The Head of the Serpent: The Pearl & The Sword

By W.C. Gorski

Prelude
Question: Could it be that the future is really our past, one linked to the other in an inseparable bond, traveling endlessly in circular patterns throughout time and space, repeating itself over and over, each time manifesting itself in a familiar but uniquely distinct manner?
There is an old adage that says throughout life, you can count your true friends on the fingers of one hand. It’s not about who you pretend to be that forms the bond, a boastful show of wealth or good works, but rather who you really are that matters.
In the end, there is only one true friend who willingly gave His life to save yours. Not much was asked in return. It was a gift, given by grace. Past or present, what you do with that gift it is up to you. It just may determine your future…

“Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
George Santayana circa 1905 approx.

“To everything, there is a Season and a Time to every Purpose Under Heaven…” Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV



Preface
An Obelisk unearthed by the Dwarven Army mystically projected a warning, revealed in a drifting vapor from within its solid granite walls. It was a warning originally carved in stone, written by the ancients in Sumerian text long before the time of the Troll Wars.
An old Monk received a visit in the form of a heaven sent apparition. A glimmering image of a close friend, a spirit long passed, sent to convey a similar warning. Both carried the same message…
Beware the Head of the Serpent!
The Sword of Leahanna had become detached, no longer linked to the Pearl or any one person, sent to rest deep within the waters of Lake A’Lithander in the heart of the Elfin forest of I’Thillianne. For the Sword, it would be a time of healing. A new Pearl would be cultivated and nurtured. Its power soon to return.
The diabolical plans of the Devil and his army of Demonic Monsters had been foiled and put asunder due to the combined efforts of the Roluk Hordes, Elfin Forces, three Wizards, the Sword of Leahanna and of course, by the very Hand of the Lord Himself.
The Evil One had been sealed within the portal of the second heaven. The door had been slammed shut for a Time, Times and Half-a-Time. Only the Head of the Serpent remained.
The driving force of Evil was now in chains. All seemed to be good… But Not So Fast!
The seed of perdition had already been cast, set in place by a long dead Evil Wizard. Little-by-little it began to grow in power; taking the form of a vile and evil creature that came to be known as the Beast. Slowly this beast tightened its grip upon the inhabitants of the Realm, starting with Westshire and the lesser known provinces. Population control through debt and coercion would entice those unaware to do its bidding.
None ensnared by its cruel monetary policies could buy, sell or prosper without its mark or the number of its name. In turn, it would use its ill-gotten gains to finance the ongoing war between good and evil. The Head of the Serpent began to take control. For it was said, Who is likened onto the Beast… Who will worship the number of his name?
In Norsada to the North, Thargor was back in power with a new mission, signing a non-aggression pact and combining forces with Gog and the Trolls. Meanwhile, the Muzoule militia had been pouring in the Southern borders near the Hill Country, bankrolled by an evil cabal of a New World Order aligned with power-hungry criminal elements and hidden spies. Their aim was to over-run the territories of the Realm and enslave its inhabitants, setting-up its Throne of Evil near the Temple of I’Thillianne. If successful, the Dark Tower would once again become the new beacon of power.
It would be up to the Allied powers to put an end to it. As a unified force, they would employ new weapons and new assault tactics; neither Kholta-Kahn, K’Leander, Jorax nor King Hagar and Queen Czarkov would make it easy for them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jul 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662921728

Book preview

Chapter One

Spryer brought his lantern closer to the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the monastery. The visitor stood silent as the old Monk squinted, looking for a hint of who this late-night caller might be.

Come in… Come in, said the old Monk. All are welcome here. You must be tired, in need of rest and a place of refuge, he continued, thinking the cloaked visitor was one of the recently defrocked monks roaming the Hill Country.

The hooded figure said nothing and followed Spryer into the courtyard.

It’s okay… you can remove your hood. No one will bother you here… you’re safe.

The visitor pulled back his head-covering and Spryer shuttered in disbelief, stumbling slightly backwards at the freakishly bizarre sight. He had never seen anything quite this weird and unusual in all his years at the monastery. I’ve definitely gotta lay-off sippin’ that late night holy water, he thought to himself, or at least cut it back some… I think I’m startin’ to get delusional.

Why have you come? asked the astonished old monk, still not quite believing his eyes.

I wish to become the Bishop of Pishonill. Stated the new arrival. His eyes were rolling wildly in opposite directions and he was sporting a wide goofy perma-grin spanning from ear-to-ear. The hooded mantle worn by the grinning guest appeared to be hastily stitched together from an old army blanket.

Yes, yes… well, don’t we all, mumbled Spryer, sounding a bit condescending. The Lord must be testing me, he thought. Yep, that’s gotta be it. I’m being tested.

I know things, said the goofy looking figure in holy garb.

Yes, yes… as I said, don’t we all, Spryer replied.

Thinking everyone deserved a second chance, the old monk continued, It’s late, let me show you to your quarters… get some rest. Meet me tomorrow morning over there at the Kwoon Wu Kwan. The Monk pointed to the large building. I have someone there I want you to meet… hee, hee, he chortled quietly.

