Chapter Five, Shadow of the Horns

Early Morn, Late Autumn, 13th of Duskcrest, 1328CE

Drakkon loomed over the rocky edge of the high ridge looking down the pass. Inspecting the fog-coated way to Moribond, he squinted at the labyrinthine grey. The wind hummed faint song that pacified his impatience. After a good period of waiting, his hunch proved true, hooves clambered in hurried approach as lone steed cut through the mountainous mist.

The archers accompanying him itched bows in preparation, should this hasty rider not be their expected guest. As the horseman drew nearer, the bear cloak of the Ferali tribe cut through the haze of dawn by sparse sunrays. Yet the Living Lord did not give his companions the signal to fire. Narrowing gaze & feeling, he marked the rider as that same defector with whom he was to meet this morn. He bid them lower their bows, release tension & allow the informant through the pass. Raising a torch high to herald his point.

The bold young lord’s stature struck expression of stony confidence. The defector, unhorsing and approaching, proved elderly in appearance. Many scars marked his wizened face. Surprising, Drakkon mused, I figured that a man who would so willingly turn on his master would be much younger in cycles. Be greener in character and not so scarred as the man who comes here. Curious.

He kept constant focus on the old man, studying him for any mannerisms that would betray ulterior purpose. This was the first turncoat he’d agreed to meet and was not yet ready to trust him. Sure, he had made a few mercs aligned Ferali or dogged Harathi stragglers turn to his Light before, but that was not without intent & precise conditioning. This could well be but a ploy.

The Ferali warrior bowed knee and head to Drakkon in veneer of deference. “Hail Drakkon! I am called Stieg, who hails from the House ov Harmsburg. I come regarding the mad bear’s plans...” His voice was withered and dry, matching his exterior. But no tinge of fear or lack of firmness lined his wording. “Come now to you to amend my overlong service to him.”

“Yes, your missive said as much. But humor me first as to why I should be so willing to trust you and this report? How can I be certain that you are not still an agent of my enemy, feigning treachery as to feed me misinformation? Why risk so much to betray one so infamously barbarous as Kassan?” Drakkon’s voice rang deep. Steady was his stare.

The faded harbinger did not falter as their eyes locked honestly. He did not wince nor shrink away before his young inquisitor, whose noble features were illumed by torch & the pre-dawn glow. “I am weathered in my years, aye, with wisdom enough to see through the chieftain of cruelty I’ve too long let be my master. Yet not hardened to icy shell so to eclipse my heart, or its knowledge of mine own wrongdoing. But let me say that Kassan cut sin against my line, my love and into it - as I hath cut others under his banner. Against his barbarity I hath seen your potential. Known your strength firsthand.”

The young man raised his brow, observing a sudden familiarity in the bark of Stieg’s face. He recalled now how this leathery mien had glared at him across the other side of a battlefield once before. A former foe indeed. Yet he let him continue, intrigued.

“When came the Battle of Harnow Gully, when I saw your might for the first time, that broke both me and my bindings. You beat back our Bear even when we should have overwhelmed you. Indeed, I was the commander of the Ferali on that day. The one you so expertly embarrassed on the field. You saved my boys - Beron and Heron- who are as dear to me as they are sadly distant (more Kassan’s boys than mine). Saved them from being buried beneath the fetid soils of ‘glory’. By sending us back in flight so swiftly that no berserker could retain any instinct for suicidal charge, neither of the brash boys met crushing blow. I bow, with humility harmfully gained, to my better.”

“You were graceful in victory. You hath shown me that my ‘master’ is not the invulnerable deified incarnation of war he so desireth to be. I will not tire you with my story, Lord, but I would ask you offer enough trust in me that I might find some meaning in aiding against Kassan.” He spat, as though the name congealed as acid on the tongue. “Evil runs its course through him. My life, my line hath suffered too greatly under that man I once respected, who now is naught but a monster. A monster whose weakness & heart, come this moon, I offer you.”

