Cave Lupus

By Christian Martin

Thousands of years before this story begins, in a world rife with war, savagery and power, a prophesy was made, one amongst many of that time. Then it was forgotten, but prophesies have a tendency to be forgotten, do they not? Yet, prophesies have a better chance of being realised when forgotten than when the two legs try to favour it or to mingle with its natural development. This scroll tells the story of how our family became involved with its onset, development, and conclusion. This is my saga. I almost started this scroll with the classical once upon a time, but this story is on-going, and you too will be part of it, writing your own saga in time. Sons, Daughters, learn that the past may guide, but must never stifle your thinking. Nothing we hold dear is permanent, and this is right, for permanence equals stability, leading to disappearance.
Let us begin our trip...

Uncle Silver Wolf


Nearly eight thousand years after the Nuclear Cataclysm threw back civilization to the cave age, society is fighting its way up the ladder again. The political structure matches the Middle Age, with Kingdoms, Trade Orders, Roads of Initiation, and Symbols of Mastery. There exists one huge historical difference: Each six-year old Child is taken from home by the Diviners, travels for a year to get hands-on work experience before being incorporated into an Order for life. Another issue is the effects of the Cataclysm on life: numerous mutant life-forms have emerged, while huge swaths of the world have become inhospitable. Thus begins the story of Harold, Companion Ironsmith, and how he discovers his unexpected heritage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469150628

Christian Martin

n/a

Book preview

Copyright © 2009, 2012 by Christian Martin.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900621

ISBN:                          Hardcover                                978-1-4691-5061-1

ISBN:                          Softcover                                 978-1-4691-5060-4

ISBN:                          Ebook                                      978-1-4691-5062-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Bibliographical information:

Title: Book 1—Cave Lupus

Series: Uncle Silver Wolf’s Forest Lore—The Prophesy

Book 1: Cave Lupus

Book 2: The Right Hand of Destiny

Book 3: The Hammer of Atlantis

Book 4: Armageddon

Keywords: Science-fiction, Post-Apocalypse, Atlantis, Magic, Elf, Magical bestiary

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Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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107507

Contents

Prologue

Virus

1  Stars Talk

2  When the Dogs Bark, the Caravan Passes

3  Silent Forest

4  A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

5  The Long March

6  The Boys’ Story

7  Despair Not, For There Is Always Hope

8  At War, Do The Unexpected

9  The Circle of Judgement

10  Unconventional Training

11  Pomp and Circumstances

12  Joust and Tourney

13  Germanicus

14  Birthing and Dying

15  The Eternal War Dance

16  The Royal Canine Postal Service

17  Sophia

18  Crocodile Priests

19  Strategy

20  Where Do We Go From Here?

21  Marlin’s Fate

22  Blitzkrieg

23  The Run to Ka

24  Battle Over the Kwai

25  Kantar

26  The Secrets of the Cave

27  Pharaoh!

28  Rainbows

29  Escape From Kantar

30  Ma’s Campaign

31  Beware of the Wolf

Appendices

Biography

Prologue

Virus

T he virus had been dormant for a long time; it waited for the proper conditions to come to pass so it could begin replicating. It multiplied rapidly, infiltrating every possible component of its host, corrupting everything, and trying to find a way to propagate outside of the host before it died.

Millions upon millions of combinations were tried, mutations that led to dead ends, most creating dysfunctional Mutants, that died the moment they started to live; but the virus had eternity to escape the host, eternity in its scale of time that is. It evaded the defences of the host by hiding in protected structures that were hard to control, emerging again and again from hiding as it attempted to escape the host by finding a vector of propagation. Eventually, by sheer trial and error, escaping the natural defences of the host repeatedly by the impact of sheer numbers, it found a way out and began spreading into other hosts.

Naturally, the other hosts had different defence mechanisms, and were sometimes immune to the forms that were meted out by the virus, whose number of strains seemed to explode faster than the collective hosts could find countermeasures. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the hosts were badly prepared and showed signs of sickness, as their system collapsed and failed to recover. More and more hosts were disabled by the invasion; some saw it as a vengeance of God on their kind, others laughed at the weakness of some of their kindred; others still blamed the lack of prophylactic measures, but in the end, after all was told, no one could effectively control the propagation.

Eventually, even the strongest were affected; in fact, the latest strains of the virus were so deadly they destroyed the infrastructure of the society, because the hosts could no longer interact safely without risking contamination; strict containment policies just did not do, and isolation measures were inadequate. Too much depended on being able to communicate, and the hosts could no longer survive separated from each other for long periods of time without becoming unstable.

At long last, the strongest of them all were infected as well, and the entire culture collapsed. Unable to control the virus’ effect, they became unstable and launched World War III. The missiles flew, wiping out the society that had been the core of their makers. The first auto-mutating computer virus had been the downfall of the information society as it propagated via the internet, triggering the end of the world and a return to the values so cherished by those who had written the initial code: the Middle Age. But it went a lot further than what the virus creators had planned, as Human society collapsed and fell back to the cavemen’s ways. The ensuing nuclear winter took care of wiping out any trace of civilised behaviour, and in short order, all the fragile tissue of progress was wiped off the surface of the planet, as the nuclear wastes released irradiated life forms and created terrible sufferings that would bring about the final demise of the Human Species!

Finally, the Speaker took a sip of water, resting his case and looking at the assembled Politicians, Industrialists and Military Figures, trying to gauge their reaction to his speech. Nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

*     *     *

Well, Mr. President, Mr. Secretary of State, what do you think of this simulation we have been running on the emerging threats to our national security? asked a Staff member of the National Security Council.

Is that not farfetched? After all, how can a computer virus ‘evolve’ independently of Human intervention? It is like claiming we evolved without God’s push in the right direction! commented the President.

