This chapter is narrated by Grendel, a Ssrathi warrior in the employ of the Selentine Emperor.
I strode through the jungle as my people died by fire.
What pathetic weaklings they were, their fortresses crumbling under a mighty Imperial fist that had been crushing them for the better part of a century. One could feel their extinction in the air as Zandorn’s temples and ziggurats burned. I could smell it as I strode through his village, my priests not far behind me.
I paused to admire one of my warriors disarming one of Zandorn’s with the shaft of his axe before landing a lethal blow with the blade. Zandorn’s warrior crumpled into the undergrowth, clutching his wound. My warrior looked up, caught my eye, his axe glistening with reptilian blood as he prepared to deal his final, diseboweling blow.
“Lord Grendel?” the snakeman sissed.
“No,” I spoke. “Let him rot. I want him to bear witness to his body being claimed by the jungle. Throw him to beasts and birds of prey, like his people. Their lives were beastly and devoid of pity, and being dead, let birds on them take pity.”
I loathed my race. Beastly, primitive lot. When I am Iriki, I will make something of Kalpaxotl. A repository of knowledge, perhaps, or a bastion of civilization in the south, with bold explorers venturing forth into the unexplored jungles of Keshan that lay further south.
But for now, here I was in New Selentia, cleaning up troublemakers like Zandorn and his rebellious rabble. I had fought him earlier today, on the steps of the overgrown altar that lay to the east. He’d been a slithery, wheedling sort, green paint smeared over his scales, the colour of the resistance to Imperial rule here in Keshan.
“Traitor,” he’d breathed at me, brandishing a crude, wicked-looking weapon, half-scythe and half-sceptre. “You would murder your own people? And for what? So Enmouth can grow fat from Keshan’s riches?”
“You fool. Keshan is murdered long since. You war and die for a corpse that no longer draws breath. My Emperor, on the other hand, is very much alive. Once Keshan submits to me, I will carve out of its corpse a new kingdom worthy of its name.” I had drawn my sword.
Zandorn had come at me with a wide, sweeping blow aimed at my abdomen. I had easily deflected it, but misjudged his intent: it was not to cut or pierce, but rather use the sheer power and strength of his weapon to overpower me. The strike had reverberated through to my teeth, and I had lost my footing, knocked prone onto the vine-covered steps of the altar, my sword coming to a rest yards away.
“Thus die all traitors,” he’d mewled, grinning. He’d discarded the weapon and drawn a curved emerald dagger, an elven lifestealer.
“Not today, they don’t.” I’d clutched the hilt of the weapon concealed under my wide giant’s belt, and swung it reverse-handed, lifting my feet up as the belt-strap snapped. The golden sickle caught Zandorn behind his right knee and lopped the leg clean off. The lichelord had toppled, screeching in pain.
A glint of recognition had come to his eyes as I stood over him. He’d gestured to my weapon.
“That’s the Aklys of Couatl,” he’d whimpered. “It’s a gift from the Sun God himself. You’ve no right to that.”
I had acquired the Aklys from a Black Naga I’d killed weeks ago. Legend told that it was indeed a gift given by Couatl to his most loyal followers, in the days he still walked Etheria. “Hurnt. I suppose you’re right. Jexdar!”
My loyal Naga priestess had emerged from the bushes where she’d been watching the duel from, its outcome never really in doubt. “Yes, Serpent Lord?”
“Have this melted down for gold. Perhaps a more practical weapon can be purchased for the crowns.”
Jexdar had dutifully retrieved the Aklys and slithered away, while Zandorn squealed in horror. “That is an heirloom, a priceless artifact!”
“On the contrary, I believe it will fetch a handsome price indeed in the markets of New Selentia,” I’d said, retrieving my plaguesword from a thicket and positioning it above Zandorn’s throat.
“But it’s... part of our history… part of Keshan’s history,” he’d begged pathetically.
“Keshan is history,” I’d said. “And so are you.”
His head had rolled down the steps of the altar as blood gurgled from his throat, staining my boots.
