Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 33

The inspiration for this novel came to me one day when I was thinking about how would one act, and what kind of decisions would one make, based on the idea that one may not live to see tomorrow. I am sure we would all make very different choices. It has been an interesting exploration to say the least.

Winter's Grasp.

Bennett's wild clan had been reborn, thus began a new age of blood and terror waged from horseback. Growing increasingly bolder and stronger the warriors ransacked habitation after habitation with ruthless abandon.

It was not long until every man had a mount of his own, and the raiding party reached its full, rabid potential. For miles about the hidden valley the sands ran red with shed blood, and settlements burned. Each successful conquest brought more wealth to the camp, supplies were replenished, more weapons added to the growing cache, and most importantly the men now had shared purpose.

Spring as always was brief, but there were some unseasonable rains keeping the grasses alive until late into the season. This was a great boon as the increasing number of horses were having a serious effect on the very marginal grazing in the valley.

Sven watched his younger brother cross the clearing to the cave, as he sat with Raissa who was tenderly brushing his long hair, his son sleeping contentedly by his feet wrapped in rabbit furs with not a care in this world. He had watched Aran evolve from a frightened youth at the war's onset to what he was now, a confident, cruel barbarian, powerful and deadly, and he wondered if this was how it had to be, or could it have been otherwise?

Had he somehow failed? Sven sighed, he was not proud of this fact, Raissa paused, her rhythmic brushing then resumed, the sun and her ministrations felt good. That was all Sven had now were simple pleasures, at thirty-six he felt like an old man, but unlike most he had what no one had, a real family.

That kept him going and filled him with pride. He took in his little son, golden haired and gray eyed just as he was, promising to teach him well, and defend him at all costs. He would work hard to make sure he was more than a mere barbarian, he would do a lot better than he had with his own little brother.

On those languid spring days that Aran was in the camp in between his murderous excursions Maya gave him much satisfaction. The tiny girl who barely came up to his great chest his constant companion, he found himself more often than not wallowing in desire. The young girl had quite taken to openly flirting with him, shamelessly so. Aran used Maya when and where ever it took his whim, multiple times daily.

He had pushed his pact with his brother to one side, and coupled with Raissa only on occasion, still with no result. Maya had now become the epicenter of his lust, and he engaged in it as a man who had no tomorrow. At night she would serve him flawlessly, then curl up against him as he drifted off to sleep by the communal fire.

This night he smiled contentedly, stretching his tanned limbs lazily like a big cat as he settled down to sleep. Putting his arm about Maya possessively shrouded in his furs. It had been a tiring past few days of hard riding and physical exertion, and he found he was of late sleeping very well if not for the strange dreams, visions that made no sense, and the sword, always the sword, the fantastic weapon he coveted but could never seem to grasp. This evening would be no exception...

*****

They were beautiful in a classical perfection, but not as the beauty in humanity was gauged. There was no frailty or imperfection here, just hard indifferent coldness. These beautiful people, if indeed they were people at all, stood and sat about a large highly polished table top in lively debate...

"Your son, your weak son! He has been well and truly sidelined and by a mere mortal! Hah! He couldn't begin to compare with Aurianne my daughter! She will be the one for sure."

"Your daughter is weak, Axtros." The tallest amongst them jeered, a simple diadem of silver adorning his blue black tresses that hung to caress the table's shining surface. His hands fine and white, not those of one who had seen any menial work in his lifetime. The black nails long and edging to points like talons.

"My lion of a son could take her any time he chose!" There were ripples of spiteful laughter from all the beautiful beings who reclined about the ebony table, their skin milky white, bodies slender, hair long and silken, eyes black, and features ageless.

"So why was it Choronzon that you should see fit to bestow a bauble of our world on that pathetic creature you sired? Is that not improper? Not that it has helped the dull witted creature at all." More malicious laughter bearing the quality of discordant music arose from those about the tabletop.

"Oh you all boast such empty claims." A lilting female voice raised above the others, beautiful and demanding. "My son will best all your misbegotten spawn." She hissed. "He is smarter than some dull witted brute with a weapon, I mean honestly what were you thinking when you bedded that awful woman?"