Well, natural viruses do evolve, Mr. President. HIV is a case in point, but the problem is that auto-coding is nothing new; it was a big fad in the seventies, as games. We did not see it as a threat then, because the Internet was in its infancy, and frankly, we were myopic. But now, things have changed; who would have thought telephones would send pictures, music, and not too long ago, a Trojan?

Well, put a condom on the computers! commented a General to the hilarity of the participants, except the Speaker.

Oh, we have! What do you think antivirus programs, anti-Trojans, Worm-seekers, and firewalls are for? But like anything, they have to be implemented everywhere properly for them to be effective; and, General, you know the battle between armour and shell much better than I do; it is a classic of military wisdom: for each improvement in armour comes an improvement in shell design. That goes for the computer universe as well.

Can we not isolate ourselves? asked the President.

Tell me, Mr. President, short of cutting every single phone line, shooting down every single satellite, cutting the cables, and banning the use of the radio links, how can you isolate us from the rest of the world? Remember the last flu episode? And that was 20 years ago, and a computer virus travels at the speed of light!

Taking a breath, the Speaker resumed: We must also note the rapid evolution of the operating systems; that evolution opens new doors to attacks, gives the hackers new and powerful tools to work with. Consider the quad-core. It has more computing power than NASA had when it planned the Moon launches! The complexity of the environments is such that even the manufacturers cannot foretell what vulnerabilities open up as each new version is created. And do not think that by stopping the development of new machines or new environments we will help things. Mr. President, your powers are limited by your borders! No one can now stop the progress of computers, no one! If we stalled here, it would be some other power that would take over, and before long, our current advances would have melted and we would be even more vulnerable, in other fronts!

Well, the President started, we have some time to tackle the problem…

Just then, a very white aide came rushing into the conference room, shaking all over.

Mr. President! Mr. President!

What is the interruption, young Man? enquired the President, not too pleased at being interrupted at the start of a put-down.

The code is broken! The code is broken!

What code? Explain yourself!

The nuclear launch codes have been broken! And the missiles are launching!

But I have to give the codes! yelled the President.

You did! According to the CDCC (Central Defence Command Centre) the order came, and before anyone could do anything, the triggering sequence was completed for our entire fleet of missiles, both submerged and surface.

I thought there were two keys required to launch!

There is a set, Mr. President, but that command was given to the bypass system that got installed during the Cuban crisis of 1962, because there was a fear that the people might not be able to reach their stations on time! And it never got dismantled!

Talk about stupid conservatism! commented the Secretary of State, That is what we get by governing our Country while spending more time looking at the rear view mirror!

What about the Air Force?

The order to scramble was given the minute the first missiles started going airborne. I suspect by the time I made it here, everything that was able to fly was up in the air! By the way, I had to run from the Pentagon to here, the traffic lights were going nuts and there were major car pileups everywhere. There was a fire at one of the buildings on a side street but no fire truck will ever reach it, they probably do not even know about its existence!

What can we do? asked the President, looking pretty shaken by now.

Nothing, Sir, the attack on the telecommunication system was simultaneous, and there have been sightings of aeroplanes entering in collision in mid-flight; radio signals are being jammed, and the internet is down with a massive DOS (Denial of Services) attack. I could not even call you from topside. The entire system is blocked.

Just then, the electrical grid flickered and died, to be replaced by the battery-powered emergency lighting.

What now?

The Speaker stood up from his seated position, and looking at the President, just said, Who controls the power grid?

What do you mean, who?

Computers, Mr. President. Computers do!

Each member of the conference looked at each other, only now realising that what they had scoffed about was now a reality no one could deny!

*     *     *

Some 6,000 to 8,000 years have passed since the Great War, 6,000 to 8,000 years of misery, pain, and suffering. The Great Cataclysm has brought back civilisation to the caves, and it took all those years to rebuild, reconstruct, and rediscover some of the great losses. Even time itself lost its significance.

One thing that had changed considerably was the disappearance of the diversity of religions that had been the cause of the fanaticism, which had triggered the Nuclear Holocaust. The old churches had lost all credibility after their fanatics had triggered the Atomic War in their effort to gain supremacy. The survivors had hunted down their Popes, Mullahs, Priest, and other Men of the cloth. But no populace can live long without a God of some sort, and by a form of mutual consent, their fears drove them to deify the Atom. The Priests now served as Guardians of the Temples of the Atom God: those were nuclear reactors, nuclear waste deposit sites, and some of the surviving ICBM which had not been launched by the computer virus because they were under construction or under repair. Also included were the radioactive wastelands, irradiated by the hydrogen bombs and other niceties of war. The Priests were numerous, feared and hated, with their black robes and hidden faces behind a steel mask that hid their expression and made them all look identical. Their Seal was the symbol of old indicating radioactive material, but the signification had been lost over time. Only the fear remained, and seeing a letter with the Seal of the Atom was enough to drive even the most enterprising to his knees.

The new society also rediscovered the use of Trade Companions; these people were grouped according to specific Trades, and to become a Master or a Doctor of the Trade was a long process that started well before a Child had any hair below the belt. The Child would move from one Tradesman to another, gaining information and competence, travelling the Road of Initiation that was reserved to his specific Trade. Each Trade had its secrets, its recognition signs, and its visible and invisible hierarchy. One rule was clear: No Child could follow in the step of his parents or Grandparents. Upon reaching his sixth year, the Boy or Girl would be brought to a Festival in a town, and he would talk to Diviners who would try to see what Trade the Child would serve best. The Child would spend a year with a group of his age and the Diviner, who would travel with the group from place to place to see what would interest the Child, what would be his ability and gift. On his seventh birthday, the Child would choose his Apprentice and become part of the Trade, staying with it until death. The Trade Schools would take a Child under their tutelage and see to it that he travelled the route of learning. Some would reach only basic competence, some never going out of the Apprenticeship, but others would become Companions, Masters, Grand Masters, Doctors of the Trade, or on some very rare occasion, Doctors of the Philosophy of the Trade, or Shadow Masters.