Those words were no sooner said, when a paper-thin burst of bright energy flashed to the heavens, lighting up the night sky over I’Thillianne. Spryer’s eyes were immediately drawn heavenward in amazement. Something big was going on in the Elfin forest, he thought, knowing it was the night of the full Blood-Moon. He watched as the pinpoint of energy angled downward to the Northwest, downward toward the lands of the Evil Pyramid, the land of the Unholy Eye.

Both the face of Spryer and his guest reflected its glowing light with a brilliant radiance. Dancing flashes of mirrored energy bounced and rebounded between them, causing a profoundly bizarre and eerie effect upon each of their features.

Then like a magnet, his attention abruptly focused on his newly arrived guest. The want-to-be monk’s countenance began to melt away, slowly changing before his very eyes.

Once again, Spryer was taken aback.

His guest had taken-on a totally new but familiar appearance. His features had been magically transformed by the mystical light of I’Thillianne. He had been altered, changed from that of the odd-looking character of moments ago to a close semblance of a young student, an old friend and confidant… Father Lucian!

Lucian began to speak.

"I bring to you a message from my youth, coded and concealed within the scroll… the voice echoed. Lucian’s face was stoic, expressionless, as though in a trance; only his lips moved. Beware the Head of the Serpent… My envoy will follow…" Then, he was gone!

Flashes of glaring light exploded, followed by sudden bursts of intermittent thunder as rolling clouds gave way to a pinpoint beam of heaven sent energy to the Northwest. Lucian’s prognostic words were somehow intertwined with the closing Portal of Evil and events to follow.

Spryer was both shaken and bewildered by the prophetical warning. What did it mean? Why him and why now?

As the old monk nervously pondered the issue, a hazy wisp of white smoke encircled the would be Bishop of Pishonill, and once again his appearance began to change. He was being transformed. Transformed to a likeness of his former unique and physical being!

The annoyingly bulbous and rolling crossed eyes straightened, shrank, and returned to normal; back to their original hazel-blue color, reshaped and reformed. The wide goofy grin disappeared, gone. His wild frizzy hair now changed to a sandy color, thick and neatly combed.

His body now stood straight and erect. The smokey mist dissipated as suddenly as it appeared, and he was seen to be quite youthful and actually quite handsome.

Just who are you my son? inquired Spryer, now more curious than ever. I can see you have gone through hard times… times of trouble and great distress.

I… I don’t know, he replied, looking puzzled with a vacant expression. I just don’t know. I don’t know who I am or even how I got here.

Surely you must remember something, inquired the old monk. What’s you name… you do have a name… don’t you?

The newly transformed Bishop held both his hands over his face, lightly massaging his forehead. He was trying hard to remember something, some clue to his former life, where he came from, friends, family… something. Nothing came to mind. Emotionally, he was a total blank.

Think lad… there must be something, encouraged Spryer. He looked deep into his eyes, searching for some little hint, a passing thought, something that would help spark his memory.

He began to rub his thumb across the cleft of his chin, then back again to his forehead. Pictures, images, and scenes of recent developments flew past, but they went by so fast, he hardly had time to focus. In a flash, as quickly as they had appeared, the chain of events came to a halt and faded.

I do remember one thing, he said quite absently, seeming distracted by the occurrence. Yes, it’s starting to come back to me. There were two men… they must have been lying in wait. They threw a bag over my head and I was struck hard in the back of the skull with a blunt object and dragged-off somewhere.

They must have hauled me for some distance from the woodlands, because when I awoke I was beat-up and bruised, lying on a cold stone floor. They musta tied me up after I arrived. When I awoke, the bag was gone and I was left to recover in a large, darkened room within an eerie castle.

I guess they thought I was still unconscious, cuz they didn’t think I could hear them talking to a Wizard. They were seriously discussing what to do about a boy they had kidnapped from the river, killing the others that were with him. They were looking for a satchel with some kinda religious paperwork.

A Wizard? Hmm-m… and just what makes you think it was a Wizard?

Because he’s the one who changed me… he called-up unclean spirits, he cast an evil spell on me, made me into that raving lunatic you just saw! His cronies called him the Kal… ah, um the…the, the Kalamo-nator… or something like that. What else could he be? He musta been a Wizard… maybe even an evil demon.

Kalamon! Exclaimed Spryer. Only Kalamon would dare consort with evil in such a manner. But why? I mean why you?

Don’t know. Just a random pick I guess… their plot required a small group of thieves, a gang of unruly bandits searching for money, jewels and treasure. The plan was to swipe the money and gems as a cover, looking as though the theft of some sort of satchel was an incidental grab… a by-product of the robbery.

After the heist, I think they planned to kill me and leave my body somewhere near the crime-scene. I would be left behind as a part of a well thought-out deception… I’d be the proof, the evidence, something to show that a real robbery had actually occurred but had gone bad.

Depending on how things went, they would dump me on the road or in a nearby gully with pockets full of jewels and money, making it look like I was killed during the theft… just depending on how everything played out.

It was a toss-up on what they would do… kinda six of one, half-dozen of the other type of thing. The money was not important, just the satchel containing some kind of holy documents.

No one would link the theft to the real culprit, an evil Wizard. It would be untraceable. No loose ends leading back to the Wizard you called… the Kalamon.

Who would guess where the sacred documents really went? No one would really know. Not a trace would be left of what actually had happened. No one would have a clue to who actually had possession of the satchel… if there ever really was a satchel.