Again raucous laughter, long stemmed wine glasses clinked, filled with beverages of inky black, no wine of earth was being consumed here this night.

"Sheharizade?" The man, if he was a man with the diadem shot back. "Your precious son is naught but a scheming weakling like his mother, and unlike my son he has yet to prove himself. Not only that my dear..." His voice laden with velvet poison. "You cheat at the game..." There was a pregnant pause then the room erupted in a cacophony of voices and he could make out no more...

*****

Stephan and his people had not squandered the winter, nor the months of early spring, the elderly leader on this perfect day touring the newest of the fortifications.

He pushed on through his weariness, leaning heavily on his staff, fatigue had dogged him in recent months, he was trying to will it away. The words of his guide no more than a distant hum in his ears. The usually astute man heard nothing of the explanation of the newest of the fortifications, but nodded as though he had, waving the man onward to show him yet more of the same.

Stephan was unsure if he was personally ready for this war, he was aging and wished he could abdicate the position to someone younger, someone more vital to lead them. If only Renard had been here, the thought all but brought him undone, finding he had to pause for a moment, collecting his bearing and reigning in his mind.

"Are you all right Sir?" His guide inquired seeing his leader falter.

"Yes, yes, please lead on." Was all Stephan could bring himself to reply.

The day was glorious, the warm sun and gentle breeze a joy to the heart, it seemed a bitter irony that in such a beautiful setting the specter of war was gnawing at his heels. They would come soon, they must, and with them the senseless destruction and the slaughter. Stephan was proud of his community, in the main they had all rallied to the cause.

Great defensive structures had been built in the central square, with lesser ones further out, protectively enclosing the huddle of houses that comprised this town. The wise leader had to admit this sprawling settlement and its buildings would be most difficult to defend, and during those early days of winter preparations this had seemed an impossible task.

Walking the parapets atop his defenses this day he now felt they stood a very good chance of holding and protecting their own. Stephan had tried to instill in everyone they had to fight smart, they could not hope to prevail in open hand to hand combat with the superior soldiery of their enemy. They had no intention of meeting their enemy on the field. Archers would be positioned along the length of these walls, there were baskets brimming with all manner of missiles to be rained down on those below.

He watched the workers putting the last touches to the inward swinging gate that sealed off the center of his town completely, it was constructed of the largest pieces of hardwood they could procure, and it would not easily be breached. Many of the great trees that dotted the farmland had been felled in this costly war effort marring the landscape, and this year the joyous yellow fields of canola lay dull, fallow brown.

The Wolf Lord's crops had not been planted. This act of defiance Stephan knew would cripple his rival completely, but also bring certain war. There would be no redeeming this action. Stephan's old eyes searching the south and west wondering how soon it would take until he would parry with his enemy once more.

*****

Victor sat in his darkened chamber of horrors, illuminated by a single light bulb, the unflattering light making him look even harder, gaunt cheeks and high protruding cheekbones, fingering the unusual blade and wondering at its properties. It was of workmanship so extraordinary he had never seen it's like, even in the fine live blades in Lothar's extensive collection, some hundreds of years old.

He peered closely at the stones set in the pommel and the guard, some were black yet scratched glass like diamonds, others were gray and opaque like polluted drops of water frozen in stone. None of them like any precious gems of this earth and all impervious to damage. This little dagger no larger than a child's toy an enigma to this very intelligent man.

He raised his pale blue eyes which were barely blue at all, and squinted into the darkness beyond the light. His captive lay heavily drugged and sleeping, and after what he had witnessed this day it was for the best. Victor always a skeptic and as an atheist had no belief in the supernatural, but he had no explanation for this man's abilities. All he could wonder was could they somehow be harnessed for his own gain?

Again he looked down at the little blackened steel blade, this item somehow was the source of his powers. Without it the man was defenseless and almost, if not quite ordinary. He could raise fire from the earth, levitate objects, even in a very drugged state. Krosse was curious yet worried at what he might do if allowed his full faculties, but it was far too dangerous to do so. Perhaps he could serve some military use? Even that was unlikely, such power would at best be difficult to contain. Victor would just have to be content to explore his latest subject in these very controlled circumstances.