But that was hours ago. Now my words finally seemed true. His followers screamed in agony as my priests lined them up against the walls of their pyramids, burning them alive with their incantations and staffs. My dinosaurs feasted on the flesh of Zandorn’s warriors and workers while they were still living, writhing noiselessly after their throats had been ripped out. Blood seeped into a jungle already dark with it, congealed over years of savage warfare and slaughter. Nothing remained. Everything was consumed.
Later, it was dusk amongst the ruins. I sat by the fire with my three most trusted priests. Zandorn’s weapon lay before us, the flames making its already organic form seem alive, its surface virulent.
“It is a claw from a frost dragon, a particularly old one, if I’m not mistaken,” said Luhoul, an acolyte from the eastern mountains.
“A weapon not often seen here, much less in the hands of a Ssrathi,” said the loyal Jexdar, who had fought Zandorn and the Black Nagai with me.
“So barbaric and crude… do the humans of the Empire use such weapons?” spoke Yinfur, a fertile young Naga priestess fascinated with the weapon. Jexdar and Luhoul had of late been grooming her to receive me. Her scent was intoxicating, and she would soon bear my eggs.
“Not the servants of the Empire, certainly,” I said.
“Theirans?” Luhoul speculated.
“Hardly,” I countered, staring into the black jungle. “This is the work of their cousins to the west.”
“The Darosi?” Jexdar said. “I was taught they were nothing but spear-throwing savages cowing beneath the might of the Diraqine Empire.”
“Oh no,” I said, grinning at the priestess’s naivete. “You’ll find they carve impressive blades.
“You do not think this was obtained in Keshan,” Luhoul said flatly.
“No. I do not,” I said. “Zandorn’s warriors and allies dared not breach the Emperor’s quarantine. His soldiers patrol the roads, and his Minotaurs and Orcs roam the jungle in the outskirts by the dozens.”
“It’s true,” Yinfur agreed. “My sisters and I ran into an Orcish patrol on route here through the western jungle. The Orcs are crude and violent. We feared for our chastity.”
Luhoul and I sissed in laughter, but inwardly I seethed at the thought of Orcish rabble violating my Nagai. If I had been present, I would have killed them outright. It was a mistake on the Emperor’s part to trust them for his lands.
“In any case, I believe the rebels have allies in the lands to the west, who are providing them with weapons and warriors. Our war here is getting us nowhere… as much as it would please me to do so, we simply cannot slaughter every snakeman on the continent who will not heed the Emperor’s edict. We must go to Daros, and secure the allegiance of its tribes. Without allies, the Ssrathi resistance will wither and die.” I looked to the west, across the scrying pool by the encampment, where the last embers of dusk were receding briskly behind the jungled horizon.
“Killing the snake by cutting off its body,” Luhoul said. “Are you certain the Emperor would approve of this?”
“On Keshan, I speak for the Emperor,” I stated firmly. Luhoul must learn his place. “As for snakes and their bodies, I often find that the blow which severs the body, also severs the head. One way or the other, Keshan will be mine.”
“You mean the Emperor’s,” Luhoul said, eyeing me through the flames.
“Of course,” I said. Yinfur graciously excused herself with a gesture, a gesture Jexdar mirrored before slithering off in the direction of her altar, while the younger priestess slipped off her tunic and crawled into the moonlit scrying pool.
“Understand: my priests will not serve yet another in a long line of bloodthirsty would-be Iriki, seeking power and prestige. We will not let high-sighted tyranny range on till each snake drops by lottery. We seek permanent allegiance with the Emperor; we seek peace and stability.”
Luhoul’s spiel was worth noting, but it was, as humans often said, academic. The nature of Keshan’s rule once the rebellion was crushed was a matter for future consideration.
“Naturally,” I said curtly to the snakepriest before standing and strolling in the direction of the pool, of Yinfur.
Luhoul could do little but stare after me as I descended the stone steps into the pool, washing black lizard blood and blue Imperial war paint off my scales and sinking into Yinfur’s hungry, pliant embrace.