Another aspect of the emerging society was the Warriors. They were the police force and defended their Liege Lords with their life. Again, the pattern that marked the Trade Companions was in use, albeit with differing objectives and methods. After all, being able to slice your enemy to bits does not give you the capacity to manage a military campaign. Military progress was therefore of two types: progress in weapon Mastery and progress in strategic Mastery. Rarely were both found in the same individual. What might surprise some was that females were as likely to be found in the Warriors as anywhere else. They directed, and fought with the same ardour as the males. Although one might think that the Warriors would be involved in keeping the Temples, they were not; the Temple Guards were a totally distinct slice of society, lived in isolation, and even found their partners within their clan. They were so hated that no one wanted to be near them. The Atom God was not one that expected devotion, it expected fear, and it succeeded handsomely.

The other slice of this society was the Hierarchy. It comprised, not surprisingly, a series of Kings, their Courts, and the Merchants, who would be responsible for the flow of merchandise from the producing Trades to the needy markets. The Kings and their families would hire the Warriors to protect the Traders on their peregrinations, tax the Traders and Merchants to pay the Warriors. Why put the King and its followers in the same boat as the Merchants? It is simple really: both were corrupt and exploited the work of others to gain their living. But tell that to a Merchant that hikes his price by a factor of 100 from what he paid the worker for a good. In this world is born Harold…

1

Stars Talk

T he King of Americus, Edward XXIV, was awaiting his Dream Weaver, an important person who would help him interpret that dream he had been having repeatedly over the last year. That dream had begun at the Winter Solstice, and had been waking him every week over most of the year. First, it had been bits and pieces, but now it had grown to a full-fledged nightmare. No amount of medicine would wipe it, and give him a full night’s sleep. It occurred every night, night after night, getting more and more elaborate and scary. His personal Dream Weaver had been called to interpret the dream, but so far, his views did not give much hope of handling the cause.

A gentle knock on the frame of the door do his bedchambers had the King look from his desk, where he had been noting the last dream in his dream book, as per the recommendation of the Royal Dream Weaver.

Ah, come in, Shane! Give me a few more minutes to write down the last dream, and then you can read it and tell me what you make of it!

Shane Borealis was a Man in his late sixties, old, very old for the time, and it showed. His face was marked by deep crevices, and his eyes were deeply set, almost like he was already beginning to mummify. His voice had this grating quality that unnerved the most patient of Men, and the King was far, very far, from being patient, so Shane kept silent, only acknowledging the King’s invite by moving slowly, deliberately, toward the chair found near the writing desk of the King. His left leg dragged around, as he used his cane to maintain a difficult balance; his shuffling gait had a noise that identified him to anyone familiar with the Court even before he could be seen.

Normally, Shane would have had to do a Court bow to the King, but given his condition, and his familiarity with the King, he was dispensed of the ceremonial. Sitting in the wooden chair slowly, the Man watched the King write using a quill pen, digging in the ink-pot and slowly drawing his letters to write his story.

The Belfry of the Monastery of the Holy Atom sounded the first hour after prime¹ before the King had finished. Taking a sponge, the King dabbed the last bit of writing, and then pushed the scroll to the Dream Weaver.

While you read this, I shall have a Page bring us some food and drink, stated the King, using a tiny bell to summon a Page in waiting.

The Page took note of the King’s request, and made a run for the kitchen, knowing quite well what undue delays would have meant for his arse. The Monastery had not yet rung the quarter to the hour that he was back carrying food for the two powerful Men. He placed the food in front of the King, and an empty plate in front of the Royal Dream Weaver, knowing that the King would decide what the Man could and could not have for food from his breakfast. He also placed two gold cups on the table, and a cutlery box containing the knives, forks, and spoons the Men would need. The King believed in keeping his cutlery locked up, with good reason: he had poisoned the previous King by adding a thin lacquer of a virulent organic poison to his cutlery. The King had managed to get rid of each and every one of his siblings by organising accidents, traps, murders, poisonings, and even a family feud. The previous King was far from dumb and had taken to inviting his last Son to eat with him, changing bowls, plates, and cutlery at random from a set of seven. But he had been outsmarted: his Son had taken the poison slowly, gradually building a resistance to its effect, and when he had been sure he could survive a full dose, he had struck. Everyone knew it was a poison that had sent the previous King on his Eternal trip, but who could do anything about it?

The King did not trust his kitchen anymore than he trusted himself, so he split the food, offering half to his Dream Weaver come taster for the morning.

Here, help yourself Shane, said the King, pushing a plate toward his Dream Weaver, who knew better than to even hesitate at eating what was offered, while continuing to read the dream and trying to figure out what it meant. Shane took the food and the proffered utensils and ate carefully, but steadily, sampling each dish in turn first, to reassure the paranoid King, then resumed his reading while continuing to eat what was put on his plate.

After taking about half an hour to eat the food and digest the dream, the Dream Weaver looked at the King, who had been eating while keeping an eye on him for any sign of ill. Pushing the plates away, both Men took a cup of wine to chase the food down, and the King stood up, took the cutlery sets to a sink in his water room, washed them carefully using a potent disinfectant, and replaced them in the cutlery boxes after drying them over the fire that kept the bedchamber warm. The boxes were then locked back close, and stored in a safe until the mid-day lunch would be served.

So, Shane, what do you make of this dream? asked the King, now ready to deal with the day’s business.

Sire, started the Dream Weaver, the first part tells me an event of major magnitude will occur; you have a dream of a Falling Star, and what is more, the fact that this falling star will come from the Constellation of the Wolf tells me that it will occur during spring.

I see, you told me about that from my previous dream. Can you tell me the nature of the event you are referring to?

I have consulted with the Royal Astrologers. On the day of the Spring Equinox, there is a full Moon Eclipse, and you know this is a very bad omen. Furthermore on that day, a Comet is due and will glow at its maximum on the day of the Eclipse. This is another very bad omen.