It was late he surmised, wrapping the blade carefully in a wad of scarlet silk cloth, slipping it into his coat pocket. Victor suppressed a yawn, turning off the lone light with a resounding click, plunging the room into blackness. Thinking it would be a good idea to get a few hours before his Lord's summons at six a.m., he would need to be sharp.

*****

He had slept little, but then he rarely did sleep well. Victor observed his usual pre-dawn ritual of allowing his slave girl to wash, shave, and dress him for the day ahead. Smiling at her lithe nakedness, the gentle touch, her auburn hair catching the light as did the metal circlets on her neck, wrists, and ankles. She may have been only a simple slave to him, but she was a delicious distraction nonetheless.

Victor having to wrench his mind back to the present, he had no time to linger, grabbing his medical case and heading for the door. Every morning the routine was the same, he would attend his Lord, mouth his unfelt niceties and leave. Today he already knew it would be different. His Lord only invited him to breakfast when there were issues of magnitude to discuss.

Past the guards at the door he went, past the ivory statues and the paintings, the rich carpets muffling all sound, and into the dining hall. Lothar was already seated, his house guard stood impassively behind him motionless. The table was spread with all the usual finery. Krosse bowed one of his shallow bows and greeted his Lord with a smile he did not feel. Lothar motioned him wordlessly to be seated, from nowhere an attendant appeared pouring Victor his tea just the way he liked it, black and sugarless.

"I trust you are well my Lord?" Krosse inquired sipping the hot tea, the servants laying out various cold meats, bacon, eggs, oatmeal, and breads for the early morning repast.

Lothar coughed into his napkin and looked at his advisor as he took his first coffee of the day along with the myriad of brightly colored pills.

"The new cook is surprising good." Lothar remarked helping himself to the oatmeal and garnering it with liberal amounts of very precious honey. It was almost a display of pure gluttony.

"Yes, quite." Krosse answered, taking a piece of toast topping it with scrambled eggs and bacon for himself.

For some moments nothing more was said, the two men quietly eating their meal. Victor was careful to let his Lord break the silence with the issue he knew would surface. Lothar called for another refill and dismissed his servants, even his house guard. So this is a serious matter then Victor thought readying himself.

Once the room was vacated Lothar commenced to speak of his issue. Leaning forward catching Victor's eyes with his own earnest ones.

"I think it is time to call in the divisions from the south Victor."

"Why so?" Replied Krosse, enjoying his tea in the fine bone china. "The men are making great gains there as you have seen."

Lord Lothar did not tear his eyes away from his second in command. "That may be so but it has been brought to my notice by the engineers late yesterday that the supplies of biodiesel are beginning to become a concern, we will have to begin rationing soon."

"Oh." Was all Victor said caught off guard.

It would appear that this issue did indeed slip past his notice, and he was ruffled that he had not been approached with his before Lothar had. Lothar pushed his plate to one side rubbing his cheek unconsciously in a decisive effort to make the nervous tic abate, it often assailed him when he was passionate about something as he was now.

"I cannot allow Stephan's embargo to continue, it will imperil us all. We have to enforce he plants those crops and NOW!" Lothar spat the words and thumped his solid fist on the table. The china rattled.

Not these histrionics again Krosse sighed inwardly, no hint of his annoyance peeking through his unruffled veneer anywhere to be seen.

"Yes, my Lord indeed we shall." Victor assured with outward smoothness. "I will recall our troops in the field immediately, and we shall prepare to go to war. We shall take the farmland by force if need be, and force every man, woman, and child, to plant those fields. First, I will send a scouting party, they can make a thorough reconnaissance and we will see what the situation is precisely so we may plan."

"Good Victor, I expect you to."

For an infirm man the voice was steady and menacing, and Lothar's eyes betrayed not a hint of weakness.

