KELL – ANTORUM, ANTORI LANDS, INDIANA MOUNTAINS
[https://i.imgur.com/COgMFn6.jpg]
15TH CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING 845 PBM
Consciousness came slowly to Kell. The pain from the side of his head still throbbed, and he could feel dried blood caked to the side of his face and hair.
‘I am lying on cold rock. But there is warmth coming from somewhere nearby. My hands are tied tightly behind my back, and from the dull ache from both of my shoulders, they have been tied like this for some time.’
As he regained his senses, the faint murmur of conversation reached his ears. Recognising the harsh cadences of the Antori language, he recalled his dire situation.
“Ganderlyk, do not try and go back on our deal now. Were it not for me, Hantoxx’ sword would have killed you all those years ago.”
“I am not going back on our deal Jakobi, but I fear because of you I have given the souls of all my people to your Dark Masters.”
“We have only one Master, Ganderlyk, and his name is Razilin-Tera. It was his blessing that healed your wounds and gifted you life anew. And it is his blessing that gives your people their strength and their allies.”
Barely parting his eyelids, Kell endeavoured to survey his prison without alerting any onlookers that he was awake. It was difficult to make out details as his surroundings were very dark other than what appeared to be a large bonfire. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, Kell could see that he was in a large cave complex, with a large central fire in a main antechamber. It was this fire that was casting heat into all the surrounding rooms.
His cell consisted of a small cavern, sectioned off from the main chamber by rudimentary wooden bars, forcibly embedded into the rock. There seemed to be a section of the bars which could be opened much like a door. There was also a gaunt, dark-skinned Antori warrior with large sunken eyes standing guard on the other side of the door.
“And in order to thank him for his blessings, we shall sacrifice the survivors to him, as your offering,” continued the first voice.
“That is not our way, Jakobi. We should release them so that they might spread fear of our people to the other settlements.”
“But what of your warriors that fell, good Chief? The ‘Rising’ requires a sacrifice of souls. So you must decide to spare your people… or theirs.”
There was a moment of silence as the other figure considered his options.
Standing near the central fire Kell could see the two figures he had overheard talking. Kell recognised the larger figure as the witch-doctor he had seen earlier. This man was obviously fascinated with death, having adorned his body in the skulls and bones of his victims, and he had tattooed his body with ghoulish white markings that made him look in the half light as though he were a walking skeleton. And it was obvious from both his body language, and the fear on the other Antori’s face, that it was the witch-doctor who was in command of this situation.
“We thank your Master for his blessing, and we will offer him a gift so that he might return our warriors to us,” replied Gandyrlak, although he was clearly pained by his decision.
Kell’s heart sank.
‘The dark rituals of the Antori are a thing of horror, used to scare little Kestrel children into behaving. If the survivors of Veranuk are to be subjected to these cruel practices then I doubt many will live – men, women or children.’
Kell could clearly visualise the faces of his many friends among the people of Veranuk. He had often visited the settlement on his hunting trips with his father and brother. The thought that these people would all soon be dead deeply saddened him.
“And all Razilin-Tera asks in return is that you do as you agreed, and you lead his forces against the Kestrels,” Jakobi preached, gaining a eerie reverence with each word, “And upon your great victory you will sacrifice their leader to him.”
Kell’s gaze shifted to the smaller figure.
‘The smaller Antori is the mighty Ganderlyk? How can this gaunt figure match the Ganderlyk from the stories? He is smaller than I expected, standing maybe a little over five feet tall. And rather than a well muscled warrior, this man is more gaunt than the one watching my cell. ‘
‘It is as if the Antori have run out of food. Yet at this time of year food is plentiful. Ganderlyk also has the same skeletal white tattoos across his arms and part of his chest. It is as if they wish to look like they are dead. May the ancestors save their souls.’
‘Some great evil has befallen the Antori. From the stories of Ka-Took and Hantoxx, they have not always been this way. I am sure the source of the great evil is this Jakobi.’
“It will be done. But after that you and your Master will leave our people forever,” spoke Ganderlyk, hoping to gain at least some hope for his people and their future.