You sure are the bearer of bad news, today, old Man!

I am sorry, your Majesty, I truly am, but these are facts written in Heaven, and I only tell you that your bad dream is confirming that these events are linked. However…

However… prodded the King, raising an eyebrow, while taking another sip of his wine.

However, Sire, there is another part to your dream. And it is even more troubling. You dream of a Pup with a Crown, and that is new. I suspect that a Child will be born, during the Spring Equinox, and that it will be a danger to you. Maybe the Child could be, err, disposed of, before he became a threat to you.

And how would that help?

Simple, your Majesty: a dead Child cannot reign. How can a Prophesy realise itself if its executer is dead?

Ah, I see you have taken lessons in the art of governance, Dream Weaver! Should I have you ‘executed’ for stepping on my prerogatives?

You may do as you wish, your Majesty. However, we both know I am the best at this, and if you dispose of your best assets, you will be left with a bunch of incompetent arse-lickers more intent on saying yes to everything than advising you properly.

You do make a fine point here. Too bad I did not consult you when I sent the Marshall of the Western Marches into battle, against his best recommendations. Now, he is dead, and I lost a whole Army to a trap. But do not make too many of these fine points, Dream Weaver, I might get suspicious.

Yes, your Majesty.

Now then, what should I do? This year’s Spring Equinox is past.

Your Majesty, if the Child was already born, the dream would have told us so. I suggest we wait until the dream warns us that he is born, then we can act.

That is a plan, but what if the dream does not tell us that?

There are other indicators that it is not past: the Comet and the Eclipse are not due for another year. This lets us plan things accordingly. Consider them warnings, but not Doom.

I agree with you here, we will plan accordingly; however, there is one thing that bothers me still. If we wait for the Dream World to tell us the Child is born, we will be lagging behind him.

Oh, you do not need to kill at birth, a Child is powerless for a long while after birth; you have until he reaches manhood to deal with him.

True, true. And what if he is born outside of my Kingdom?

That is a more serious problem. We will have to wait and see what other information the Dream World gives us to guide us to the Child. One other thing, your Majesty, the Child must be a first-born, born on the Equinox, and male. All the Kingdoms we know of are male-ruled, therefore no Girl can ever be King.

Well, civilised Kingdoms that is! And are you making a pique at me, here? I have a harem of females, over 30, and none has produced a single viable male yet! I have sold the Girls to slavery, but still no male on the horizon!

Your assessment about the Rules of Inheritance is quite correct, your Majesty. Why worry about barbarians, especially if a female rules them! As for the lack of a viable male Prince, let this not worry you; you are young, still, and one day one of the Royal Concubine will give you a male Heir.

But do we know every Kingdom?

Well any that is likely to affect yours, your Majesty. I have heard of Kingdoms East of the Glows, but they cannot reach us because Atom, bless his Hand, poisons everyone that crosses these death fields. Even the Servants of the God have not been able to travel safely there, much less an Army.

Again, quite to the point. Well, I have some meetings to deal with. Someday, I shall have the Ambassador from Eurasia beheaded. He manages to push all my buttons with his incessant requests.

Do as you wish, your Majesty.

If only! Try to figure out a way to find that thorn in my side, essentially a sign of where he will be born.

May I ask the Royal Astrologers for further help, your Majesty?

Let me write to you a Royal Decree, giving you all powers, within reason, to request the help of anyone in my Kingdom.

Why, thank you, your Majesty. I shall not abuse of it!

You better not, if you want to keep all your pieces attached! But remember, failure is not an option!

Yes, your Majesty.

The King wrote an order, signed and stamped it with the Royal Seal, and gave the Scroll, stored in a leather sleeve, to his Dream Weaver. He then left the bedchambers, moved to his Armoury, and put on a chainmail vest, and a breast plate, and a couple of fine daggers in his sleeves. After that, he tied his silk and ermine surcoat and added a belt carrying the Royal Sword. Finally feeling dressed the King put on his Crown, and walked rapidly to the Throne Room, to be in place when that dastardly Ambassador, who had been made to wait for an hour, was to be allowed in. Whoever said that being on time was the politeness of Kings never had met him!

1-%20Harold%27s%20Companion%20Seal%20300dpi%20copy.jpg

Figure 1: Harold’s Seal

*     *     *

Harold the Ironsmith had finally graduated to Companion, after 10 years of long, and sometimes painful, Apprenticeship. At 17, he was one of the youngest, if not the youngest Companion of the Order of the Iron Cross, the Order that regrouped metalworkers. He had travelled the Path of the Golden Light, learning from ever more knowledgeable members of his Order. Now, after three independent Masters had evaluated his Work for quality of workmanship, and spending nine months producing farming equipment,

2-%20Harold%27s%20Companion%20Symbol%20300%20dpi.jpg

Figure 2: Harold’s Cross of Companion Ironsmith

horseshoes, farring² Horses, repairing wheels of carts under their watchful eyes, he had his Charter. He could wear the Mark of the Companion of the Order of the Iron Cross, a bronze cross tying his cloak. He had received the ceremonial leather vest where the Hammer and Anvil of the Order had been threaded in silver wire. The Anvil had the horseshoe and the crossed blades symbols inside, indicating his competence both farring and weapons repairs. He was to wear this as a mark of his belonging at any of the Smith Houses he visited from now on.

He had been offered a permanent position as Companion at one of the city’s many Smithies, but had declined. He wanted to gain his Mastery, even become a Grand Master, and so the last Master, after giving him his Patent at the Smith House, had arranged for him to get a cart, a pair of Horses, a set of tools with his personal emblem, an anvil and a portable smiting Forge. The cart had a cover so he could sleep in it, and keep his tools dry in the rainy season. No Smith of repute would let his tools exposed to rain, snow, or be weathered. He modified the sides of the cart to include a coal bin, and a water barrel. The rear had a pulley and pin system to allow the lowering and rising of the anvil and forge with its attachable blowers without much ado. A layer of refractory bricks covered the rear floor of the cart, themselves protected with thin plates of granite so the oven could be heated without setting the cart on fire. A side-benefit was that the oven could come handy in cold nights to heat the cart and keep the Smith warm. After all, any piece of dry wood could be burned in it.