Victor sensing his audience was at an end rose to leave, wondering at the strange mix of respect and dependance these two men had on one another. They had been friends once, now it seemed to Victor it had become more of a game of mental chess and the friendship had dissolved into mere tolerance; bowing and exiting the chamber, as always glad to be gone.

*****

It was early evening, and the end to another clear, fine day. All in the cave were not privy to the striking dark clouds that were amassing to the south. The last of the apricot rays of sun hitting them in a most spectacular sunset, the light fighting the dark on a battlefield of rampant color.

The two sentries noticed the unusual weather as they sat out their watch, something about it was unnerving and unnatural. The clouds too dark, the weather from the wrong direction. Earlier that day there appeared to be a deep singular rumble, like that of a blast, or severe thunder. Many had commented on it but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Todd now sat on the large boulder worn smooth, the soil around it barren and packed hard by hours of watchers sitting just as he had. Most up here saw nothing, only the occasional bird, or rabbit broke the stillness of most days, though the wind up here could be savage on occasion. He rolled a cigarette and rubbed his eyes, it had been a long and uneventful watch but the clouds on the horizon compelled him. He sensed trouble.

Father Andrew felt the same leaning on his staff from his post on the northern side, he could not tear his eyes away. Right hand straying to his battered bible tucked in to his tunic, his source of inspiration and comfort all these long hard years. He felt his heart pound in his emaciated chest. I am an old man he thought, I have lived long, I will not fear, scratching at his chin absently through his generous white beard. His gnarled hands brown from the sun, yellow nails jagged and torn permanently embedded with dirt from the garden. The old man breathed deeply, clutching his staff closer to his body, feeling God's word under his hand pressed against his heart. This fortified him, and he felt closer to his maker. Father Andrew would not fear for himself, he was one with his lord, but he did fear for the others. Yet, he could not say why.

The darkness drew in as the eerie cloud cover advanced, the watchers came in from their posts to be relieved by others who would stay up top for the long night vigil. No one enjoyed this duty, yet everyone there understood how vital it was. Todd and Father Andrew spoke of what they had witnessed, most passing it off as an approaching severe storm, not at all out of the question for this time of the year.

That night there was no storm as such, just an eerie quiet and the stars winked out one by one blanketed by heavy cloud. The inhabitants below did not feel any alarm in their warm cave, like many things of great magnitude they go unnoticed only revealing their true terror in the passing of time. In the subsequent days the skies grew darker, the days became as twilight, the temperatures steadily dropped. All began to feel gnawing unease.

*****

Aran woke, he had been dreaming again, it felt late though the quality of the light suggested it was still early dawn, it was oddly disorienting. The last few evenings Aran had taken to the habit of bedding Maya in the mainly disused warriors quarters seeking privacy. The tiny girl slept deeply beside him, warm in his embrace, he stroked her soft skin. In response she wriggled closer and sighed in her sleep, burrowing further into his warmth.

He was startled to see plumes of his breath as it melded with the frigid air, in late spring it never got this cold, and unease tugged at him. Aran rose, dropping the covers over Maya's diminutive form, to be assaulted by the cold, forcing him to dress swiftly, pulling on his leather trousers, boots, and wrapping his fur mantle about him he ventured outside, not at all prepared for what would greet him. Hand resting casually on the pommel of his dagger as he stood framed in the doorway, a voice echoed off the steep escarpment, fanatical, booming.

"I TELL YOU IT'S THE APOCALYPSE!" Father Andrew shouted. "THE LORD'S FINAL JUDGMENT HAS COME!"

The warrior took a moment to compose himself, light snow fell catching in his hair and the fur of his cape, melting on his warm skin, he could hardly believe it was real, he had never seen snow in his lifetime.

Aran cast his green eyes upward squinting through the barrage of icy flakes, the sky overhead was ominous and of the steeliest gray, not a break in the clouds yet he figured it to be midday, though not a trace of sun permeated. There was not the faintest stir of wind, the snow falling directly downward and melting on the still warm earth.

Aran was not the only one gazing on this spectacle, most had left their beds and shelters to stand mutely looking skyward, Father Andrew's strident words reverberating, cajoling all for their sins imagined or real.