Chapter 2: A God, the Norgar and Family

Five year old Roban was sitting on a pier in the harbor of Falkath, his hometown. Like every day for the last week, he was waiting for the ships of his people to return. His Father Maghon, the chieftain of the Norgar, had left four months ago to raid the coast of Perrior. He missed his father, wanted to listen to glorious stories of battles and adventures in foreign lands, but most of all he wanted to be the first one to present his father with the good news. Finally his mother was pregnant again! Most five year old boys probably wouldn't be that excited about a new sibling. Even fewer boys would be happy to get a sister, but then again Roban wasn't like most boys. His destiny, from the moment he was born, was to become the next Chieftain of the Norgar.

Three days later, he could finally make out the huge square sails of Norgar ships, but they were black. He knew what the black sails meant, the Chieftain, his father, was dead.

The whole town seemed deathly quiet for the three days until the funeral ceremony for the Chieftain was held.

More and more Norgar arrived in Falkath. Every clan was represented by his chief and an honor guard. Twenty thousand Norgar watched the burning ship of their Chieftain drifting to the horizon.

Just one day later the bad times began.

It was thirteen years until Roban could become Chieftain. Thirteen years without a Chieftain would be bad. This would be the longest time in known history without a chieftain sitting on the "Throne of Blood". Thirteen years with no chieftain would mean politics. The Norgar were bad at politics and they knew it. Norgar didn't discuss; didn't form alliances; didn't like to think about what's best for their nation. The Norgar were a nation of warriors and they only bowed to the Chieftain. No chieftain meant clan wars; wars to fill the void, and to find the strongest amongst them before the thirteen years passed by. Norgar are warriors, but they were not stupid or less ambitious than other people. No one, neither the most courageous nor the most stupid, doubted that Roban would claim the throne when he became eighteen. He was of pure blood, and no other warrior would stand a chance against him. But for now he was just a five-year old boy. He was already stronger, faster and more agile than every other boy at that age, but a boy nonetheless. No Norgar would ever try to kill a Chieftain unless in a challenge, but he wasn't Chieftain yet.

There was just one problem, "The Law of the Blood". Was it a prophecy, myth or just a fairytale? However, every new Chieftain had proven one part of the legendary pact with Khor, the God of War, to be true. Regardless of the greed and avarice flowing through veins of even the lowest of the Norgar, no Norgar wanted to test whether the other part of that pact was true as well.

It was the last and bloodiest battle. Among the thousands of corpses only a few hundred survivors were left standing on the field. The sound of metal clashing together here and there, but much louder now was the crying of children. After hours of fighting the families of the warriors had arrived at the battlefield, looking for their fathers, sons and brothers. The crying grew louder when someone found a loved one amongst the dead. The rain had started a while ago and the sky was almost black now. Crackles of lightning gathered among the clouds, seemingly fed by the sounds of crying and despair.

The last surviving warriors met on a small hill in the middle of the battlefield. A huge lightning bolt hit the center and a deafening thunder clap silenced everyone. All eyes turned to the small group of people who appeared where the lightning bolt had hit the ground. There were three of them, clad in black armor. A giant warrior stood in the lead, nearly eight feet tall. To his right another warrior, tall too, at about six feet five, but at least within the human range. On the giants left stood a young woman, her long blonde hair falling down her back, her pale blue eyes sparkling with an inner fire. She was smiling, but a tear ran down her cheek.

The giant in the lead laughed loudly, clapping his hands. Between bellows of laughter, the sound of his voice carried all over the field.

"I applaud you humans. For a hundred years you have greatly entertained me. The blood of your slain warriors fed me and the tears of their women made me laugh." Spreading his arms he addressed his audience. "You are the Norgar; I'll accept you as my people. I am Khor, the God of War." Grinning widely he continued. "When the sound of children crying becomes louder than the sound of battle, it's time to take a break".

A warrior stepped forward from the crowd and angrily shouted at Khor. "I am Haros, chief of the Haren Clan. I don't follow anyone's order, human or god, without being bested in a fight!"

Murmur and shouts of the crowd supported Haros statement.

"I have no wish to rule you puny mortals. You have entertained and fed me and I feel generous towards you. I am here to grant you what you were fighting for!" Laughing again Khor answered.