“Once you have delivered us Hantoxx and his Sword, your debt will be repaid. We will then leave if that is the will of your people,” replied Jakobi. His Master did not really care for the Antori people. They were tools. But a God does need willing worshippers. Razilin would not give up people who wished his favour.
“Good. Now go. This is still my tribal fire and I wish to be alone.”
Jakobi lowered his head in acknowledgement, and turned to leave the cave, “I do not know why you have put the young one in the cage, but when I come back we will sacrifice that one together.” Kell saw with horror that Jakobi was pointing at him. “Razilin will revel in his blood.”
Kell closed his eyes, hoping they still did not know he was awake. As his heart began to quicken, he tried in vane to think of a way out.
‘Could I pull the bars out of the wall? That would take time and alert the many Antori warriors here. They would then easily shoot me dead with their bows, or spear me. Attack them when they come for me? That is likely just changing how I die.’
Kell listened keenly to see if anyone was approaching but there was only silence as Ganderlyk waited for Jakobi to leave the cave. He opened his eyes again, slowly.
“Has the merchant captain arrived yet?” Ganderlyk asked the Antori warrior nearest the cave entrance.
“He has, Chief. Shall I get him for you?”
“Yes. And have the captured items brought in here. The captain will no doubt want to see them.”
The warrior disappeared from Kell’s view. Ganderlyk paced around the fire. Kell could faintly here singing, which he soon realised was Ganderlyk. He recognised the song as an old Indian prayer to the Ancestor spirits, seeking guidance and inner strength. His voice was full of sadness and despair. Kell found himself drawn to join him in the prayer, for it was one his father had taught him also.
Ganderlyk came nearer when he heard Kell’s voice join his. He waved the guard away, and studied the young Indian carefully as the prayer came to an end.
“You know the songs of the ancestors in Antori tongue?” he asked.
“I do. My father, Ka-Took, taught them to me and my brother when we were young,” Kell replied. “I find it odd you honour the old ways with the prayer, when so much of what I see says you have turned your back on these things.” Kell could not explain it but he found an inner peace with Ganderlyk standing before him.
“You are Ka-Took’s boy. I knew I could feel something within you.” As Ganderlyk responded he subconsciously ran his hand across a large scar that ran from the top of his right shoulder to just under his right pectoral muscle. “Your father is an honourable man. I met him once many years ago. In another time, you and I may have shared this fire as friends.” Ganderlyk stared past Kell wistfully, and Kell could see he was no longer in this moment. It remained that way for a short while, before his reverie was disturbed by the return of the Antori warrior.
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With him was another man, although he remained too far in the shadows for Kell to see him clearly. From deeper within the cave complex a pair of Antori warriors carried in a large pallet covered with Kestrel artefacts. Kell could see weapons, tools, blankets, jewellery and many other items, all captured from Veranuk.
“Here Gerard, are many pieces of their culture. These should bring high price in markets of the merchant man,” said Ganderlyk, using the common tongue of the city-folk. While it was coherent, he was clearly struggling with this language.
“"Trinkets from the Kestrels might satisfy some, Ganderlyk, but you pledged more than mere curios. I sought an Indian guide—a living one capable of navigating the heart of Kestrel territory,” came the reply from the shadows, a voice much more fluent in the common tongue. Kell could tell that this man was no Indian. But why this man would want to go into Kestrel lands, or why Ganderlyk, the chief of the Antori, would be helping him, was a mystery.
“We captured so few alive. And the spirits demanded many sacrifices,” replied Ganderlyk, and Kell could sense Ganderlyk struggling with the shame of his response.
“That is not my concern. I did not provide you with a wagon full of weapons and armour for some trinkets alone. If you do not have a prisoner for me then I will be forced to take the weapons with me when I go,” responded the shadowed figure. While it was a threat, the tone of the voice was not threatening.
“You cannot do that. I need the weapons for the upcoming battles,” implored Ganderlyk
“Then give me what I need,” replied the voice firmly. “My employer will not be pleased if I do not return with a suitable guide. And if I do not get my guide then my employer will not be attacking Ashue-Te, and your attack on the Kestrels will fail.”