Drakkon stirred. His hands reached up instinctively to stroke his black stubble. He remembered the day with excellent clarity. How he drove back Stieg’s onslaught; joining with the Baraki & Harathi to narrowly deflect their advance. An unconscious smirk graced his face in reflection. That was the day that he proved to all that the Ferali and their jarl were not invincible berserkers immune to defeat. That crest of early victory amassed flocks of devoted soldiers to his camp. From among various tribes, besieged by the Bear’s invasions, of deep dale & high hill, faithful warriors fell under his flag from that first blood; a fair fyrd, less than an army and yet more than that in zealotry.

Stieg stood stoically. Though the arriviste, Drakkon, towered over him, their eyes joined in mutual hold. A flint strike of respect ignited in that shared stare. But the host did not yet yield fully, however. “How can I be assured all that you hath said thus far is not motivated solely by self-preservation? Or by the vanity of what might be earnt by entrapping me with falsity?”

“Vanity is a young man’s game, lord. Unless ‘tis vanity to ask to serve you now?” Stieg struck a stone-solid handshake as he pronounced his purpose. “Nothing to me is certain, save that I am drawn out this day by a need to redeem my honor amongst all this wailing dread which I helped wreak. You prevailed over my chief’s cruelty. I knew on that day you were more than an admirable adversary. A real leader with worthy cause for all of us; beyond heritage, and one that deserves respect. As I am no sage nor shaman, I cannot proclaim to know whether you are truly the Divine returned to us in form, as legend tells. Forgive the skeptic in me, for ages under the ‘legend’ of the Forest Lord hollowed my trust in myth. But I know you worthy of loyalty. I hereby pledge my services to you. Allow me to deliver my former master’s plans that you may unravel their course.”

Drakkon drew his sword from its sheath and placed it upon Stieg’s shoulder. Placing a firm but warm hand on his other. “If what you reveal to me provides a way to ensure Kassan’s defeat then not only shall I proclaim you a Drakoni vanguard, but also see you redeemed. Inform me.”

Stieg bowed slightly. “Kassan still entrusts in me a fair deal of planning and intelligence. He sent me to gather information on the area as to plan the best attack. I am still his oldest advisor and emissary. This endeavor is why I can appear before you now without striking up suspicion. And why he has taken my word that you are not yet near this village, but instead still fortifying your hold over the hills southwest. The Bear seeks to hunt Hearthfarrow at nightfall. Once they move through the pass, under the cover of darkness he aims to move through northern Farrow, right here.”

His eyes glazed Fall gloom. “The blood moon is told to take the sky tonight. It comes with significance to him personally. I accompanied him long ago as an emissary when he took the Crown of Bellieus for himself and on that eve the red eclipse loomed over the coronation ceremony... It holds an intimate meaning to him. Such celestial events usually foretell the evocation of great events, woeful or fortuitous, after all.”

Drakkon contemplated this news for a good while, assembling the formations in his mind and plotting the moves his enemy would make by way of this pass. He took the risk to entrust Stieg with some truthful tactic. “Very well. If what you profess is true to Kassan’s intent, then I shall have half my force remain hidden amongst the Farrow foliage. Conceal them and allow his march towards Hearthfarrow. They will wait to pin them to grave mounds.”

“Just enough out of the way that suspicion won’t be aroused, should other agents be afoot. Once he commits to the assault, my faithful shall come upon him from behind. Cutting off his retreat to batter him from the sides, send his fierce fools into disarray.” This will allow me to make the killing blow. I shall slay this feral beast. I shall not be so graceful in victory this eve.

“A fair plan! I see now how quickly your mind fires in military matters. Surely you are divinely inspired, if not the divine being in full substance and form.” Stieg stooped lower with respect. “This night then, shall reveal the truth of that. Before battle, tis traditional rite of the Ferali to offer up many birds in sacrifice to the Muses of war. That their Valkyries take flight as birds of wing. So let it be known that the first sign of our coming upon the perimeter will be shrill cries of feathered creatures. I am to be assured also that you understand the need for me to willingly defend myself against your own men when battle comes?”

“Nothing great is won without sacrifice.” Drakkon announced, colder than autumn mist. “The main concentration of my attention will be exorcising the horned daemon from the field & existence. I aim to call him to a kraagspeer. All blood that is shed to bring him down shall not be in vain. Fitting, I think, that Kassan should fall before the red lune which once watched over his ‘ascension’. Let Selene soon witness his internment to the ground.”