Harold even registered his own trademark in the Book of Trade. He wanted to travel, serve the isolated Farms and trade his work for shelter and food. A travelling Ironsmith was well received anywhere; not even the Road Robbers would bother him; his services were too precious for them as a Farrier to shoe their Horses, repair their pots or their weapons. He had his plan quite well set in his mind: first, spend five years travelling, earning experience at different Smithies and Farms, then move to a big city, probably along the base of the Western mountains, where there was supposedly, a school of Ironsmiths that trained Companions to the Mysteries of the Mastery. If all went according to his plan, by his 30th birthday, he would be a Master.

Harold left Riverside, a fortified city, as soon as the gates were opened a bit after prime. The Guards at the gate had to wait for the whistle blow from the Watch Tower before opening them. Finally the Watchmen could see the riverbanks clearly in the rising Sun, and the all clear was called. The drawbridge was dropped, the barbican’s inner and exterior portcullis raised, and the doors pulled open. He took the Southern bridge, now accessible, and turned right to follow the river, moving westward toward the Great Plains, keeping an eye out for the Markers that indicated Forbidden Lands, or Wastelands. He knew if he kept this direction he would have to take a southern path about 30 days after leaving the town. Other Tradesmen had told him of this, and he had learned from them what kind of people and landmarks to expect. His main worry, apart from missing a Sign, was the animals. They did not give a damn if he was a Companion of the Iron Cross; they saw in him easy food. He carried a hunting bow, a crossbow, and a sword of his own making, knives and a stave. His travels had shown him that animals balked at attacking a Man who seemed willing to stand his ground and showed no fear.

He also knew that the Bears and Lions found in some areas were formidable foes. Who could deal with a Bear twice the size of a standing Man, or a pack of Wolves on the hunt, or a harem of Long Teeth Lionesses? He would have to advise when he got in the areas where they were common.

3-%20Dunbar%27s%20Master%20Symbol%20300dpi%20copy.jpg

Figure 3: Dunbar’s Wheel of Mastery of the Road

Harold made good use of the cool spring day and travelled along the Royal Road at the rate the Horses felt comfortable with, crossing caravans going to the market in Riverside. Albeit reserved, Harold was not a person who did not talk to travellers he crossed on his path. At tierce³, he caught up to a slower merchant caravan. He gave sign he wanted to talk to the Caravan Master, and the call went forward, from one member of the caravan to the next, until a Man on horseback took to the side of the road and let the caravan pass.

Good day to you! hollered the Caravan Master, while keeping a safe distance from the unknown figure who had asked to talk to him. Let the Light shine on your Path!

Good day to you, Caravan Master! Let the Light shine on your Path! replied Harold, replying the well-known greetings of good intentions. May I come closer?

First, identify yourself, and your intentions!

I am Harold, Companion Ironsmith! I wish to join the caravan for some time. And may I return the question?

Yes you may. I am Dunbar, Caravan Master, carrying goods for the Merchant Guild to those in need, west of Riverside. What would you offer my caravan that I do not already have?

"I can offer my arm in case of attack, ferrer⁴ your Horses, repair your weapons and the carts that carry your goods."

You seem mighty young to be Companion. Come closer so I can assess the truth of your saying!

This did not take Harold aback. Given the world as it stood, taking word at face value was not a viable way of life. He slowly prodded his Horse to move up to the Man and gently removed his scarf to reveal the Bronze Cross of his Companionship in the Ironsmith Order.

May I request the same of you, Caravan Master?

Certainly, Companion. The caravan Master opened his vest to reveal the Gold Wheel that marked his Mastery of the Roads and a member of the Guild.

Identifications completed, the Caravan Master turned his Horse around and give a loud modulated whistle call. The caravan stopped, waiting for the new member to join up with them. Harold was invited to move his cart up front, just behind the Caravan Master’s covered wagon. The caravan then resumed its slow progress on the Royal Road, while the Caravan Master and the Ironsmith exchanged some information on the risks of travel, the road conditions, and the weather.

At sext⁵, the Caravan Master called for a halt near a spring, and the animals were watered and fed. A wheel of cheese was split amongst the members of the caravan, and pemmican⁶, dried fruits, and water shared.

*     *     *

The Caravan Master did his round and came back toward Harold, looking a bit embarrassed.

Companion Harold, I am a bit worried about one of our Horses. Can you have a look at it? I am worried on multiple counts here, but I feel bad asking you for your help so soon after you joined my caravan.

Certainly, Master. Please indicate to me which animal is in need of my services. And please, I offered, and I stand by my word. There is no need to feel shamed in any way by asking for help. Harold jumped off his bench and accompanied the Caravan Master toward the watering animals.

See, Companion, it is this Mare, the shoe seems to be ill-fitting.

Let me check this. Ah, yes, you are right, the hoof needs trimming, and the shoe must be changed. It will take some time to trim her properly. I would suggest we do all four hooves, it seems the others are also in need of replacement.

Oh… That will put us late to the Farm I had planned on resting, Companion.

Maybe, but better be late than risking the loss of a Mare, especially since she is full. There are numerous advantages to this place too. First, the place seems full of hardwood that can be used to run my forge, and there is also plenty of water. Second, there is enough room to move the wagons in a defensive position while I work on the shoes and the hooves.

Yes, you seem to have learned more than ironwork while on the Initiation Road of your Trade. I shall have the wagon Drivers place them in defensive position. How long do you think it will take to do the work?