I strode through the jungle as my people died by fire.
What pathetic weaklings they were, their fortresses crumbling under a mighty Imperial fist that had been crushing them for the better part of a century. One could feel their extinction in the air as Zandorn’s temples and ziggurats burned. I could smell it as I strode through his village, my priests not far behind me.
I paused to admire one of my warriors disarming one of Zandorn’s with the shaft of his axe before landing a lethal blow with the blade. Zandorn’s warrior crumpled into the undergrowth, clutching his wound. My warrior looked up, caught my eye, his axe glistening with reptilian blood as he prepared to deal his final, diseboweling blow.
“Lord Grendel?” the snakeman sissed.
“No,” I spoke. “Let him rot. I want him to bear witness to his body being claimed by the jungle. Throw him to beasts and birds of prey, like his people. Their lives were beastly and devoid of pity, and being dead, let birds on them take pity.”
I loathed my race. Beastly, primitive lot. When I am Iriki, I will make something of Kalpaxotl. A repository of knowledge, perhaps, or a bastion of civilization in the south, with bold explorers venturing forth into the unexplored jungles of Keshan that lay further south.
But for now, here I was in New Selentia, cleaning up troublemakers like Zandorn and his rebellious rabble. I had fought him earlier today, on the steps of the overgrown altar that lay to the east. He’d been a slithery, wheedling sort, green paint smeared over his scales, the colour of the resistance to Imperial rule here in Keshan.
“Traitor,” he’d breathed at me, brandishing a crude, wicked-looking weapon, half-scythe and half-sceptre. “You would murder your own people? And for what? So Enmouth can grow fat from Keshan’s riches?”
“You fool. Keshan is murdered long since. You war and die for a corpse that no longer draws breath. My Emperor, on the other hand, is very much alive. Once Keshan submits to me, I will carve out of its corpse a new kingdom worthy of its name.” I had drawn my sword.
Zandorn had come at me with a wide, sweeping blow aimed at my abdomen. I had easily deflected it, but misjudged his intent: it was not to cut or pierce, but rather use the sheer power and strength of his weapon to overpower me. The strike had reverberated through to my teeth, and I had lost my footing, knocked prone onto the vine-covered steps of the altar, my sword coming to a rest yards away.
“Thus die all traitors,” he’d mewled, grinning. He’d discarded the weapon and drawn a curved emerald dagger, an elven lifestealer.
“Not today, they don’t.” I’d clutched the hilt of the weapon concealed under my wide giant’s belt, and swung it reverse-handed, lifting my feet up as the belt-strap snapped. The golden sickle caught Zandorn behind his right knee and lopped the leg clean off. The lichelord had toppled, screeching in pain.
A glint of recognition had come to his eyes as I stood over him. He’d gestured to my weapon.
“That’s the Aklys of Couatl,” he’d whimpered. “It’s a gift from the Sun God himself. You’ve no right to that.”
I had acquired the Aklys from a Black Naga I’d killed weeks ago. Legend told that it was indeed a gift given by Couatl to his most loyal followers, in the days he still walked Etheria. “Hurnt. I suppose you’re right. Jexdar!”
My loyal Naga priestess had emerged from the bushes where she’d been watching the duel from, its outcome never really in doubt. “Yes, Serpent Lord?”
“Have this melted down for gold. Perhaps a more practical weapon can be purchased for the crowns.”
Jexdar had dutifully retrieved the Aklys and slithered away, while Zandorn squealed in horror. “That is an heirloom, a priceless artifact!”
“On the contrary, I believe it will fetch a handsome price indeed in the markets of New Selentia,” I’d said, retrieving my plaguesword from a thicket and positioning it above Zandorn’s throat.
“But it’s... part of our history… part of Keshan’s history,” he’d begged pathetically.
“Keshan is history,” I’d said. “And so are you.”
His head had rolled down the steps of the altar as blood gurgled from his throat, staining my boots.