“Now return, good friend, to the chief of pilfered crown. Give him a story to satisfy his inquiries. Pray, find him in proper time to avoid wrath, for I do not wish to lose so valuable an ally prematurely. Not before his course can be properly redirected from those dark rapids. Let not the rings of Saathar assail you when they come to claim the horns whose shadow ye served yet serve no longer.”

Stieg’s lone, wispy ghost vanished in the veil blotting the paths of that vast mountain spread.

Drakkon’s soul pitched excitement. Heart pulsating with anticipation for the coming match with the man whose shadow dominated his own destiny – made its light twist back in shape against that possessed trunk’s shade. That the brambles of Kassan’s horns obscured the sun from nourishing his path and that of the land since he’d come into the world as man. He could feel within the spindling threads of the Fates perpetually wind through all the interconnections of time and whim of the demiurge, the worldly fabric. Among webbed circle, links of possibility and happening, he appraised himself as mortal manifestation of Essentia & its shaper. Circumstance & predestination entwined, spun to collision with Kassan’s thread so that he may sever it. Banish that black soul from the earthly & astral. Cast him out the way of the deepened well.

The mere mentioning of the Bear was enough to instill trepidation in most. But for Drakkon it siphoned the Helwinds’ lament for all those victims swallowed by the gaping ground. His malice towards the hated one reverberated through the pass. Yet doubt lived also amongst the quaking smog of Moribond’s brim. Soon to face a ‘Lord of the Wood’ and test his claim to lordship. In search of an assuring string to cling to he remembered his mother’s words:

“The people ache for a deliverer to redeem them from the Bear’s claws. In their secret hearts they yearn for someone true to ransom up their fates and salvage freedom. You were born to be that redeemer, the Living Lord to restore the tattered faith and rescue us. So that we may live as gods & stewards of earth renewed. When you were born Kassan’s grave ran cold, his death by your hand mapped out in the stars. But that fool looks not to the sky for advice and honors no traditions of High Pantheon, for he only listens to his stomach in its hungering for innocent blood.”

“That is why he is blind, and his hubris will continue to deny him sight until your sword flashes forth before his eyes. As the last thing he will see before being ushered by your blade into the cold yawn of oblivion. You have been chosen for this. The will of heaven is ascendant. Divine fervor rushes forth from the sky and travels atop the mountain paths, the temples, the courts, and the little glades as it courses through your mind as reflections of astral plane embodied on this soil.”

Mapped out in the stars... He meditated as he and his companions walked to their encampment, set up on the rim of the Farrow woods far from the village. My will is ascendant!

He breathed in mantra. Envisioning the triumphant rally that would greet him as he lifts Kassan’s crown to cheering song. How his ears would ring with victory as he revealed himself the people as the Great God incarnate. Feeling lightning crackle in his chest, searing insignia, he swore himself to glory.

Mother will be more than proud to witness it! They will call for the greatest mass Triumph; days of festival revelry, unlike any that has yet been. I am assured that her smile at spotting the despot lying dead shall shine as stars; from whence she birthed me into this world. Soon my place on this earth as Man shall have meaning. She will speak unto me as to how. Steady my hand.

Love’s Deceit

Dusk, prior to Battle, Farrow Forest

The sun drooped below the horizon ushering evenfall. The flame of that highest celestial orb still lit the forest with orange hue. It cast an unusually vivid gaze over the world while preparing to descend and be usurped in cycle by the moon above. A fluorescence of small wispy orbs materialized from the veiled mist coating the ground, emerging to dance upon winds gently carrying them to the branches.

“Can you feel it in the air, my starry son?” Azarra whispered, drilling profound tones into her son’s entranced ear. “Look about you. Can you see the spirits rousing to the surface, peeking back at our world to witness the glory they know is coming? Listen. They sing songs of our great fortune this night. Harmonies & vespers to our victory. The elementals ring with anticipation for the return to mastery and order of their Living Lord.”

