Chapter 20: Of Purring Pets and Howling Beasts

Menja averted her eyes from the corpse on the ground. The priest was dead and she searched her surroundings for something more interesting than a corpse. When she examined the crowd surrounding them she saw a group that caught her attention. They were Norgar, like the entire crowd, but they were young. None of the eight boys seemed to be older than twelve and two of them looked like they were about the same age as Menja. Excited about her finding she skipped in their direction but they suddenly all ran away.

“Did you scare them?” Menja asked frowning at Bosko.

The huge dog tilted his head and his tongue lolled out of his muzzle. Menja stared at him a little longer but giggled when he licked her face. She decided Bosko was innocent.

She stepped in front of a warrior and grabbed his belt to get his attention.

“Are there many children at your camp, only boys or girls as well? I am an amazon but Roban is my daddy and so I think I am a Norgar child too. I have friends at the Clan camps and maybe I can become friends with your children too. I would like that. Can you tell me where to find them?”

The warrior looked down at the hand grabbing his belt and then at Menja. “There are no children at our camp.”

Menja let go of his belt and pointed at the group of boys that just had reached the gate. “There too are children!”

The warrior watched where she pointed. “Pargesh,” he spit out, as if the word would leave a foul taste in his mouth.

“Pargesh, is that how you call your children?” Menja asked furrowing her brow.

“They are no children of the Norgar but the bastards of whores. Vermin, following us like the rats on our ships,” the warrior answered.

“What is a bastard?” Menja followed up with a new question.

“A child born without a father, it doesn’t belong to a family or clan. That’s a bastard,” he answered.

“That can’t be right. I am an amazon and all amazons are born without a father, but we do have a family,” Menja objected.

“I don’t care about amazons, if no man acknowledged you as his daughter then you are a bastard too,” the man gruffly replied.

“I am not a bastard, Roban is my daddy,” Menja firmly disagreed.

“It doesn’t matter if you call him your daddy. You are not of his blood, not his real daughter and still a bastard,” the warrior spat.

“He said I am his real daughter and my daddy never lies,” Menja persisted, tears brimming in her eyes.

“The Chieftain is nineteen and until two years ago he had never left Falkath. You are not his real daughter,” the man stated, secure in his victory.

“Did you just call your Chieftain a liar?” Someone new intervened and she sounded amused.

“Who are you?” The warrior asked staring at the tall blond woman.

“My name is Jenaya and I am another of your Chieftain’s daughters. Although, rather than calling him daddy, I refer to him as my Sire, but that are just semantics and of no concern,” Jenaya said and crouched in front of Menja. “This man, he looks at me and what he sees is a woman far too old to be our daddy’s daughter, but you know who I am and what I am, don’t you little sister?”

“Daddy made you a Vampire,” Menja whispered, so no one but Jenaya could hear her answer.

Jenaya smiled and nodded. “You and I, we know things this man will never know or understand. Touched by the gods our world changed and magic became a reality. He said you are not Roban’s real daughter because you are not of his blood, but what does he know about blood? I am a Vampire and I am an expert in blood. You fed it to me and I know without a shadow of a doubt, you are in his blood. Look inside yourself, you are his real daughter. Now come with me and let us find food and maybe some clothes for your new friends. In our magic world there are no bastards, only some hungry orphans.”

Jenaya took Menja by the hand and together they walked away. After a few steps Menja stopped and turned to look at the warrior a last time. “I don’t like you.”

The warrior snorted about her remark. I don’t like you, the girl said, but why should he care, his own children didn’t like him either. His world wasn’t magic, it was a dark place and as he watched them leaving it became a little darker.

Athea had finally stopped laughing and looked at her brother.

“You can let me down, I feel sane again.” Back on her feet she continued. “I guess my reputation as a coldblooded tyrannical leader took a serious hit with my performance today. Here is what we’ll do to remedy the situation; we’ll hold a war council. It’s time we get them all together and you’ll tell them of your plan to attack the Manthakin.”

“I have a plan to attack the Manthakin?” Roban asked surprised.

“Of course you do, I know you. You won’t wait until the Manthakin are ready to attack, you want to strike first and I agree. There is no reason for us to wait. I don’t care about the details but the alliance of our forces needs to be solid. How much time do we have?”