Kell’s heart started pounding at the mention of Ashue-Te.
‘Ashue-Te, the central settlement of the Kestrel tribe, and the home of nearly the entire Elder Council. It is clear that the taking of Ashue-Te is part of what Ganderlyk has promised Jakobi, but I doubt the Antori could ever achieve this on their own. The Kestrel have many more allies amongst the other tribes than the Antori do.’
‘But what of this mystery man? If he also commands an army, then combined they could possibly take the Kestrel homeland.’
Kell slowly moved forwards, hoping to get a better look at this new figure. But he had barely moved when the guard nearest his cell yelled out in alarm, at which point both the talking figures moved closer, and the shadowy figure moved into the light.
This figure was much larger than any of the Antori, and wore the armour and trappings of the city folk. His clothing was primarily an armoured jacket of metal studs and leather, with large metal plates covering his shoulder and left arm. On his back he carried a massive Axe that was far too large for any practical purpose other than killing men. He had dark hair and a dark beard, and his face wore an expression of determined cruelty. Upon his hands he wore magnificent golden gauntlets, each adorned with what appeared to be the sigil of a snake.
“What about this one?” asked Gerard. Kell could see the hesitation in Ganderlyk’s sunken eyes, as though he was trapped and did not like any of the alternatives on offer.
“You cannot have this one. He has already been claimed by another in my tribe,” replied Ganderlyk, even though it was specifically for this purpose that he had brought the boy here.
“Ganderlyk… its time to choose. Either give me this boy, or I take the weapons and you explain to the other elders why you don’t have the weapons you promised them.” Again, Kell could see the hesitation on the Antori Chief’s face. His eyes flitted around the room, going from Kell to Gerard and back again.
“Ok. But you go quickly, before the Antori warriors return from the Rising,” replied Ganderlyk, “and if by the ancestors’ will you see your father again, tell him of what happened here, and tell him we are even now,” he added, looking directly at Kell.
Kell was stunned and did not know what to say. Gerard did not have the same problem.
“Suits me. I do not want to be here when they return anyway; those who come back from that give me the creeps” replied Gerard, before looking straight into Kell’s eyes, “and believe me, you don’t want to be here either. I hear they have a taste for Kestrel flesh.” Kell was revolted by the thought of cannibalism, particularly on him, but had little time to consider it further. Gerard was now moving quickly towards his cell.
Kell struggled to rise as Gerard slid open the narrow doorway to his cell and entered. A brutal strike from Gerard's metal gauntlet sent Kell tumbling back to the ground. Groggy from the blow, he looked up to see the snake-engraved golden gauntlets reaching down for him. The one adorned with a constrictor's image hoisted him into the air with distressing ease.
Kell felt his life being squeezed out of him. He resisted, but Gerard's strength was overpowering. It felt as if a giant hand was tightening around his entire body, expelling the breath from his lungs. He fought for what felt like an eternity until, starved of oxygen, darkness consumed him once more.
****
Unsure of exactly how long he was unconscious for, Kell awoke to the very strange sensation of the land beneath him rising and falling, as though it was an old man’s chest, struggling for breath after a hard run. he was lying uncomfortably in a small wooden cage, which on some of the more sudden falls, would bounce around the rather oddly shaped room he was in.
‘Do the earth spirits get angry?’
Around him he could see the many Kestrel artefacts that had been given to the wagon captain, Gerard, as well as a couple of animals that were tied up in the corner of the room, in a pen barely big enough to contain them. And the only exit from this room seemed to be the small stairs that lead up to a trapdoor in the roof. Up above him Kell could hear many people moving about. There were raised voices going back and forth, all in the city-folk tongue, mostly concerned with tying off things and letting others out. And all the time in the background, Kell could hear what sounded like wood creaking, and the unmistakeable sound of waves.
‘We must still be in the mountains, but moving quickly. We are near the water. Perhaps someone is chasing them, perhaps someone looking for me.’