“The spirits tell us not to forget the horrors of our foe; the atrocities he has committed which have driven us to this point and to swear to repeal the reign of terror and return to the higher cause of our people, to restore the celestial Pantheon. They know you... They see the light that burns within you conjured up from dimensions beyond. They praise your glory, knowing well that it shall be you who stands proudly over the body of our foe this day. They ask to be the heralds of the Aeon of Drakkon and to guide our steps through this forest.”

Drakkon listened, absorbing every word as if she read the script of the universal plan. His heart throbbed with the lust for battle and the challenge the war chief would present to him in contest of arms, but his mother’s words rang aloud through with lustrous certainty.

A peculiar aura in the atmosphere bid time to slow. Bending to a crawling pace with perception locked in the spinning threads, with the space between now and what was to come distinguished. By the writ of his Being that dissonance apprehended the portents offered by this odd augury, glimmering in eyes of the frozen lights abound.

“I feel it as strongly as the memories revolving in my head of what hath happened since I first heard the terrible name: ‘Kassan’, ushered when but a boy. Being made to flee and fear it in the earliest nights of this new life. I remember the fearful fashion I was raised in, dimmed by the shame of his Shadow looming over our lives. Just as I hear the tribes’ suffering cries grow loud.”

Drakkon’s stare fell distant yet focused. Dissociative and deep. Eyes wandered through the canopies whirling into an endless wood. When his mouth moved, the length and power of his words came amplified by the insistence of a chorus of forest critters. The woodland dusk was his to command, calling over and to them. “Conceived of starlight to become as mortal flesh. To return to the world from that dreaming abyss beyond death, before birth, by the carriage of thy womb To experience the reality and biting rage that only human hearts know. To feel the pain which burrows into bodies and carry weight which breaks noblest backs. To know nightmares and doubt... That I may deliver them from these.”

“Beneath the coming gaze of crimson moon, I will deliver them. The Bear’s life waters will flow freely from avenging strike! I feel its red course shall not be enough of a gift back to the Earth, O wounded Elderath! And to her devouring sister, Malderath, in Death to claim him. A tribute and payment for all the innocent blood he hath stained our soil with!”

Azarra peered into her son’s eyes. A loathsome observation gnawed at her, of how he seemed the spitting image of his father, only younger. Same towering height and build (only slightly leaner was the son). That same black mane. There were slight differences and a gaping lack of that cold in Kassan’s deep-set eyes, but their contrast was lost on her for those few seconds of infernal revelation. His countenance was half draconian & angelic.

Drakkon inherited a couple of his mother’s more beauteous features for balance. Eyes, mouth, and cheekbones produced an odd alchemy of paternal masculinity and soft charms of the maternal genes his bearer had been cursed to give him. All melding aspect of the otherworldly. She fought desperately to cape this blinding comparison, repress revelation.

You do not even know the half of Kassan’s treachery and the abominable acts he did... unto me! You look just like him. Grown to embody his shadow and mirror!

Ah, but now the seed of his sin is sired full for purpose! Posed to thrust into the heart of he who wronged me, befouled my virtue, and desecrated youth’s dreams. Oh Drakkon, my son! You are the living breath, not of heaven, but of my wrath imbued in you! Your spirit, the wyrm of my spite! Your arm is of steel, as to carve out my Will!

The thought transformed her scowl into a genuine smile. Clever cognition then captured her conscious mind, distracting her from the abhorrence of undying past. A way of elucidation of how vital it was that Kassan should die to her son came to the command of her wit. Tying him to her tune, strumming his chords like a lute. “Do you remember many years back when you were naught but a youth... How we made our home for many a year longer than would normally have been allowed by the hunt of the Black Bear? That spot, Erosian or Elysian Heath. That is, depending on which of the sects there you asked to name it. Before it burned. There, where the fields where golden wheat and the sun endured all seasons. I can see in your eyes you know the place of which we speak.”

“There, for the first time, I spotted in you happiness and joy. Before the beast tried to stamp out the God flame that threatened his reign, I saw you glimmer there. Befriended many, sparred with the other boys, listened to the tales of the bards, spoke eagerly with the elders with inquiries on the gods and our history. & how you danced tenderly with the girls of the village during the festivals. Ah, who was that little maid with such a pale and pretty face? With dark hair and mislaid gray eyes. Do you remember?”

