going. Also to go was Jay-Ku, a tall, muscular, blond, male archer who had fought in many battles. Nadilla a skinny female who had almond hair and green eyes was the quickest runner and best archer bested only by Jay-Ku, her brother, in all of the Crogs’ barracks. Taysodu, an short, semi-plump herb specialist and doctor also went. Zesragak, a tracker and a quiet man with the ferociousness of 10 men when the need is dire, particularly when Nadilla is in need, for Zesragak is deeply in love with her. Unlike the rest of the team who uses bows and swords, Zesragak used a large double-sided axe with precious jewels imbedded in its hilt. All of these scouts except for Nianiah were at the Battle of the Resting Dead and had a vengeance burning in their hearts to rid the island of the evil Mortas. But no one’s anger burned as deeply as Martico’s.
The company left the barracks and headed north-east with nothing but a supply of food for several weeks, some money to buy supplies with, and the knowledge that the Mortas lived to the east of the plains and to the north of the barracks.
After a half day of marching on flat ground, the company was tired and the sky was darkening. They saw a rocky hill with a cave in it and decided to check it out. With caution, Zesragak snuck into the cave to check it out.
After a brief moment, Zesragak reappeared and said, “ The cave is large enough for all of us and more. There’s a back to the cave so we cannot be ambushed from behind. Also, the most recent tracks are a few days old and a shoeless, probably nomads. It looks good to me.”
Nianiah told the crew to move into the cave and set up camp, placing Zesragak and Nadilla on first guard. As the scout team slept, the stars twinkled like a child’s eyes on their birthday, and the moon showed orange over the hills of Degra, tiny specks in the distance.
Martico found a spot in the cave and lay down to sleep. He tossed and turned in his sleep, dreaming of his childhood. He dreamed that all around him, buildings were burning and people were screaming and crying out. He saw his parents running towards him and fall to their knees, their mouths moving, trying to tell him something, but no noise was coming out. He tried to run to his parents but couldn’t, because something or someone was holding him back. He tried harder but was dragged away. As he was dragged away, he saw his mother fall to the ground and his father begin to cry as an arrow pierced then both in the back.
In the shadows of the nearby trees, a figure, small and scrawny listened intently as Zegragak talked to Nadilla. As Zegragak began to place his arm around Nadilla, the form accidentally snapped a twig, startling the scouts on guard.
With a jump Zegragak rushed to the area he noise came from as Nadilla rushed into the cave to wake the others. Charging like a mad bull, Zegragak rushed at full sprint as the dark form tried to scamper away. It was no use, for Zegragak was fueled by the fact that Nadilla could be in danger. With a massive dive, Zegragak dove into this being, axe handle first and slammed it and the stranger on the ground with a thud.
The rest of the company rushed to where the two beings lye on the ground, Zegragak pinning the intruder down with his axe handle. Zegragak stood up holding the offenders shirt.
The being said in a low raspy voice, “I mean no harm, but I was just wondering who was in this cave.” With a cough it continued, “ I am Dogkula, son of Hamis, now will you please let go of my shirt, it’s my favorite one!”
* * * *
Far to the northwest, a lone cry rang out; only to be swallowed by the waves of the sea crashing against the rocks that dot the shoreline near the home of Lakra. Lakra cried out in agony as he cradeld the head of the lifeless form of his adopted son Martico.
Lakra whispered to himself, “I will find the murderer of Duran, who was but a child. No matter where it leads me. No matter how far I must search, I will find the man who did this to my son!”
Lakra began to burry his adopted son’s body the way his family had always done it. After placing his son’s body on a nearby raft, he covered the body with a ripped canvas that was once a sail. Bowing his head and saying goodbye one last time, he pushed his son’s body out to sea. As the raft floated away over the waves and out to sea, a single tear fell to the ground from Lakra’s cheek. Lakra looked up, with anger burning in his eyes, he began heading home.
His home, a half days walk from the Port of Felox, or a one-hour travel downstream by boat on the nearby river, was a small round hut. Lakra entered his house and began packing supplies. After placing clothes, food, flint and steel, and herbs in a small bag he began to write in the journal that his wife insisted on him keeping. That was when she was still alive though, and now he kept a journal to occupy his days.
“For nine years now my family has been dead. Now the little boy who I took as my son when I found him floating in the sea last year, was dead on the shore. The Crogs could not have killed my son, for they are almost a weeks walk away. The Mortas must have killed my son, for they also killed my wife Jusana, and my son, whom I miss dearly, Martico. I will head out tomorrow and find the Morta camp. Then I will give word to the Crogs where it is. This will allow the Mortas to be driven from this island, and me a chance to avenge my family.”