This momentarily lifted Kells spirits, but within minutes of regaining consciousness, he began to feel quite nauseous. Before long he was retching the contents of his stomach all over the floor of his cage. This continued for several more hours, by which time Kell could only dry retch, having long ago emptied his stomach entirely. A chilling thought struck him.
‘I have been poisoned.’
The trapdoor opened, and Gerard entered, closing the trapdoor again behind him. He was no longer wearing his armour, and his skin had a slightly green complexion. He carried in his hands a small bowl of soup which he intended to give his prisoner. A smile appeared on his weary face when he saw the state of the ships hold, and in particular Kell’s cage.
“"It seems you take to life at sea as poorly as I. Here, I have brought you some soup. The sailors say it will settle your stomach. But it didn’t help me any.” Gerard passed Kell the bowl through the gap in the bars, and Kell could see that although Gerard had removed his armour, he still wore his snake-inscribed gauntlets. Gerard saw Kell admiring them.
“Nice aren’t they. They were a gift from Raul Nadar, Lord Merchant of the Golden Eagle Merchant House of Lotan, to his most trusted merchant captain.”
“Is this the man that you take me to?” Kell asked, using the city-folk tongue for the first time in almost two years.
“No. My employer is the Red Flag Cartel. Raul would never give me anything. I took these from the hands of their original owner after I had driven my blade into his back. Soon after I killed Raul too. The Golden Eagle is now nothing more than a sham used by the Red Flag to allow our merchants to go into those places where we are no longer welcome.”
City folk are strange. While I understand the words he is saying, I do not understand what he is saying.
Kell considered the soup, but after sticking his finger into it he found it to be cold. Deciding it would likely only make him sick again he put it back down.
“Why do you want to go to Kestrel lands?” Kell asked.
“I don’t. No roads, no bars and no beer. But my employer wants to get a sword. If he pays me enough I will go, otherwise he can send another man,” replied Gerard.
Why are they so obsessed with Hantoxx’s sword? Swords are not common among my people. Most carry weapons that also double as tools for hunting and surviving in the Indiana Peaks; weapons such as axes and hammers. The few swords we do have are usually family heirlooms from the old wars when the Kestrel’s allied with the Klydorian city-folk from the south against the warmonger Merlos from the East. The legends say the blade carried by Hantoxx ‘the Brave’ was given to the Kestrels by the King of Klydor himself for our part in that battle. Is that why they want it?
“Either way, you will be the guide that finds it,” continued Gerard.
“What if I will not lead you?” asked Kell.
“You could try that. And then my master would probably torture the location out of you, or tear it from your mind with magic and leave you a gibbering idiot. It will go much easier on you if you just help us. And look at this way. If you help us we may let you live. Think of the honour of being the only one of your tribe left alive. It would be your responsibility to make sure your tribe continued on.”
‘How dare you speak like that! I want to strangle the life from you! You talk about the death of everyone I know and love, about the wiping out of my tribe, and yet you speak as though it is nothing. At least you suffer from the same sickness as me.’
As the ground lurched from another swell, Gerard stumbled off balance, tripping over one of the crates and falling to his knees, now only feet from Kell. He put his hand on top of the crate to steady himself, but his other hand went to his head in pain.
Kell wanted to strike out at Gerard, but he was still frustratingly out of reach. In anger, Kell grabbed the only weapon in range and threw it at his head. Dazed from sickness and from the fall, Gerard never saw the soup bowl coming. The edge of the bowl struck his left cheek, throwing its contents all over the face and hair of Gerard.
Gerard looked up at Kell, but rather than the rage Kell had expected, he saw only cold steel in his eyes.
“You will regret that. While I cannot hurt you while my employer still believes you have value, once your use is at an end you will watch while I kill your family. Then when I am finished with them, I will cut you up. Before the end, you will beg me for death.”
Gerard stood up, wiping as much of the soup from his head as he could. He turned and headed for the trapdoor.
“Hope you enjoyed that soup. It will now be your last meal for the rest of the week. For the next three days you will only get water. And if you throw anything else at me, I will revoke that right as well. You better hope this leaky boat holds together too, or else you may get the all the water you can handle down here.”
How can this get any worse? Ancestors, I beg of you. Please help me!