If I can have help from some Men and Teens to supply the wood and work the blowers, it should take about two hours. The longest part is getting enough heat to work the iron from the forge. Tell them to gather dry hardwood, and I shall lower the forge and assemble the blowers to get things ready. As soon as the Mare is finished getting fed and watered, bring her to that post, there, and I will start by removing the offending shoe and trimming the hoof. Let us deal with the most vulnerable part right away, and if problems arise from the road or the area, we will not be cornered.

Good point, Companion. Apprentice Robert! Is the Mare finished feeding and watering?

Yes, Master. I took care of her first thing, the moment we stopped.

Good, bring her to the post, there, so the Companion Farrier can take care of the issue.

Yes Master.

Robert took the Mare to the post and tied her up, while Harold let the back of his cart drop slowly, until it reached the ground. Boys and Men spread out and collected firewood, cutting them to manageable sizes, and Harold started the preparation of his forge, first tying up the blowers by means of steel collars holding the outer ring to the vent. Once the fire was started, he instructed the Teens and Men on how to maintain the fire, and raise the temperature so he would have a working deposit of coal for his needs.

Finally, he turned to farring the Mare, removing the offending shoe, and nails. He did not throw away anything; iron was always a recyclable commodity. Trimming the hoof to equalise it using a huge file, Harold then heated a shoe until it was red-hot, shaped it on the anvil, measured the nails’ length and hammered and trimmed new nails to the need. Less than an hour after the operation started, he was ready to handle other shoes. These went a bit faster since the forge was already hot, and less than half an hour later, the three other hooves had been re-shoed. By then, it was nearing nones⁷, giving precious few hours of daylight to travel. Harold went looking for the Caravan Master.

Master Dunbar, I have finished with the Mare.

Oh, thank you. I am looking at the road ahead, and I do not see any safer place to stay before nightfall. We are already in position, and others have joined us. I was thinking of staying here for the night. Especially since I have learned, from a caravan going to Riverside, that the next stream washed the bridge away and we will have to ford it and it is still high from the snow melt. They lost a cart and two Oxen due to the current.

I see. If we plan the crossing at the moment the melt has been reduced by the cold night, we may be able to do it more safely. How far is the snow belt in the mountains?

About 450 miles upriver, the spring was late, but started with force. I would say the melt takes about 48 hours to reach the ford, and it is at its lowest at dawn, when the temperature is at its coldest. So, with luck, we could cross it very early in the morning. The only issue I have with this is it is about an hour from here. We will have to leave before sunrise and I do not like to travel in the dark.

I understand your fears, Master Dunbar, however we only need be ready to roll at sunup, I would suggest everyone be ready by then. May I suggest everyone be up an hour before prime, and the caravan ready to leave at prime? That way we would benefit of a relatively fresh day and the stream would still be low from the night melt or, if we are lucky, there may have been a freeze in the mountains two days ago.

You are a remarkable Companion, Ironsmith. I have known Companions of our Trade that did not think this out. I shall plan as you suggested.

Thank you for your commendation, Master. May I suggest, while we are here and the forge is hot, to have all Horses of the caravan inspected for need of farring, as well as the wheels of the carts? We can not miss the crossing tomorrow, and we better be ready rather than sorry because of a Horse or a broken wheel or defective cart.

I agree with you, Companion Harold. I shall have the other caravan Masters and Companions inspect their carts and come to you.

By vespers⁸, Harold had taken care of another Horse, replaced the spokes on a wheel, and fixed the skein of another. All in all, it had been a good day’s work.

Guards, mostly Apprentices of the Order of the Dragon, were put around the clearing, and were to be replaced by new ones every two hours until departure. Escorting caravans was a risky business, and usually, the mercenaries were paid off the profit from a safe transit, so they were few and low in the order. Most caravans only had Apprentices as escorts, and a Decurion⁹, the rank given to an Apprentice Officer, to command them.

The Guards found around the clearing were under the order of a Centurion¹⁰, about the same level as a Companion in other orders. It was more a stroke of luck than anything else that a Centurion was going westward to fill in a commission for the King, along with his Centurie¹¹. They had walked in on the assembled caravans at vespers, going west as well. They were trained to a much higher level than the usual caravan Guards, well versed in the tactics of foot warfare, and the establishment of secure encampments. The Centurion, a young Woman, had inspected the camp and the defensive arrangements of the caravans in the clearing, made some suggestions, and arranged her Centurie so they could regroup and manoeuvre effectively to either cut off the bridge over the fast-flowing stream, or protect their backs from an assault from the forest. Luckily, since this was spring, the forest floor was easily monitored, and the establishment of an outer perimeter breach alert was simple. It consisted in a simple thin thread of blackened rope at about thigh-height, made to bend a fir sapling very strongly. If anything cut the thread, the sapling would be released and make considerable noise. Furthermore, white phosphorus dipped in oil was tied to its branches. Upon release of the sapling, the phosphorus would immediately be yanked and get exposed to air, igniting on contact and producing an actinic light and fires, thus revealing every threat while maintaining the camp itself in darkness.

Given that the area now contained five merged caravans going westward, and two that had decided to wait until morning to go eastward to Riverside, plus the unexpected arrival of these trained military, the chance of attack was slim. It would take desperate Robbers to tackle them.

*     *     *

Lauds¹² had barely passed when the string got broken with a twang, and it was heard whistling through the forest as the sapling redressed violently, pulling the phosphorus blocks and swinging them in a wild arc that set the night ablaze, before setting the ternary wall of cut dry wood on fire as well. In less than two minutes a roaring wall of fire encircled the camp, a good 500 yards away. The Guards looked at the shadows that were brought into light and called out to each other to see who or what had fired up the defences. Finally a call was made:

Orcs! Orcs! Take defensive positions!