“The Norgar will need two more days but in three days I will lead our army to the Tularkis border,” Roban replied.

“Three days is not much time. At the war council this evening, the Ghallan Clan leaders and the Norgar chiefs will face each other for the first time and have to accept to fight as allies under your command. I’ll make sure the Ogusi will know about the meeting and expect that they will come as well. There is no time to build trust and acceptance, we have to corral the renegade Ogusi and crush any opposition. I will tell Gillyn to prepare a location and then I will have my own war council with Chaos to get ready for the meeting. You go and get acquainted with the Norgar, pick the clan chiefs you want at the war council and there we will meet again,” Athea told her brother.

“Did you just send me away to play with the boys?” Roban asked smirking.

“YES, you deserved it. Thank you brother,” Athea replied, then grasping his neck she pulled his face down and tenderly kissed him. “Now go and have some fun.”

As she watched him walking down to the gate of the camp Athea turned to the grey Patran sitting a few yards away. “Keep an eye on him and make sure their plays don’t get too rough.”

The big cat got up and followed Roban, her tail leisurely swinging behind her.

On his way to the camp Roban was accompanied by Ghorn and the Targhas warrior. There was a bit of struggling and stumbling involved, since there wasn’t enough space between them for a big grey cat to walk at his side. When the Patran had conquered her place at his side, her purr let anyone know that the inconvenient situation was satisfactorily solved.

“Your new pet is just like your women, very pretty, but also annoyingly brazen and stubborn,” Ghorn remarked with a grin.

“My pet is rubbing her body at my legs to mark her territory, so maybe she has a different view on who is the pet in this relationship,” Roban replied.

“I didn’t know a Patran could become that big, she has to be a rarity,” the Targhas commented.

“Sureyssa is definitely unique,” Roban soberly agreed.

“You named your pet Sureyssa? That’s a good one and by the gods, the name fits!” Ghorn broke out laughing.

“I didn’t name her, so I would be careful to exploit that joke,” Roban corrected with a wide smile on his face.

Ghorn’s happy laughter died in his throat and he stared at the big grey cat, but a moment later he burst out laughing again.

“Damned, I fell for it! These are mad times and nothing seems impossible anymore,” he said, wiping tears off his eyes.

“I only believe in what I see. When the Norgar march into war, the gods stay in heaven and magic will neither save us nor our enemies,” the Targhas dismissed.

“That’s curious, you are of the Targhas and their history is interwoven with myth and magic, but you don’t believe in it?” Roban asked.

“The second sons of our family are chosen for the Targhas. I was fifteen the day of your father’s funeral. My uncle was on his ship and I watched as it drifted burning through the bay of Falkath. The ship sank, my uncle died and that was the most mystical moment of my life. The next day I became one of the Targhas,” the warrior answered.

“So you are twenty-eight and spent half of your life training to guard the Norgar Chieftain, but there was none. I guess Urgon doesn’t count, right?” Roban surmised.

“The Targhas is stationed in Kullhag, not Falkath. I never even saw Urgon. We were readying our ships to join the raid on Gotha when we received the news of his death. Of course I had heard the rumors about his invincibility. I laughed as it was proven wrong by a nineteen year old boy,” the warrior replied.

“But the boy became your Chieftain. Now the Targhas has to protect my precious blood and your life is chained to my fate,” Roban countered grinning.

“You are Roban, son of Maghon, a living god and a dark sphere of destruction on the battlefield. You see, I also heard the rumors they tell about you. Today I saw you. You are strong and killed the priest with the ease of a man who is used to kill. Nothing I saw was magic. I am of the Targhas. I gave away my name and my life and swore an oath to protect the Norgar Chieftain. Rumors don’t matter, what I saw doesn’t matter. Gods, myth and magic, if reality or fantasy, it doesn’t matter. You are the Norgar Chieftain and I am a Targhas, that is my only truth,” the warrior responded.

“You have to excuse him, but the Targhas are famous for their lack of humor. I think their sour mood is understandable after thirteen years of training without a Chieftain and a war. Lead them into a real battle that’s what they need. They will recover the joy to live when they have to fight for it. Maybe a burning tree flying through the night will make them believers. At least that’s how it worked out for me,” Ghorn commented and burst out laughing again.