But there was a problem…when we attacked the wagon, we never expected to bump into another Wizard along with one of them sparkin’ pearls. It really messed-up our plans.

Ah… Well yes… I can see where that might be a problem, chuckled Spryer. Unquestionably an awkward situation, no doubt about it. Spryer already knew the outcome; no further explanation was needed.

All that being said, are there any other recollections, maybe some insightful passing thought that comes to mind… something else you might care to add?

No, not really. Well maybe now that I think about it. Let me see… um… okay, yeah… there was this lightning flash of a wizard’s staff, a girl that turned into a Troll and a small dog that changed into a ferocious white bear, but the dog thing happened after I joined the army. Then again, I’m not sure if all that really happened. It was more like a dream.

Obviously, a product of an over-active imagination, I’m sure, said the old monk. That often happens to me after consumin’ too much holy water… hee, hee, Spryer chortled.

Seriously though, something I think you should know… the old monk went on to stress a point. "That smokey mist that left your body… it was the mist of evil. You’ve been spiritually cleansed by the hand of the Lord. Purged of a demon spirit set in place by Kalamon.

It’s now plain to see, you’ve been directed here by the Creator Himself for a greater purpose."

The newly redeemed guest bowed his head tearfully and smiled. He was sincerely thankful to have been released from the evil bondage set in place by Kalamon, and ready to serve; ready to do whatever the Lord might ask of him. He would be eternally grateful.

Let’s see now… you’re gonna need a name before you start your training. Since this whole thing seemed to revolve around a satchel full of holy documents… why don’t we call you Satchel? Satch for short… maybe Satchmo? Nah-h-h, too formal. I like Satch.

The newly redeemed guest winced and made an awkward face at the thought; but for now, he needed a name. He reluctantly agreed. Hopefully, the old monk will wake-up tomorrow with a different tag-name, something better than… than Satchmo? he thought.

Hmm, well, okay… Satch it is, at least for now, he said, thinking it did somehow seem vaguely familiar.

Great! said Spryer. Now we can both get some sleep. You’re gonna need it when you start your studies tomorrow. Master Chee likes his new students wide awake and attentive."

KNOCK… KNOCK, KNOCK! Came a loud rapping at the front gate of the Monastery.

Excuse me my son… said Spryer quite reverently, looks like more company. Make yourself comfortable and we’ll talk early tomorrow. He turned his attention back toward the banging rumble of the door at the monastery gateway and hobbled-off hastily in that direction.

Alright…Alright, I’m comin’… Hold yer horses, I’m comin’, mumbled the old monk, shuffling back across the courtyard toward the front entrance, his lantern swinging and swaying from side-to-side with each hurried step.

The knocking continued. I said I’m comin’… Lord bless ya… I’m just about there.

Guess I’m gonna have to put-up a sign posting our business hours or somethin’… darn sales guys. Probably can’t read anyway… he continued to mutter, what else can happen. First an unscheduled exorcism, and now most likely a Sumerian cuneiform text translator with his book of numbers and box of clay tablets and cylinders. Don’t these guys ever sleep?

Spryer pulled-open the Monastery gate, robe loosely dragging and lantern still swaying from side-to-side. In the casting light, a soft glow of elongated shadows played along the walkway and through the evening air as he stood squinting to get a better look at his new visitor.

There stood K’Leander’s courier, motionless and erect, standing tall without a blink of an eye or hint of expression. Eyes focused stoically forward, his battle-hardened Elfin features were distinctly outlined by the glowing light.

You Spryer? the Elfin warrior asked.

The Monk nodded. Why yes… I am.

Without further hesitation, the Elfin courier nodded briefly in return and handed Spryer a sealed envelope containing an urgent message; then turned, mounted his horse and left, galloping Northward into the night without a word of explanation.

Ah yeah… not a real talker, that one… Spryer mumbled to himself. Well now, let’s see what we got here. He held the stamped packet closer to the dim candlelight for a better look, flipping it from side-to-side.

Humph… interesting, he noted. Hope it’s not more junk-mail… looks almost like Roluk handwriting. By golly it is… so it must be important.

The old Monk broke the seal, opened the envelope and read the message.

Well I’ll be darn… looks like I’ll be needing some extra help from our new arrival.

Chapter Two

Upon dispatching a courier to alert Tamacha of his plans, General Patoon started moving men and equipment along the channel wall Southwest of Binks Salvage Yard. This tactical alignment of troops was by request of the Queen. In addition, she had made him take a solemn oath not to blow-up everything on-the-way, which according to the General, was considerably more than just a strong suggestion.

Meanwhile, Colonel Sparky Sparkovitch would be in hot pursuit of Klaa-Zarr, hoping he would lead them to other Muzoule infestations hidden throughout the Hill Country. Once found, he would engage the enemy, pushing them West toward Tamacha’s search and destroy forces, who would happily entertain them upon their arrival.

The Muzz, disorganized as they were, would be caught between two superior and well-trained battle-hardened forces. A very bad situation, especially if you happen to be a Muzz.

However, the General had cautioned Sparky before he left that he felt he was being baited by Klaa-Zarr. The failed Muzz leader wanted us to follow him deep into the more mountainous regions of the Western hills, but the real bulk of the Muzoule forces may still lay hidden, entrenched deep within the rolling hills to the South and East.