* * * * *
“Now please, rude people, tell me who you are.” Dogkula said roughly.
Zegragak answered gruffly as he dropped the old one, “We are Crog’s old man. Are names are not important to you.”
“Ohhhh! Tough guy are we?? Hmmmm… I know just what you need young one.” Dogkula said as he stroked his long, straggly, gray beard.
“What is that, old one, besides being rid of you?”
“What you need,” said Dogkula coolly, “ Is this!!!”
Martico watched as Dogkula dropped to the ground, Dogkula caught himself with his hands and twirled his legs in a complete circle, attempting to trip Zegragak. But Zegragak was quick to react. He slammed his axe handle down and jumped, causing Dogkula to hit his ankles against the wooden handle.
“Impressive young one! You are not as foolish as you look.”
Zegragak controlled his anger and allowed Nainiah to speak.
“Both of you relax. There is no need to get aggressive. Now, Dogkula, why are you here for it is obvious you did not come to see who we are.”
“You are correct. I am here to tell you that there is a small party of Mortas camped just outside the Wekjara Forest and on the shore of Lake Bunar. Many of them look as though they were recently in a fight with your people. If you would like, I can show you where they are.”
“We would appreciate that greatly Dogkula, son of Hamnis. We will leave at dawn. Go rest now soldiers, I will take watch with Martico now.”
The scout team went back to the cave accompanied by Dogkula. As Martico and Niahiah took their positions in front of the cave, a cloud veiled the moon from view and dimming the stars.
“I don’t like this Niahiah.” Martico whispered. “An old man would not have been able to stand after a hit like that from Zegragak and then be able to perform that trip with such speed.”
“I know. It is probably a trap and on the other side of the forest is a trap waiting for us.”
Martico nodded and said, “Dogkula, or whatever his real name is, is probably a Morta with a disguise on. I say at dawn we revile him as he truly is and force information out of him.”
“Agreed,” Niahiah stated, “but we must watch him as the others sleep. He may try to kill the others while they rest. We should put him and Jay-Ku on watch together. We both know Jay-Ku is almost as strong as Zegragak, and he would be able to keep watch and watch Dogkula at the same time.”
Standing up, Martico went into the cave and woke Jay-Ku and Dogkula, telling them to watch for intruders. As Dogkula exited the cave, Jay-Ku turned to Martico and said quietly, “I don’t like this man. He doesn’t act like he’s old.”
“I know.” Martico said, “Niahiah and I think he is a Morta, leading us into a trap on the other side of the forest. We will find out in the morning.”
The rest of the night was quiet and untroubled. Dogkula and Jay-Ku kept watch till sun-up and woke the others. Preparing a quick meal, the company set out towards the Wekjara Forest.
The newly appointed Morta leader looked around him. To the north was the sea, shimmering like diamonds as the sun poked its sleepy head over the tops of the waves that rolled smoothly, forming small white tips as they broke and fell back into the sea. To west was Rock Jaw Arena. When he saw it, he tenderly touched his bruised ribs that Grimshaw had almost cracked only four days earlier. Musaka, smiled broadly, thinking of how he could do as he pleased. Musaka turned southward and frowned. Somewhere to the south were the Crogs and the Crog barracks. Somewhere to the south were the only people who challenged the Mortas rule on the Island of Venhue. Turning east, Musaka saw a reassuring sight. The remainders of the Mortas, about 1400, were making ready to scout for the Crogs and conquer their barracks. Thus securing the island and all on it as Morta property. If this failed, there would be too few to resist the Crogs, and the remaining Mortas would be forced to flee the island. Jumping down from the rock he was standing on, Musaka turned and looked for his assistant, Hamis.
Hamis was a stout fellow with a short curly beard that ran down his large stomach. He had a large bald spot and several scars on his face. He looked around and noticed that Musaka was looking for him. Moving his thick legs as fast as he could, he approached his leader and bowed.
“What is your biding my master?” Hamis said humbly.
“Has your son sent word to you yet about his troops at Bunar Lake?”
“Oh, yes my liege! Late last night, his hunting hawk flew to my bedroom and delivered a note to me. It said that he has found a group of Crogs a days walk south of his camp. He is going to check things out and send a message back to me if things are going well.”
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