The firewall had done its job: it would let the Orcs stand out as moving targets for those who were good at bows and cross-bows, while splitting their numbers in two groups separated by the fire. Those who were unfortunate enough to have been crossing the firewall as it got lit were heard wailing in pain and terror, as they were burned alive. Some ran out in the woods behind the firewall, spreading it to the bushes and conifers that populated this forest. This in turn cornered more of their kind, who tried to outrun the fire, an impossible task in the best of conditions. Some jumped in the raging torrent, and drowned, carried to the bottom by their heavy leather and iron armour and steel shoes.

Meanwhile the Archers of the camp were busy: first, those with crossbows fired at them, since their arrows were the most precise at a distance; then those with longbows took over, and finally those with the short forest bows fired their volley. Meanwhile the Centurion had organised his troops: 50 to hold the bridge and road, and 50 to shore up the defence of the caravans.

The Orcs moved fast, running constantly from tree to tree, in an effort to avenge their losses and still gain honour by at least killing someone before dying. Their problem was they were separated from their command by the firewall and smoke and the roar of the fire prevented any exchange of signals either verbal or visual. Some ventured in the open grass that separated the forest’s edge from the inner defence perimeter composed of the chariots and wagons, but none managed to get far enough to do serious damage. Stray arrows hit a few defenders but the advantage of surprise had been lost on the attackers. Finally the firewall closed on the Orcs inside and forced them out in the open. Those that were caught in the blaze were heard yelling in inhumane pains, as they were burned alive. The fire stopped at the edge of the forest, the grass being too tramped to sustain its progress. The Orcs charged blindly across the open grass, too bloodthirsty with terror to even consider surrender as an option. They were few, and none reached the defenders standing. The Centurion sent out the troops that had helped to defend the caravan to try to find at least a few living in the battlefield in order to interrogate them and understand where they came from and under whose orders. Four were recovered still breathing, and two died before recovering consciousness. The other half of the Centurie maintained its position on the bridge and the road in case there were more Orcs or worse around.

*     *     *

The Centurion searched for Dunbar, the Caravan Master of the site. By custom the highest-ranking member of the Order of the Road on site became in charge of all caravans; and in case of equal rank, the first one of the same rank took command. It so happened that it was Dunbar, with his rank as Master was both the highest-ranking and the first on site.

Ah, Master Dunbar, as site Master, I would like to invite you to the interrogation of our two Orcs. The others did not survive long enough to reach the Healers.

I shall gladly assist; however, may I invite the Companion Ironsmith? His intellect has impressed me, and must have impressed his Order as well; he is not even a Man yet!

Certainly. I have not seen him, but he must be made of remarkable stuff to impress a Master of another Trade!

You have seen him, he is the one that handles the forge and is now recovering the Orcs’ weapons and armour.

Ah, I thought he was a scavenger. Why is he recovering stuff from them?

I enquired to him and his comment was simple: Iron is rare, weapons are rare, and knowledge may be gained by the study of their make and their composition.

Ah, yes. But I thought he was only a Farrier?

No, he has the marks of a Weapons Companion as well. I am well impressed by the Lad. He is also recovering arrows and other projectiles, as well as long blades and poniards. He has an acute sense of observation and he may well add unexpected insights to this affair.

Fine. Please invite him under my tent, Master Dunbar. I am getting more and more impressed by the description you make of him.

You probably spotted him with his cross-bow. He managed to kill a dozen of the Orcs with it before using his long-bow in the final attack.

Is it he? Then yes, I am impressed, that bow must have pressure of several hundred pounds and he fired it as if it was a toy! I had never seen someone fire so fast! At one point, I counted four arrows in the air at the same time! And all hit their mark! He also seems to have a rather thick quarterstaff tipped with steel and a very impressive claymore sword of a style I have never seen!

You mention that sword, and I had seen it on the side of his bench as we travelled. I had intended to ask him about it, and you remind me. He also has some poniards visible on his hips, I counted two, but he probably has more. Should I enquire about them and ask he bring them with him at the meeting? I suspect that his well-armed presence will help impress both the mercenaries and the troops’ Decurions during the meeting.

Yes, please. Tell him it is not anything bad, in case he misinterprets the request.

Agreed. When should we meet? I intended to leave at prime, and it is still two hours away. Your Centurie needs to rest, and so do my Drivers. And I still have to check on those that were hurt.

Why so early?

That was at the suggestion of that impressive young Boy-Man. The bridge that crosses the stream about an hour away was washed, and we will have to ford it. The current should be minimal at sunrise.

Ah, I see. I agree then, we will leave at prime, together. Let us meet at my tent an hour before prime; we will break feast together and interrogate the two Orcs. They will be delivered to justice at the next city, not that I have any doubt as to their destiny.

Agreed. See you then, Centurion.

*     *     *

After visiting the few wounded, who were being taken care by the Healers, as well as the two Orcs, now stripped nude, bandaged up and tied to the inner siding of a wagon, the Caravan Master found Harold examining the weapons recovered from the battlefield; more and more of them were being brought back from the burned-down forest and bodies washed on the shallows of the river.

Ah, Caravan Master, I have made a vast recovery of iron, bronze, copper, and even gold and silver! The Orcs were numerous and well armed. I thought they had no workmanship but I may have been wrong. Look at the quality of that blade. It must have been folded 32 times and heated perfectly with the proper use of clay to distribute the heat! This is the work of a Master Weapon maker. I am cleaning each weapon in order to find a mark of make. The shape is much like a katana, which lets me believe it comes from beyond the western marches. It is either very old and was recovered from ruins or it managed to get carried from beyond the Wastelands.

Interesting, very interesting, Companion Harold. I would like to invite you to accompany me under the Centurion’s tent to share your findings. Also, could you bring your sword and other weapons? The Centurion was impressed at your Mastery of the bow and would much like to examine the blade you so proudly carry. Fear not, the Centurion is only curious.

Certainly, Master. Should I just carry them, or bear them as befit the weapons?