This would give the Muzoule three strategic alternatives. One, attack Sparky’s militia from the rear while he was giving chase. Two, split forces, still attacking Sparky’s rear flank but with a much smaller force, sending the bulk of their military legions North in preparation for an eminent attack on the Keep. And last but not least, the third-option. Forget about Sparky and move all Southern Muzoule Divisions North to immediately lay siege upon the Southern-most wall of the city-fortress.

It was Klaa-Zarr’s version of a Plan-B.

Plan-B was a preconceived notion set in place just in case his original preempted Blood-Moon attack failed, which it did. It had failed miserably. All he had to show for his efforts in command were a burned-out kill-zone and a total loss of his army, leaving him with only lies, trickery and deceit. Pretty much par for the course for Klaa-Zarr and his petulant son in training.

The Muzoule leader knew that moving heavy equipment through that rough terrain would be cumbersome at best, certainly no easy chore and would certainly slow-down Patoon’s ability to effectively wage war. In fact, he was counting on the Third Army being under-supplied and under weaponized due to the long stretch of irregular and convoluted pathways required to give chase. Of course he hadn’t taken into account Paddy’s new TSL launchers, which were extremely mobile and the fact that Tamacha would be waiting for them at the other end.

Klaa-Zarr was soon to find out that he had completely underestimated the General and the Allied Forces at large.

So Sparky, as you may well have guessed, while your troops are busy engaging enemy strongholds to the West, explained the General, the Muzz would begin moving their vast numbers of militia hidden in the Southern Hills Northward toward Briars Keep, thinking we had fallen for their deception. They would believe there would be little to no resistance.

That would be my thinkin’, replied Sparky.

Maybe we can feed their ego a little… let ‘em think we fell for it. Said Paddy.

Then I’ll be sure to make a big noise, blow-up a few things on-the-way and maybe even burn a few buildings to the ground here-and-there… just for fun and to make them think their plan is succeeding, he said, wringing his hands together and quickly motioning with a brow rapidly moving up-and-down in anticipation.

I knew you would, replied Paddy, Somehow, I just knew you would… hee, hee, he chuckled mildly.

The flood of Muzz troops and bio-weapons entering through the Channel Straits will soon be coming to a halt by direct order of the Queen. The General continued, So, Sparky… looks like we have our work cut out for us. But then, that’s our job, and we will certainly see to it that it gets done properly… that’s why we’re here.

Up until now, the Queen has been biding her time, further explained the Commander. She is adamant about nipping this thing in the bud… just waiting to ferret out the infiltrators, while trapping any spies and nailing all their suppliers.

With any luck at all, she’ll soon begin locking-up that evil cabal of Fed financiers and put an end to their so-called New World Order. It’s become an obsession with her, but you can hardly blame her…and at the top of the list of course, is the Binkus Crime Family.

According to what I’ve heard, the Fed’s beastly endeavors along with the Binkus family’s criminal activities are solely responsible for bankrolling this whole mess.

Obviously, said Sparky in whole-hearted agreement. No doubt about it.

As I see it, with the exception of the Slaverovs, it’s been the belief that all this is being done for some profane spiritual cause. That is to say, this unholy cabal hopes their actions will enable their new prophetical leader to take control, putting them in charge, while lining their pockets for their own political gain. But most of all, it’s their manifest goal to establish complete and utter population control.

For Binkus however, the General went on, it’s a completely different story. Like the Queen had said, it’s more demented and psychological. There are no driving spiritual implications at all… just crime, booze and money, while Big-Lu continues to increase her stash of probiotics. Leastwise, that’s the word on-the-street.

An interesting assessment, thought Sparky, listening to the General’s outlying thoughts on the subject.

It’s a well-known fact that General Patoon was no politician. In fact as a military officer, he’d much rather leave politics to the politicians. On a good day, they only seemed to get in the way of what he does best. The strategic destruction of an enemy force. Oh, and there’s that poetry thing too, but we try not to encourage him or talk about that.

Patoon gave the order for his men to dig-in not far from the water’s edge, being sure to camouflage all TSL positions as-well-as their presence in the area. Their objective is to target the shallow channel and canal shipping lanes outlined by the Queen based on Enos’ prior observations during their last meeting.

Overall, the Queen’s Man-of-War battle cruisers would prevent the Muzz transports from making a deep-water sea escape once they came under fire. The troop and munitions convoy would then become easy pickings for the land-based TSLs if it came to that.

The General found no fault with the Queen’s plan but decided privately to expand upon it and add his own little twist.

While part of his Army Group was already in place according to orders, the remaining bulk of his militia would turn North of the channel. He would attack and start pushing the larger ground-force of Muzoule hidden in the Southern Hills toward their Northern perimeter before the smaller factions had time to regroup and join forces.

The Army Group-C command post had already been moving and laying track to the South. They would be waiting for them with an added surprise cooked-up by the General. No doubt about it, Patoon had some really Big Balls and was anxious to try ‘em out. Just for fun.

* * * * *

Tamacha and the Roluk Hordes under his command had received General Patoon’s memo just before crossing the narrowest stretch of the Salt River slightly North of the walled city of Ladeaux. It was there that he and Subedei split ranks.