"We fight to find the strongest among us, if you don't want to fight for yourself, how can you be of any help to us?" Haros asked less sure of his cause.

Khor pointed to the left of his feet. Before the eyes of the stunned crowd, streams of blood from the bodies pooled at his feet and something began to grow out of it. A throne built from skulls. Rivulets of blood like tears, ran out of the empty eye sockets in a never-ending stream, but disappeared before touching the ground.

"The strongest of you will be your Chieftain and rule over you. This is his Throne of Blood!" Khor pointed at the woman to his left. "This is my daughter Vernya; her virgin blood will make you without a doubt the strongest warrior on Calmyra! I am your God; you gave me your blood, now I give you my own blood through my daughter! Her blood taken from her, or given to her son will grant your wish, to find the strongest warrior amongst you. Be warned though! There will only be one son and one daughter, always. Do not let my blood die! The day my blood will dry out, I will return and run you dry of blood too. No Norgar will survive my revenge! This is the Law of the Blood."

Silence followed Khor's words. The Norgar were thinking, probably not their greatest strength. Finally Horas stepped forward again.

"I, Horas of the Haren Clan, claim Vernya as my mate!" He proudly announced.

Hurriedly three more warriors stepped forward to make their own claim known.

"As is your right by the Law of the Blood!" Khor laughed. "Let's settle the claims then, shouldn't take long!"

The mirthful laughter of the god was bad enough, but the gaze of pure disdain their claims earned from Vernya froze the warriors on the spot.

Khor gestured to his right. "This is Vhoren", my son, he will settle the claims."

Vhoren stepped in front of Horas and pulled a huge double headed ax from his back.

No more talking and back to the fighting, Horas was actually relieved. Drawing his sword he stormed towards Vhoren. With his left arm he lifted his big wooden shield to block the ax, while swinging his sword in an upward arc to hit Vhoren's left side. The attack was only partially successful. The shield did catch the ax. Vhoren spun around to his left, leading his ax in an overhead angle down on Horas, while he kept out of range of the sword. Sadly for Horas the shield didn't stop the ax, it broke. His arm was severed by the blade of the ax and its downward strike continued through his helmet and skull, finally leaving his body a few inches above his stomach, after cutting through his breastbone.

The first claim was settled.

The fate of the other three warriors was similar. Cut down one by one, without the slightest chance of standing against the son of the god. After the death of the last warrior Khor spoke again.

"That was it?" Shaking his head he continued. "I didn't lie to you when I told you I will grant your wish! You are my people, and I am your God. Nothing I told you was a lie. I will honor the Law of the Blood, forever, as will you!"

Vhoren went back to the throne and sat down, staring at the crowd. Suddenly a surprising squeal of girlish delight could be heard and a running Vernya jumped on her brothers lap. She fiercely hugged him around the neck, raining kisses down on his face.

"Can't do much about family," The amused Khor said, more to himself than the crowd. With a gesture at the now passionately kissing pair he told the stunned Norgar, "I give you your new Chieftain and his mate!" Shaking his head one last time he vanished.

Brother and sister were kissing and tearing off their clothes as one by one the Norgar warriors and their families went down on their knees and bowed their heads to the pair. As promised, Vernya's virgin blood was taken that night by the new Chieftain of the Norgar.

The woman was pregnant, it would be her second child, and as always it would be a daughter. Darea wouldn't have any more children. History had proven that true, for the bloodline, over the last thousand years. One of the children had to survive to continue the bloodline and prevent the revenge of the god. It didn't have to be the son though. They had to wait for the daughter to be born and by their own laws she couldn't be mated before turning sixteen.

That was the situation. The daughter had to be sound and safe, and the son had to die within the next thirteen years. With the son out of the way, finally another clan warrior could claim the daughter and become chieftain. A difficult proposition for sure but not impossible to handle for the most ambitious and strongest clans of the Norgar. They had time, and there was no point in killing Roban before a single clan could feel secure enough to successfully claim the daughter.

So it began.

At first there was no open war between the clans, just an increasing number of challenges between clan warriors. When Athea was born in the winter, it was like a signal to heighten the intensity. The first open battles between rival clans occurred. It was no secret; all Norgar knew exactly what was going on among them.