The Fickle Winds of Autumn

Vlicien growled his anger and frustration at the roaring wall of oily flame which writhed and leapt before him. The vicious combustion pushed him back and taunted him defiantly.

The crude bow of the humans still sang and vibrated against his hand.

The rats had fled - but they would not survive this outrage!

They would never escape!

He would hunt them down, the defiant rock would drink their blood.

He threw the bow to the rattling ground.

This was no weapon of a noble prince - it was the tool of a cowardly assassin.

Where was the honour in killing a foe without stealing the life from his eyes, and offering his soul as a gift to Hekubate?

He had allowed his rage and anger to rule his actions and get the better of him - the shallow burden of shame burnt across him.

This was not a befitting way for a Royal Prince to behave.

But he was no longer a Prince.

The title of ‘King’ now owned him.

On the ground behind, the jewelled collar of Xal lay worthless in the sullied dust; the gems of his ancestors befouled by soot, their lustre gone, their power and symbolism hollowed and rendered meaningless.

The Great Axe of Khal was his to wield in battle now also - but he would trade these petty trinkets to have his father back.

The deep, corrupting anger pulsed through his frame; the burning emptiness raged through him without end.

His rising breath intensified.

Only one drink would slake this bitter thirst - the blood of his enemies.

He stepped toward the flames, determined to fight through, to chase down the wretched thieves and murderers.

The solid thickness of Yulkvas’s arm swept round in front of him and grasped across his shoulder tightly. Its sinewy grip jolted his thoughts back to the Chamber of Ancestors.

“No, my King - the fire is too fierce.”

The distant words fell from his tutor’s lips - muffled, so far away, beyond a remote echo.

“We must find them and kill them! Kill them all!” the burst of words relieved the building throbbing pressure in his head.

“But the flames are too intense,” Yulkvas replied, “and we do not know how many more of them are waiting for us in the tunnels - or what snares they have set for us in the narrow passageways - the whole manoeuvre could be a trap.”

The strong, faithful arm pulled him further back from the blazing obstruction.

“You are wounded, my King.”

Vlicien had not noticed the cuts to his arm, or the gash across his thigh, or the roughened boils of skin where the flames had assailed him. He tried to centre himself, but his breathing seemed to come in heavy, tortured gulps.

The sting of his numbed flesh offered a welcome distraction to the waves of unrestrained anguish which rang out remorselessly through the rest of his being, and hollowed him with pain and doubt and emptiness.

How could his father be gone?

He was just there, alongside him, a heartbeat ago - so solid, so real.

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And their last words were a quarrel - how would this sit when his father reached the Great Hall of Hekubate and took his place at the Eternal War Council?

Was he cursed forever?

Was it too late to take the words back, to be a dutiful son, to agree with his father for the sake of his people?

This was never meant to happen - it could not have been foreseen.

Not by him, not by anyone.

But he must be avenged, or his father’s soul would wander restlessly, never finding its rightful status in the Chamber of Ancestors. It would pursue him for the rest of his days - until Hekubate called him to his Great Hall of Counsel, too.

“I must go!” he protested. “I must have vengeance!”

He pushed against the weight of his mentor’s grasp, struggling to break free.

“No my King, you are wounded - do you not feel the flames around you?”

A second pair of arms clutched at him and held him back. It was the grip of Zaduul, his father’s advisor.

“My King, your father would not want you to follow so closely behind his spirit. Use your wisdom! And there is work to be done, for the thieves have stolen the Tooth of Hekubate - we must call the other clans and alert them to this outrage.”

“Rest a moment and think, my King,” Yulkvas urged. “This could be the cause you have been searching for - a reason for all the tribes to unite behind us - a war to reclaim the Tooth.”

“No,” Vlicien replied, “the other clans would shame us. We have been humiliated - our most sacred Chamber invaded by a worthless gang of thieves and cowards - our King killed! If we cannot protect the Tooth and our own King, how then can we hope to lead the Nizul to victory against the humans?”

“You are right my King,” said Yulkvas. “I am glad your judgement has returned - we cannot go to them with this inglorious news.”

“I cannot call for a massing of all the clans - only a small band of our own, most trusted warriors, can know of this disaster. I will raid with them and recover the Tooth - this will prove my prowess and leadership, and that the Tooth has chosen me to wield it in my destiny as King. Once we have it back, then can we reveal that the humans have chosen to break the Truce - their actions were a clear declaration of war against us and our entire people. The clans will rally behind the power of the Tooth - their hatred will grow at news of this outrage, and they will fight under my command to reclaim the land that is rightfully ours.”

“Our scouts will hunt them in the shadows,” said Zaduul. “We will find out who sent them - those who would dare commit this violation against us.”

Yulkvas slackened his grip.

“From their robes, they were humans from the Church - I still remember their colours and scent - an old soldier cannot forget his foes.”

“We need not worry with such things,” said Vlicien, “the Tooth of Hekubate will take care of itself - and there are those in the human world who are prepared to help us - even those within this ‘church’ you speak of. Besides, I already have a good idea of where they will take it.”

“Good,” said Yulkvas. “It is well that you think and plan a strategy, my king, - you now act like a true leader - your father would be pleased.”

His father?

Yes, he would approve such actions.

The smouldering embers curled and smoked up from the hateful ground nearby.

The charred flakes still clung stubbornly to him as he rubbed the bitter dust in his hand.

His sorrowed lips brushed against the bereaved harvest as it crumbled through his rueful fingers; it scattered - tugged through the wounded air by the swirling heat of the lava and roaring barrier of flame before him.

How could the father, who gave life to him, now be this dispersal of smudges and smears?

How could the reign of one so great end with such dishonour?

His spirit tainted with defeat?

Where was the honour?

Where was his respected place in the Hall?

His eternal life within the mighty favours of Hekubate?

And the cowards who committed this transgression still lived, still breathed; prospered and enjoyed the fullness of their destinies?!

He wrestled against the arms that bound him, that prevented his will, that prevented justice.

The flames would not stop him.

Was he not of royal blood?

“No! We cannot wait! My father’s honour demands it! We must destroy them now and bring peace to his spirit! I will go myself and hunt them through the tunnels! Hekubate lend me strength to fulfil this vow!”

The arms tightened around him and dragged him further away from the laughing flames.

“No,” said Yulkvas, “you must think of your people now - they have already lost one King today - it is my responsibility to see that they do not lose another so soon.”

“We must act with caution,” Zaduul agreed. “When the resentful eye of the day withdraws, we can hunt them down in the marshes - but we cannot venture outside now - Yinjus, the sun god, would destroy us all in his wrathful envy.”

The arms closed tighter and denied his wriggling will, his promise to his father.

“And besides,” Yulkvas added, “I do not know if you noticed in all the confusion of the fight, or if your memory has been shaken by the death of your father - may Hekubate live in him forever - but that girl the humans had with them - she was a witch.”