Ghorn Nakass was still laughing when they reached a big tent inside the camp. It was guarded by two Targhas warriors.

“This is your tent, Chieftain. The armament and weapon we took from the Brotherhood of War are inside as well as other items from your belongings in Falkath. Some clan Chiefs told me they need to talk to you as soon as possible and they are here at the camp already. I will lead them to you if you are willing to hear what they have to say,” the accompanying Targhas told Roban.

“That sounds like politics to me. I will leave you to your duty and go back to observe the building of the fortifications for the camp, which is mine,” Ghorn said and left.

“I didn’t know I would be here, so I sadly have no other plans. Let them come,” Roban answered the Targhas and went inside the tent.

An already bored looking cat was following him.

Roban found the famous armor which the Brotherhood of War had crafted on a stand at the back of the tent. Placed on a coffer in front of it was the weapon, a large battle-ax. He was inspecting the armor when the first of the clan chiefs entered. It quickly became apparent that there was no urgent need for his visit. Roban continued his examination of the armor while he spent just enough attention to the Chief being able to throw in a “yes” or “no” at an opportune moment. Sadly he discovered that the invaluable relics made by the brotherhood were no more exciting than the constant humming sound coming from the chief. It was just an armament and the battle-ax was just that, a battle-ax.

Roban was bored and as he watched the big grey cat lying prone on a chest at the wall of the tent, he was pretty sure that she was as bored as he was. The visit of the Chief finally came to an end and he left, only to be replaced by another chief, with the same boring reports and anecdotes. They were sitting on furs facing each other with a cozy campfire burning between them and Roban’s consciousness was slowly but steadily drifting away. He probably would have fallen asleep but an insistent headbutt hitting his side prevented such a political faux pas. A short growl and the Patran lay down at his side, rolled over on her back and presented her belly, already purring in anticipation. He had offered and rubbing the cat’s belly was no hardship at all. The fur on her belly was a lighter shade of grey than the rest of her pelt and Roban enjoyed the warmth and its soft fluffy feel in his hand. Lulled by the sound of the cat’s deep, steady purr, Roban was once again drifting on the edge of his awareness when the second chief was exchanged by a third.

Igen Bjerek was the chief of the Tuhak. The Tuhak’s home was Eyrenok, a territory in the north-east of Kurgath. The vast tundra areas of Eyrenok were also the home of the Horrik, a breed of wolves, and as everything born in Kurgath, these wolves were big. When a Tuhak boy becomes thirteen he goes on a hunt to find a litter of Horrik. He kills the den mother and captures the biggest pub. From that day on the wolf becomes his companion and the Tuhak call him a man. Of course this practice made them the target of lewd comments. Some famous tavern brawls started with a joke about a Tuhak and his wolf. The Tuhak enjoy a good brawl as much as the next Norgar though and the big wolves on their side always gave them a distinct advantage. Probably one of the reasons they never changed their maturity ritual.

The sun was setting and while the chief droned about the difficulties of a sea passage with hundreds of wolves aboard the ships, Roban’s awareness was floating over Vernya’s gently rising hills and outstretched valleys. He sensed the racing heart of a hare on the run, chased by the monotonous vibrations of the ground. He could not hear but felt the sound of metal scraping on leather. He could not see but his mind conjured a picture. Rows of marching soldiers, their heavy boots stomping the ground. So much for his plan to lead the first strike against the enemy, but another thought made Roban smile. He would miss the meeting of the war council!

The Patran growled as Roban stopped stroking her and the Chief’s rambling speech broke in mid-sentence as Roban got up and called the guards inside.

“I want the Targhas at the gate and ready to fight. You,” he continued pointing at Tuhak Chief, “find me the other talkative Chiefs and meet us at the gate.”

The Targhas guards immediately left but the Chief was formulating a request.

“What,” that was as far as he came.

“The time of babbling is over. We’ll have a battle tonight. Go!”

The Chief stared at his back as Roban took the armor off the stand. As he watched him put on the chainmail, readjusting the straps and buckles of the steel plate he silently left to do as ordered.