Tamacha would lead his columns through the many numerous mountain passes to the South, then circle back North while maintaining a steady Eastward trek.

Subedei on the other hand, was to continue moving in an Easterly direction through the rolling moors, down along the salt-marsh, then up along the foothills leading to the woodlands.

The Roluk leader knew these were strong suspect-zones and possible Muzoule hot-spots of prime interest. They were the closest areas to the most recent Muzz drop-off points offering both cover and refuge for their militia as they moved from location-to-location.

After making landfall, The Muzoule would easily sneak their reserves from the River Basin through the bogs and marshes to the South, then through the mountain passes to the foothills leading to the forest.

However due to the irregular variations in terrain, siege equipment had to be moved about disassembled in pieces, later to be reassembled upon arrival at the designated site.

Along the way, enemy forces were able to establish numerous safe-houses and assorted weapons dumps and assembly locations, eventually moving men and materials to various supply depots and military outposts for later disbursement by-way-of the El’dwar neutral-zone.

Previously, before the Queen’s Man-of-War blockade, this had been one of the most crucial points-of-entry for the Muzoule ground forces. But now thanks to the Zarconian flotilla, the influx of war materials had slowed to a mere trickle; and though minimal, the Muzz still managed to maintain an effective quantity of hidden reserves waiting for deployment.

Just as I thought, said Tamacha. He was able to see signs of heavily traveled pathways through the various passages up and along the hilly slopes near the shore. They were divided and there were many.

Oliver, said Tamacha, your wounds appear to be healing. Are you able to ride ahead and scout-out the area?

Yes sir, gettin’ better by the day… just a little stiff with a slight limp, but no problem, I’ll be on horseback. I can do it. Besides, Красотa (Kra.Sah.Ta) will be keeping an eye on me… she’s worse than an old mother hen. He laughed and Tamacha smiled in reply. That’s what Roluk horses do… Красотa had a glint in her eye as if to say, Don’t worry… I’ll keep him in line, she nodded with a wink.

Tamacha signaled two other scouts to his side while speaking with Oliver. Batu, Zenjin and Oliver, you each were very close to Sochi, more than soldiers… you were friends. You can almost read each other’s thoughts.

It’s for that reason, amongst others, why I’m sending you three… you’re close and will have each other’s backs. I’m trusting each of you know what to look for, as you all have had the past experience needed to track-down and locate any hidden Muzoule stockpiles.

Oliver, you will be in charge. Oliver bowed and nodded in acceptance.

Also, I want you all to be aware, the Muzz in this area are disparate, their methods may be different as well. These are not the open plains or rolling hills that we’re used to dealing with… so take care and stay alert.

All three nodded that they understood and prepared to depart. Oliver was exceptionally eager to get moving. He wanted to even the score. Someone was going to pay and pay dearly for causing Sochi’s death, and he had a good idea who that someone might be.

As the three moved forward, they split-up a few miles from the campsite. The trail was becoming more mountainous. Batu took the high-ground, while Zenjin and Oliver rode on opposing sides of the valley.

Batu, slowly with stealth, cantered his steed along the top of the ridge, looking for possible ambush sites. He knew the Muzz were prone to hiding lookouts and small bands of attack units amongst the boulders and trees at higher elevations. This no doubt was a smart thing to do, as they would be in the position to provide advance warning to the larger Muzoule enemy elements, giving them a choice: ambush, directly engage or evacuate.

Zenjin and Oliver kept their eyes to the hillside and rocky crags that couldn’t be seen from above as they rode through the valley. Each made a mental note of possible ambush sites as they silently moved through the shallow gorge.

Zenjin suddenly whistled a bird-like call to gain Oliver’s attention.

Смотри, что я нашла! (Look what I found!) Said Zenjin, not totally surprised.

Oliver crossed-over to the Northern side of the valley and looked up in the direction Zenjin was pointing.

Trees? Oliver chided. I’ve got ‘em on my side too. Okay… so what else ya got?

Batu and Zenjin understood the verbal dialect of the Realm but didn’t speak it well. For Oliver on the other hand, the Roluk language had come effortlessly, though he seldom spoke it in mixed company. He was still unaware of his true lineage, nor had he met his mother Tachotan, a Roluk and the future Mrs. Spuddle.

Да. Но посмотрите поближе (Yeah. But look more closely), instructed Zenjin.

Alongside each tree and beneath the low-hanging brush were Muzz warriors with crossbows pointing in their direction. Both Roluk observers knew they were within range and immediately split ninety degrees parallel left and right.

The Muzz soldiers did not move and continued to hold their position.

Seeing their dilemma from a distance, Batu swiftly galloped down the slope in a zig-zagging path in order to avoid possible snares while looking side-to-side for signs of a trap. He had already pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it and was about to let loose one of many to follow.

Batu stopped just short of crossbow range, ready to pick-off any Muzz dumb enough to outwardly expose themselves. Zenjin and Oliver circled to the sides and ready to do the same; after a short probing of enemy positions, all three would join back together and start a retreat, hoping to draw the Muzz out into the open.

The trio fired an introductory flurry of barbs in their adversary’s direction, all scoring what appeared to be lethal hits.