“Ah...” The spell of love, the memory weaved, conspired to steal inner momentum. “Yes, indeed. I should never forget she who brought to me the first glimmer of love and honest affection. Her name was Corinna, I remember. Wise & warm was she...” I recall the confluence of our gaze, that first sight. So lush and alight. Ah, that living muse!

Drakkon revisited how her eyes fell low and shy for a split second, upon that first look. Then how she returned his fascinated glance. What warm reception channeled through her. She shined with deathless Spring. That fleeting brush felt the beginning of a connection with boundless meaning. He bathed in blissful hope, yearning in secret chamber of heart that their destiny was to be star- bound lovers, intertwined and woven together by threads of fate. That night when we all gathered by the fire to hear the good bard’s tale: I shared her hand with mine. Listening to the pre-imminence of the Muses through the ballad of Eris and her son Ferion. We knew such innocent passion. I knew - know - it true and honest. He wrapped himself in the ardor that memory threaded.

Azarra shined a sinister glow. “Indeed, your intuition of her proved true. For she was special in many means. Ways which Delphine and I conferred with the eldest shaman of the town over. It was rumored her Divining mark possessed her by spells, erratic throes, while her spirit sent her from shaking shell to commune with greater spirits. Ensnared by spells and marked for service to the sisterhood of Sight, I bid her make pilgrimage to the Elder Shaman Gaahl himself. Only there could she receive proper insight as to her ability and train it. That is why she departed with Delphine on such short notice.”

Her son perked up. “That explains why Corinna left without speaking a word as to where she was headed or whether I could expect her return. To reunite with her, I prayed for her as never before. Why do you bring this up now? I must inquire where this is heading. Have you fresh news of her?”

Azarra consolidated caress of Drakkon’s shoulders as she spun her story. “Indeed. Although I wished not to reveal the truth of her fate to you for fear that it may break your spirit and soften your resolve before you were ready. But now I believe you can bear the weight of it.” Her son’s eyes flashed lightning. Bolts of suspense and nauseous anticipation.

“She made it to treasured Ty-Drasil - of that Delphine assured me. Even The Elder exclaimed her talents. Noted how the lines in her hand were carved by a fate illustrating wonder and affinity with sorrow and joy alike. But what transpired there I could only have imagined in my darkest nightmares...” She let his anxiety peak in pause before progressing her tale.

“For that same monster who forced me – us - from former home there returned with his heralds. He and those puffed-up raiders went to make more demands of Gaahl. I will not overindulge details on the machinations he tried or his devious crimes but, as I was regrettably informed, the ‘Bear’ also set his shadowed glare upon that young mystic, Corinna. His appearance there coincided with her disappearance. Sadly, he may have decided to steal her vows from her; to sever her connection to the divine for cruel lust. Perhaps in pitiful attempt to regain his potency for whatever the shaman denied him he ruined another oracle’s soul.”

She went on in a somber, darkened tone “Alas, the lass vanished in his wake. Must have been that he stole her away. Enslaved her to urges for flesh and her Sight – though his covetousness would tarnish that link to the higher realms, should Ty-Drasil traditions be true in their reason. There came word of one looking like her among unholy rites of Ferali. But I pray that this is not true. That she escapes my Sight for having fled this earth & Kassan’s ‘company’. Otherwise, now she would be a priestess of corruption; her blessed sight chained to his belligerent grubbing.”

Drakkon’s look mutated with sickening fury. Hateful filter curdled every object in sight to blur of crimson beating against his head. A volatile umbrage ballooned in his heart. Refusing calm till the cause of it lay slain.

As the pair reached the edge of camp, they were greeted by Delphine and Dahlia, a young apprentice of Azarra’s. In a stunning and eerie display of synchronicity, they spoke in quasi- unison, sharing words between each other.

“Goodly Lord, your forces are assembled by the pyre and await your command. They are eager in their want for battle rites to be performed. They are intoxicated by the prospect of our bringing battle. Their steel, as sharpened as their courage.”

“Good, good.” Spoke both mother and son, emulating the united fervor of their faithful; speech of shared will binding their tongues. Then she told them what must be done, planting seeds of rhetoric to sprout of her son’s Lordly tongue.