She asked you bear them as befit your capacity. She is most impressed and would much like you to carry them openly to the sight of all.

Then I shall do so. When is the meeting?

It will be held an hour before prime.

Then I have time to finish examining the katana and clean it up; it has been neglected and I cry for such a nice blade.

Do as you wish.

As if I would do anything else, Master Dunbar.

Both Men laughed and parted.

*     *     *

Harold walked solemnly across the camp, wearing his ceremonial vest, his ceremonial sword on the right, and the blade that had been his Work of Certification on the left; the cloak and the mark of Companionship of his Order were positioned on his shoulders, and the long bow was passed around his torso. Poniards were clearly visible on his hips, and his crossbow was positioned on his left side, at rest. Arrows were visible on his right side, the long ones stored on the shoulder and the shorter, sturdier ones used for the crossbow in front. He also carried with reverence the katana he has meticulously cleansed, resting above the folded left arm, as if he was carrying a newborn Baby. His right hand held the battle Stave that shone menacingly in the weaning moonlight.

Everyone moved out of the way, awed by the nobility of his stance. Everyone bowed involuntarily, even the Officers. Silence set as he passed, and gradually spread to the entire camp as he walked toward the Centurion’s tent. As he neared the entrance, the Guards came to attention and saluted as if it was a high-ranking member of their Order. Their sudden action caught the attention of the Centurion and the caravan Master; they turned to look at the door and almost fell over at the entry of Harold in the tent.

I come to your summons, Centurion, said Harold. The Decurions present stood at full attention, totally unable to do anything else. Suddenly, one of them smacked his right fist on his heart, followed immediately by the others. That was uncalled for, if only because it was reserved for higher Officers of the rank, and certainly not for a Companion of another Order. The Centurion followed suit, unable to resist the impulsion given by 10 Decurions hitting their breastplates simultaneously. The Caravan Master looked around, taken aback by the military protocol and finally took a deep bow.

Harold was no less taken by surprise than the Centurion or the Master. He stood there, bewildered, and returned the bow to all, as if he had been a trained Courtesan.

Recovering her voice, the Centurion signalled the seat on her left, then, on impulse, moved herself to that seat, offering the seat of honour to Harold.

A Decurion offered help to Harold, taking the bow, crossbow, and arrows to put them behind the chair. The walking stick and the katana soon joined the other weapons, placed carefully blade turned toward the rear of the tent, the handle within reach of Harold. He was then helped to sit on the high chair of the table, and his other blades set on each side. The Centurion and caravan Master waited for him to be seated and then, as if he had done this all his life, the Companion gave a head motion and everyone else seated themselves.

*     *     *

Looking at the Centurion, Harold seemed unsure as to what to do next, but then decided to ask the question that had been bugging him since he had walked into the tent.

Centurion, before we proceed any further, may I introduce myself? I am Harold, Companion Ironsmith, member of the Order of the Iron Cross, Farrier and Weapons Smith.

I am Annabelle, Centurion of the Dragon Legion. It is an honour to meet you, Companion.

The greater honour is mine, Centurion Annabelle.

And I am Caravan Master Dunbar, member of the Order of the Roads. It is also an honour to meet you, Centurion Annabelle.

How should we handle this meeting, Centurion? This is your quarters, and, to be honest, I am a bit lost as to why I occupy the place of honour in your own home, enquired Harold.

I have the two Orcs in chains, waiting outside. Maybe we should handle the unpleasantness of their interrogation before taking our time to review what we have learned while eating?

As you wish, Centurion. I have questions of my own, concerning some of their weapons.

Turning toward one of the Legionnaires near the door, the Centurion gave a sign and one of the Orcs was brought in.

Standing nude, framed by two Centurions, he looked defiantly at the three sitting at the high table.

State your name and rank! commanded the Centurion.

I am Lazar, foot Soldier of the 5th Ashirinmaza of the 1st Dari-hudumaza of the Black Hand Horde!

What is the significance of these names? asked Annabelle.

The Orc pointed at his fingers and toes and said, "This is Ashirinmaza¹³ Orcs. If you count all of them in the Ashirinmaza, that is Ashirinmaza times Ashirinmaza you get Dari-hudumaza¹⁴."

Looking at the Orc’s extremities, the Centurion did some maths.

If I get their numbering system, they are using base 20. And 20 times 20 equal 400. The conclusion is Ashirinmaza means 20, while Dari-hudumaza means 400. What a strange means of counting.

Where are you from? enquired Dunbar.

From where the Sun sets!

How far is that?

We walked two full Moons! Keeping to the deep woods we fell on your assembly unwittingly and unprepared. We did not know of your presence; you would not have survived the Horde otherwise.

How big was the Horde?

We have no number for that.

Well, try expressing the number in smaller numbers.

We had at least Dari-hudumaza foot Soldiers.

I would concur with the prisoner, they would have washed over us had they taken us by surprise, said the Centurion.

Centurion, enquired the caravan Master, how many bodies have we recovered?

Let us see… Some 60 bodies were recovered from the riverbanks. Another 150 between the firewall and the grasses; and about 80 in the open grasses; the count is considerable in the firewall, another 150; the patrols have found another 60 so far beyond the firewall, we have 500 bodies. His estimate may be a bit low, but I doubt he would err by much. Counting does not seem to be their forte.

It seems then, that the Orcs suffered a major setback, but we have no way to know how many are left around and may be lurking in the forest.

You are right, Caravan Master. This poses a strategic problem. I can not protect effectively two caravans moving in opposite direction, and, furthermore, the closest cities and villages must be warned.

Before considering strategy, let us interrogate the other prisoner, suggested Harold. He may offer a complement of information on the subject.

Good suggestion, Companion. Legionnaire! Bring this one out and the other in! ordered the Centurion.

The other Orc was a bit taller than the previous one and looked a lot healthier and well fed. He