Nothing moved, nothing happened, no one cried out. It looked as though the Muzz were frozen in place, like statues riddled with Roluk arrows; not even breathing.

The three came back together, still staying out of range, hoping to detect some sort of noise or movement that would give way to some indication of the Muzz strategy.

Humph… ничего не происходит (nothing’s happening), said Batu. Может быть, это трюк (Maybe it’s a trick).

"Да… Может быть, они не являются реальными (Yeah… Maybe they’re not real), Zenjin chimed-in, looking a bit puzzled.

Nah… they’re real alright and they’re Muzz. Looks like the dark furry ones to me. The Muzz aren’t that smart, said Oliver in reply. nothing’s moving. No one’s changed position. I think we’d better investigate. But be careful… just in case I’m wrong about Muzz stupidity. I’d hate to think I was outsmarted by one of ‘em… you guys would never let me live it down, and all three smiled with an added chuckle. They knew he was right.

Once again the trio split positions. Oliver slowly cantered his mount cautiously up the left side of the slightly higher elevation, keeping an eye out for trouble. Zenjin did the same, but to the right. Batu moved about near the center, hooping and howling, firing an occasional barb or two as a distraction in order to draw attention away from his comrades.

When Oliver reached the summit, he notice a well-worn line of deeply furrowed wagon tracks and evidence of skidded drag markings hidden slightly beneath an overgrowth of weeds and vines.

Looks like an old supply route, he thought. Hadn’t gotten much use lately by the looks of things. He moved further ahead.

Zenjin saw a similar pattern. He too moved cautiously forward toward the Muzz defense positions. Both focused on what lie ahead and what they saw was startling.

Oliver whistled for Batu to join them.

"Что это такое? (What is it?), asked Batu, just arriving on the scene.

Посмотрите на линию деревьев! (Look down there by the treeline), said Zenjin as Oliver pointed in that direction.

Lying in wait was a unit of Muzz soldiers hidden amongst the trees and shrubs, dead and peppered with newly fired Roluk arrows. Behind them was a wide-mouthed entrance to a large cavern, hidden from view by those very trees.

They’re all dead… but we didn’t kill them, said Oliver. Looks like they’ve been here for a while… maybe even years. But they looked pretty well preserved.

The three moved forward toward the line of decayed Muzz cadavers for closer examination, hoping to find out what had happened.

Don’t touch any of ‘em… there’s something very strange going on here, said Oliver. Batu… Zenjin. You best take-up positions near each side of the cave entrance and stand ready for action… keep your arrows nocked just in case. You might want to bring a couple of torches with you. If there are any Muzz hiding inside, we’ll have to burn ‘em out. I’m gonna check the remains our dead friends. With any luck, I’ll be able to find out what killed them.

All three dismounted and took-up their new positions.

Oliver grabbed a large broken tree-limb and began prodding the bodies. They were stiff, flat and somewhat lighter than usual. Truth be said, they each had the unusual appearance of a large shag throw-rug, which just happened to be equipped with a crossbow and trimmed out with an assortment other military accoutrements.

Wedging the crook of the branch beneath the closest body, Oliver turned it over face-up. The features appeared dry and leather-like, totally wrinkled and ashen colored. The eyes were completely rotted-out and only two dark cavities remained.

None of the usual flesh eating worms and flying insects were present, indicating to Oliver that the corpse had been there for quite some time. Just a few ants crawling around, that was it.

The decayed features near the mouth-nose area had receded and the leathery flesh had partially decomposed exposing the beast’s foul tainted teeth and parts of the skull. The rest of the brittle features began to break-down and fall away under the stressful motion of being turned to its new position.

The decayed Muzz had left behind its final gift to an evil cause, the putridly rancid stench of death as sections of the skull fell apart and disintegrated. Nothing was left to hold it together and it became a smelly pile of grainy dust.

Oliver… прийти быстро! (come quick) Exclaimed Batu. Вы не поверите в это. (You won’t believe it). He held his torch just inside the mouth of the cavern.

Wow! Looks like we hit the Jackpot! exclaimed Oliver. I’ve never seen so many clay bio-jars in all my life!

Batu and Zenjin glanced at each other with a blank empty stare while shrugging their shoulders. They didn’t understand.

"Um…Что такое горшок Джека? (What is Jack’s pot), Batu and Zenjin asked, both visualizing what Jack’s Pot might look like, at a loss for words.

Awh… never mind… laughed Oliver. Guess you’ve never won a poker-hand at the Pig’s Ear, but this is big… I mean Really Big!

Ahh xорошо… Хорошо! Джек имеет большой горшок (Okay! Jack has Big Pot), said Batu, nodding with a wide smile… hee, hee. Jack has a really big-Big pot, he further motioned with his hands and arms extended. Pot is very-very BIG… Хорошо! Now we get it.

Once again Batu and Zenjin looked at each other vaguely. Какое отношение к нему имеет свиное ухо? (What is pig’s ear to do with it), they weren’t getting that connection either, but it didn’t matter. Like Oliver, they both knew they had stumbled onto a major find.

Things are beginning to add-up… I think this was the main Muzz drop-off point for their Southern Command. Possibly the largest major weapons and military warehouse in the area, but now it’s been abandoned.