Prelude to Thunder

Evening, Ritual post, outskirts of Farrow Forest

By bonfires’ rays the Drakoni militia assemble in full display. They bow before their living God, atop felled-stump-pedestal. The musically inclined among their muscle & muses chant an ageless song of victory. Kindling chorale corralled their center, as more share in the wobbling airs. Drakkon hummed a low, booming note; a basso profundo to lead them, borne from the back of his throat. Universal unity of music and the fires’ dancing signals bound their chests to the beating of one.

Azarra’s coven contorts and twists about the blazing bonfire as they bore their bodies to the skies and echoe the triumphant cries of the men in their higher octaves. The High Mother poses upon the post beside her son, who Dahlia and Delphine act tirelessly to coat with an oily lubricant.

They remade the paste of his skin to glisten sharply as a star upon earth. Cerulean powder reforms the chroma of flames, casting protective Aegis against the scarlet of the moon.

Witch-howl vociferates over the clamor of the congregation. Azarra recites stanzas of prophecy, weaving in verse of an Edda of her own make:

“When the moon is pregnant, peaking with heaven’s red rain pouring, the seed of the cosmos engenders need for spilt blood, to shine the luster of sacrifice! That orb shall rise the color of birth & battle. As the world is buried in darkness the dead shall rise from cold graves, with axe and claw to fight their way to eternal life through the flesh of the Living! The Eclipse ov Blood shall signal the Moon’s thirst! Selene and Saathar shall align in hunger, with dark appetite to sate!

Only the Fire ov Drakkon shall burn away the terror! Transform Death into Life through his Thunder! He, ov the highest, will deliver his people from the crimson sea of ailing age’s ending! Burn away in balefire the tainted and unworthy!

Let the Living Light set the effigies of old evil alight in Night! Bring Illumination over paths unknown to lead ye travelers and pilgrims! Let Him rule thy hearts and construct a new shape for our earth, Elderath, to be reborn into! Let these be the last days of a waning world, so that the First Day of Drakkon’s Aeon arrives! Our resurrection through His!”

At the conclusion of her verse, Azarra joined her sisters in musical bellow of ultimate appraisal. Cheering signs of ascendancy for the coming era. Drakkon glowed with the essence of a god, his aura outshining all with lustre. He set a space for himself, a seat of utmost glory before and above his followers, who hailed him with upraised arms.

“My disciples! My soldiers! My children! My people! I tell you that the fount of hatred for him who stole the horns ov our woods is powerful enough to drown all my nearest kin! Would that I had a mortal father, he too would flee from my purest gaze! For no man shall stand against me in my Hate this eve! Yet tis Hate borne by Love for ye! With death we will redeem our realm!”

“Ruminate on the crimes of this “Black Bear” who sought to assert himself before the pantheon and demands bloodied tithes of ye. Know no more pain from this worm from the muddy depths. Manifest the strength of core & sturdy faith to sever the tendons of his overreaching arms! Defeat the demon and free the pilfered crown of that vile head! Know what glory shall be won through this beast’s end! How the gods themselves cry out for his death!”

“The moon above is draped with shade of blood. For her celestial sphere desires for us to feed its yawning maw with that of our foes! Know that this is the beginning of the Aeon of Drakkon! Darkness descends upon us. It falls over Kassan’s soul. Devoid of eternal salvation. Black-eyed spirits shall take him to the underworld as a feast for nether beasts.”

“We shall anchor him to doom before the watchful skies of the eclipse... and drive a stake through that fiend’s charred, fleshy pulp to assure it finished. Burnt by Living Light.”

The living lord, raptured by belief and impassioned performance streaming to his followers, held his sword to the moonlight. Drawing down beams to whet & burnish the blade. Meanwhile, Mother Azarra’s Selenic dress buffed the gloss of the moon’s plasma, peeking over starlit sky. Dazzling all before her with the sign of high heaven’s favor & awe’s fervor.

Ritual madness - screaming catharsis – works through the coven. They screech and holler as witches upon their sacred sabbath. Invoking supernal powers with mindless fever. The warriors batter their greaves and gauntlets against their chests, yowl wolfen chorus. All enthralled by the presence of their savior, standing high above but among them.