But that was hours ago. Now my words finally seemed true. His followers screamed in agony as my priests lined them up against the walls of their pyramids, burning them alive with their incantations and staffs. My dinosaurs feasted on the flesh of Zandorn’s warriors and workers while they were still living, writhing noiselessly after their throats had been ripped out. Blood seeped into a jungle already dark with it, congealed over years of savage warfare and slaughter. Nothing remained. Everything was consumed.
Later, it was dusk amongst the ruins. I sat by the fire with my three most trusted priests. Zandorn’s weapon lay before us, the flames making its already organic form seem alive, its surface virulent.
“It is a claw from a frost dragon, a particularly old one, if I’m not mistaken,” said Luhoul, an acolyte from the eastern mountains.
“A weapon not often seen here, much less in the hands of a Ssrathi,” said the loyal Jexdar, who had fought Zandorn and the Black Nagai with me.
“So barbaric and crude… do the humans of the Empire use such weapons?” spoke Yinfur, a fertile young Naga priestess fascinated with the weapon. Jexdar and Luhoul had of late been grooming her to receive me. Her scent was intoxicating, and she would soon bear my eggs.
“Not the servants of the Empire, certainly,” I said.
“Theirans?” Luhoul speculated.
“Hardly,” I countered, staring into the black jungle. “This is the work of their cousins to the west.”
“The Darosi?” Jexdar said. “I was taught they were nothing but spear-throwing savages cowing beneath the might of the Diraqine Empire.”
“Oh no,” I said, grinning at the priestess’s naivete. “You’ll find they carve impressive blades.
“You do not think this was obtained in Keshan,” Luhoul said flatly.
“No. I do not,” I said. “Zandorn’s warriors and allies dared not breach the Emperor’s quarantine. His soldiers patrol the roads, and his Minotaurs and Orcs roam the jungle in the outskirts by the dozens.”
“It’s true,” Yinfur agreed. “My sisters and I ran into an Orcish patrol on route here through the western jungle. The Orcs are crude and violent. We feared for our chastity.”
Luhoul and I sissed in laughter, but inwardly I seethed at the thought of Orcish rabble violating my Nagai. If I had been present, I would have killed them outright. It was a mistake on the Emperor’s part to trust them for his lands.
“In any case, I believe the rebels have allies in the lands to the west, who are providing them with weapons and warriors. Our war here is getting us nowhere… as much as it would please me to do so, we simply cannot slaughter every snakeman on the continent who will not heed the Emperor’s edict. We must go to Daros, and secure the allegiance of its tribes. Without allies, the Ssrathi resistance will wither and die.” I looked to the west, across the scrying pool by the encampment, where the last embers of dusk were receding briskly behind the jungled horizon.
“Killing the snake by cutting off its body,” Luhoul said. “Are you certain the Emperor would approve of this?”
“On Keshan, I speak for the Emperor,” I stated firmly. Luhoul must learn his place. “As for snakes and their bodies, I often find that the blow which severs the body, also severs the head. One way or the other, Keshan will be mine.”
“You mean the Emperor’s,” Luhoul said, eyeing me through the flames.
“Of course,” I said. Yinfur graciously excused herself with a gesture, a gesture Jexdar mirrored before slithering off in the direction of her altar, while the younger priestess slipped off her tunic and crawled into the moonlit scrying pool.
“Understand: my priests will not serve yet another in a long line of bloodthirsty would-be Iriki, seeking power and prestige. We will not let high-sighted tyranny range on till each snake drops by lottery. We seek permanent allegiance with the Emperor; we seek peace and stability.”
Luhoul’s spiel was worth noting, but it was, as humans often said, academic. The nature of Keshan’s rule once the rebellion was crushed was a matter for future consideration.
“Naturally,” I said curtly to the snakepriest before standing and strolling in the direction of the pool, of Yinfur.
Luhoul could do little but stare after me as I descended the stone steps into the pool, washing black lizard blood and blue Imperial war paint off my scales and sinking into Yinfur’s hungry, pliant embrace.
A Warlords Fanfic! How cool is that! I've always felt the lore of this world was severely underrated. This should be a good read.
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