Them dead Muzz down there are all that was left of their battalion guard, not to mention them stacked-up bodies in the cave. Oliver explained, while further assessing the situation.

I’m guessin’ the blockade cut-off their main supply-line. Them old style Bio-Weapons were too hazardous to handle, move and store for any length of time. When they were finally able to move ‘em, the bio-mix had become so seriously deteriorated that it wasn’t worth the time or effort. So, they were abandoned.

These old-style Bio-Weapons were highly toxic; dangerous to handle in their time. That’s probably what killed all them Muzz guards. They became contaminated and died a slow painful death. Said Oliver.

Just being close to these things, even at a distance within a large storage site could prove infectious and extremely lethal. Obviously by the looks of things.

Zenjin and Batu once again looked at each other, this time in alarm. They seemed worried about bio-contamination and immediately began rubbing down with loose sand from the nearby trail adjacent to the cavern.

Don’t worry guys… you’re safe. Said Oliver, slightly amused. These things have a shelf-life. They appear to be very old and have long passed their expiration-date. As-long-as you don’t break any of the jars, you’re good. He laughed.

Then jokingly, he reached down and picked-up a clay covered rock, examining it as though it were one of the defunct bio-jars.

Let’s see here… adjusting his imaginary spectacles. "ah yes, it says right here on the label best if used by…. awh, come-on guys, get with the program," and all three laughed loudly.

In the midst of their laughter, Oliver by chance happened to glance down the trail and noticed another footpath leading East. Before he could call attention to it or even say a word, Zenjin interrupted his train of thought with a request.

Мы собираемся поджечь его? (Shall we torch it), asked Zenjin, nodding slightly toward the Cave.

Well-l-l, no. If we set it on fire, the whole thing will blow sky-high. Oliver explained. That would definitely tip-off any Muzz hiding nearby. They’d know for sure that the Roluks are on to them. We lose the element of surprise.

"Нехорошо (Not good), agreed Batu.

Exactly, replied Oliver. We better leave that decision to Tamacha. You and Zenjin ride back to camp and let Tamacha know what we found. I’m sure he’ll be very interested.

I’m going to follow that footpath up ahead to see where it leads. Be sure to tell Tamacha not to worry… I’m just curious… following-up on a lead. I’ll catch-up later.

All three mounted-up. Zenjin and Batu galloped-off to the West and Oliver followed the foot-path leading East.

Okay girl, Oliver said to Красотa, patting her neck, I’m gonna have to cut you loose to graze for a while. This path is gettin’ way too narrow to ride and very rocky. I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. He continued smoothing his hand along her neck. He whispered in her ear.

Don’t worry… I’ll be back.

Oliver dismounted, removed her bridle and thin light-weight saddle and let her run.

You be good now… I’ll be back in a day or two… maybe three.

She reared back and whinnied in acknowledgement and continued to romp and play in the meadow below. Oliver picked-up his bag, an additional quiver of arrows, his bow and he continued along the narrow track.

As he set his course Eastward, he noticed an occasional piece of discarded junk, a few bones and the decaying carcass of a recently half-eaten animal.

This route, narrow as it may be, has been definitely well traveled, He thought, and from the looks of it, a Muzz brigade or possibly a group of Big-Reds were the ones using it.

Just as he might have imagined, this trail of physical evidence seemed to lend credence to what he had already suspected. It had to be the same group of Muzz that had recently lured and attacked Tamacha’s warriors.

Their phony siege had been a means for testing their newly developed Bio-Weapons; when the test was complete, the leaders used this path as an escape route, leaving behind their comrades to suffer the imminent slaughter by the Roluk Hordes.

In Oliver’s mind, these were the very same crafty individuals responsible for the death of his friend Sochi. He was not about to let them go unpunished.

The path began to widen, leading to what seemed to be another large cave hidden from view near a cleft in the hills directly in front of him.

He stopped and looked above and to each side of the entrance. There was nothing but ivy, dangling roots and yellowed weeds. He also noticed a few piles of gravel and some small broken rocks as he moved closer, staying to one side of the open mouth to lessen his chances of being exposed. Now he was able to see things more clearly.

This is not another cave… it’s a tunnel, he realized. From where he stood, he could now see the light of day at the far end. Still he entered slowly keeping alert, his eyes peeled, watchful for either a trap or an attacking rear guard.

The tunnel was empty. Just a few rats and a couple of flattened snakes. He continued moving forward, walking toward the light at the other end and made his exit back onto the widened path that lay ahead.

Got ‘em! Snickered the drooling Muzz to the others under his charge.

All four of the foul beast started to pull the leader-rope attached to the four corners of the large heavy net they had tossed down from the hill-top above the exit.

Looks like we got us a Roluk, he said, watching Oliver struggle to free himself.

Grab his weapons and bag him, said the leader, and the Muzz crew pulled a dark-brown burlap sack over Oliver’s head. We’ll bring him back to camp for questioning. Maybe he’d like to stay for supper too.

Forget it, replied one of the others. Roluks taste terrible… stringy meat. Not corn-fed, so not much fat, not much flavor either. They get too much exercise, he snarled. … taste even worse than shoe-leather.

Awh… it’s just a matter of taste, said one of the others as he tightened the lines. Besides, when did you start getting so fancy? I like a good chew of shoe leather… it’s good for snackin’ on the road.

