Siritahk

As he came into the sight of the carnage, his nerves screamed at him to retreat, to fade back into the brush and never look back. Some deep instinct told him that he was walking upon a path that would cast him into a turbulent whirlpool of events that would sweep him away, leaving him at the mercy of fate. But something else drew him on, urging him to see the Human that had single handedly slain so many Shkah in single combat. As a warrior, Aluk had to see such a great fighter, if only to acknowledge his passing from the world. Just then, he heard a muffled moan, and clapped his helmet down over his head, concealing his scaly green skin.

“Hyarbun shan jahgohrna?” asked the man, sitting up and looking bleary eyed at the imposing figure that loomed up out of the morning mists, like a spectra of doom.

“Speak common tongue, stranger. I do not know your language. Are you hurt badly?” Asked Aluk, in a raspy, rumbling voice.

The Human sat for a moment, gathering his wits, then he said, “Where am I? Are you a servant of Lyulagar, the death God?”

Aluk regarded him. Long blonde hair, matted with mud, grass and clotted blood. Reddish brown hair grew from his face, not quite covering a lean, square jawed face. Piercing, ice blue eyes peered up at him from under snowy white brows, creased from the intensity that radiated from the man like heat from a fire. No the heat of a camp fire, but the heat from the fire at the heart of a glacier. The eyes of a warrior.

His armor, however, was another story. It was in sad shape. It was rusted where it had not been oiled properly, and was much dented and scarred. In some places it was cut completely through. His boots were ragged pieces of leather tied to his feet. Beside him lay a broken sword, the hilt near his hand, and the blade, notched and chipped, lying half hidden in the grass some ways away. As Aluk scanned the surrounding area, he saw a discarded quiver lying in the grass, next to the inert body of a Shkah. The bow was some ways off, lying like a broken toy, the bowstring snapped. His mount, if ever he had one, was nowhere in evidence. If Aluk had not seen the man’s eyes, he would have thought him no threat. But even now, weakened as he was by loss of blood, Aluk was wary of this Human. “Who are you?” Aluk rasped.

The man started, seeing Aluk as he really was for perhaps the first time. “I am a stranger in this land. While I traveled, making my way here, I was waylaid by those you see around you.” The Human shoved a stiffened body off of him and climbed to his feet, a low groan escaping from his lips. Despite an obvious loss of blood, Aluk saw with a practiced eye that this Human had a certain fluid grace movement that spoke of power and speed. Aluk found himself strangely relieved to see that this Human had no serious wounds, and realized that he had been worried and had not even known it.

“Three days ago I lost my throlnar to these vermin. Some I slew with arrows. I was sorely pressed, and withdrew to this place. Time and distance helped me to even the odds to the point that I felt a fight was reasonable. You can see the extent of my wrath. If you be linked with these foul vermin then beware.”

Aluk looked at the bedraggled figure standing in front of him with renewed respect, a restrained a chuckle. He recognized the pride of the young. This Human was little more than a boy, but was still cocky enough to crow about cheating death, maybe for the first time. He was either very brave, or very foolish, but he was definitely very lucky.

Aluk leaned a little forward in his saddle, “There are those who feel at a disadvantage fighting those one to one. “He said pointing at a body with his lance, “You are fortunate to live. Now, tell me your name.” The Human lifted himself proudly erect. “I am Tolnac, of the people of the valley of the wall of ice.”