Two of the other Muzz on the ground whole heartedly agreed as they fastened and tied-off the ends of the heavy netting and started dragging him Eastward as the rest followed.

Oliver didn’t panic; and in fact, if they didn’t kill him first, they would be playing right into his hands.

Look what we found, said the lead Muzz marauder, making a showy entrance into the campgrounds with a boisterous voice for all to hear.

The red Muzoule, the one called Klaa-Azar, sat upon his throne and snickered loudly. Never know what kind of vermin you’re gonna find roaming the hills these days… and a Roluk at that, he went on in a less than flattering tone. Not very tasty, but at least we can pump him for information and kill him later, he snarled.

Just then, the loud galloping sound of horse’s hooves shot through the encampment.

Klaa-Zarr’s on his way! Shouted an inbound Muzz forward observer. He had just entered the compound and seemed extremely alarmed. …and he’s being chased by a band of pyromaniacs, burning down everything in their path!

Good. Then the Roluk can be his problem. Let him figure out what to do with him.

But aren’t you afraid he’ll lead this maniacal arsonist here, right to our front door?

Hmm… Good Point, replied Klaa-Azar. Does he have a large army with him?

Don’t know… nobody can see through all the smoke!

Overhearing the verbal exchange, Oliver smiled to himself, Looks like Sparky is on the warpath. He laughed quietly to himself. This is gonna be fun.

No, you dope! Has Klaa-Zarr gathered an army, he replied angerly, wiping his mouth as he continued munching on the charcoaled leg of an ill-fated beast.

Oh… yeah, sorry master. Klaa-Zarr has managed to gather a small army, assembling forces from every hidden camp and valley he passed-by on his way, answering the question to the satisfaction of his superior.

Klaa-Azar was an overbearing, overweight, low-level Red Muzoule officer who had an extreme affinity for self-indulgence and positions of authority. Especially if he were the one holding that authority and doing the self-indulging.

He had recently been put in temporary command of the previously abandoned Muzz outpost Southeast of the walled city of Ladeaux. Truth be known, no one really wanted the assignment. It was more-or-less an appointment of last resort, but it was a first step up the ladder for ‘ol flabby.

Klaa-Azar had high ambitions. He hoped one day of becoming the shortest fat, greasy high-ranking official in the Muzoule Southern Command. He’d then be in control. An entourage of servants would cater to his every whim while he sat on his fat butt chowing-down on lambchops. All he required in return was to be kept out of harm’s way, letting others do his dirty work while he continued to get fatter from the toil of his kinsmen.

That was his dream, his hope for the future. But needless to say, he wasn’t the bravest of Muzoule warriors. For that reason, he wanted no part of Klaa-Zarr, and certainly no part of the dangers of war he might bring with him. Above all, he did not want any part of a ranking general who might try usurping his newly assumed authority.

To be safe, he said in defense of his future ambitions, take a small detachment of troops and bring the Roluk to Klaa-Zarr. That way he’ll know we’ve got everything under control out here in the boonies. He may even have a few questions for him and it gets ‘em both outta my hair.

As requested, the Muzz patrol gathered the Roluk with all his belongings and tied him sideways and face-down over the backside of a Muzoule courser.

Dump ‘em near Klaa-Zarr’s camp perimeter and get back here immediately, ordered Klaa-Azar. Talk to no one. Let Klaa-Zarr figure out what to do with him. As-far-as he’s concerned, the Roluk tied himself up and rode into camp because he had nothin’ better to do.

Sounds like a stroke of genius, oh lofty-one, replied the patrol leader. Want us to pick-up some lambchops while we’re there.

I said, TALK To No One! You dope!

Oh yeah… Right. Sorry, I forgot myself for a moment. Said the patrol leader in response. Just lookin’ after your best interests… please forgive me.

You’re forgiven! Don’t let it happen again. Then he paused. Hmm… Lambchops you say… mmm-umm, sounds good. Okay, you can ask. But after that, no talking. Now get outta here and be done with it!

The patrol leader and two others began their trek Eastward toward the last known encampment of Klaa-Zarr with Oliver riding face-down in tow.

After a day’s ride, the encampment began to faintly appear on the horizon. The sun had already begun to set as they approached the perimeter and one of the patrolling guards advanced toward them.

State your business Muzz… from where do you hail? Questioned the guard.

Klaa-Doe started making all sorts of weird hand and finger motions tempered with an assortment of very unusual facial expressions.

The guard watched, puzzled and not knowing what to think. Either this guy is completely nuts or he’s one of them Muzz Mutant-Mutes I’ve been hearin’ about.

You one of them there Mutes? Snarled the guard, thinking mute or no mute, he didn’t trust him.

No, not exactly. I am under strict orders not to talk; so don’t push it… as-far-as you’re concerned, this conversation never happened. For that reason, I’ll keep it short, sweet and to the point, and he quit with the hand motions.

We found this here Roluk wanderin’ through the hillside area. At least that’s what the Boss said to tell you. Said he tied himself up and decided to drop by your campsite for supper… just for the fun-of-it. I guess he had nothing better to do, explained Klaa-Doe.

Who had nothin’ better to do… the Boss or the Roluk? asked the guard.

"Good question…