God Within Us

After near five hours of riding beneath the grasping branches of the forest, Yesugei saw neither hide nor hair of any charcoal-burners along the trail that bore their name - or indeed, traces of any souls at all. The falcon he had not spotted in the distance since the morning’s rise, yet somehow he was certain it still followed him - watching from above the verdant canopy with keen eyes. He kept his holstered bow close at hand as he rode, his eyes on constant watch around and above.

The trail that ran along the bank of the stream rose and fell as it cut through grassy knolls and eventually it began to widen, fed by a dozen smaller creeks that turned the muddy water choppy and violent. By the time it began to grow late in the day, the branches began a rustling crescendo that rose and fell with the blowing winds. Then, rain began to fall - lightly at first, but incessant, and growing stronger by the minute as the clouds above darkened ever more with a storm.

As he made his crossing over a bridge grown with moss, Yesugei spotted a pile of tumbled stones and wooden spikes that could only have been the ruins of a fortified wall, now claimed by the earth. He dismounted and ascended up a low ridge with the mare’s reins in hand, and saw that part of the fort that once stood watch over the bridge was still intact. The main keep - a stout, two-storey tower made of stacked logs - was overgrown with vines and lichens which hung from the tower’s windows like unfurled banners, but the rest of the keep was a ruin. Only a handful of rotting wooden walls nearly hidden amidst high grasses and bushes hinted at there once having been more than the lonesome tower standing guard, but no longer.

Yesugei drew the mare closer through the rubble of the tower’s outlying yard, and tied her off to a tree that had sprouted from the inside of a ruined storehouse. Then, bow and dagger at the ready, he crept towards the tower, halting by the door and listening for any sound, beast or man. When nothing sounded over the drizzle of the rain, he pried the door open and saw that the interior of the tower was shockingly dry and well-maintained - homely, even. The outside of the tower seemed to have been claimed an age ago, but the firepit in the center of the room still bore a handful of embers giving their dying glow, left untended for no longer than a few days. The tower’s upper floor - reachable only by a climbing pole which he scaled with ease - seemed much the same with a few bits of straw that suggested a mattress, and a crate bearing circular wine-stains.

Still, the door to the tower could be barred, and the roof was sound. Yesugei unloaded his horse as the rain outsider grew ever stronger, and knelt to blow new life into the embers when he heard a nicker come from outside that was not his mare’s.

The ambush came quickly, but he was ready. By the time a shadow was cast along the gap between the door and the floor, Yesugei had drawn back his bow and loosed a shot as the door slammed open. The feathered shaft found its mark in the soft belly of a man wielding a war-axe, and he fell back from the doorway with a high-pitched cry, landing in the mud where he writhed in agony.

Beyond the threshold Yesugei saw other shapes stirring, but he did not let them gather their wits long - he nocked another arrow and stepped out into the pouring rain, where he saw there remained only two men, armored druzhinniks both, bearing the slashed griffon emblem of Gatchisk. The one wielding a two-handed saber he scarcely recognized, but the other who bore a long-hafted axe he knew well for the symbol that hung on a necklace over his armored breast - the symbol of Perun, Lord of Lightning.

From behind his helm, Troyan the Faithful’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. But then he laughed, and his voice spilled from behind the maille-curtain cold and cruel. “You again, Khormchak? The gods smile upon us today to give me this gift.”

“Draw any closer, and I’ll give you a gift myself,” Yesugei replied, swaying his aim between the two druzhinniks. “Do you still hunger for Khormchak arrows? Baskord or Qarakesek, both have keen eyes and aim. Come, let me show you.”

Neither of the men bore shields, but their armor was stout, perhaps enough to turn away a single arrow and let them close in to chop him to pieces with saber or axe. It was a risk neither man was willing to take, though they did not let their fears show.

“The little man means to scare us off, I think,” laughed the druzhinnik with the two-handed sword. He moved to the right while Troyan moved left, drifting in a slow half-circle like two wolves, but neither brave enough to rush in just yet. If there were more of them, they would have been bolder, Yesugei thought.

“You are only three,” he called over the rush of the pouring rain. His eyes drifted to the man lying at his feet, and he saw the footman was already cold and lifeless, his hands still grasped around the deadly shaft stuck in his belly. “Two. What became of the rest of your company? Or did you turn coat again and flee your lord to become bandits roaming the hills?”

Troyan spat back a reply as he continued to drift to the side. “Not everyone’s as dishonorable as you Khormchak scum, to break and run when things go sour. We chased off the horselords after some battle, and that’s when we went our separate ways. To Gatchisk, Stribor took the bulk of the men to join the siege there, but he sent us sniffing all up and down the roads to track down the princess bitch. She couldn’t have gone far, such as she was.”

“Yet you are here, and she remains in the wind,” Yesugei sneered. “You make for poor men, and even poorer dogs.”

“Perhaps,” hissed the other druzhinnik. “But it’s your throat these dogs’ll tear out sooner than later.”

The druzhinnik’s voice came nearly over Yesugei’s shoulder, and he realized just how Troyan’s voice had lulled him. The two warriors were nearly on either side of him, and they were growing bold. He tried to step and swivel around to keep both of them in his vision, but the warriors matched his turn.

“Drop that bow before I stick it up your arse,” Troyan barked. “Maybe then I’ll give you a quick end. Otherwise I’ll bleed you slowly, and wring out every drop I can before I give you to the gods. What say you, horselord?”

“No.” Then he quickly turned on the spot, and loosed his arrow at the warrior with the sword.

The man had tried to creep up on him from behind, and did not expect Yesugei to turn - neither did he expect the arrow, which whistled keenly before it buried itself in the swordsman’s armpit, where iron plates did not reach. As the swordsman flailed in wild agony, Yesugei heard Troyan rushing him from behind, and he drew his free hand for the hunting knife tucked into his belt.

Before he could throw the knife at the druzhinnik however, he heard a high, inhuman screech pierce through the din of the rain, followed by a dark blur which shot from the trees and fell upon Troyan. With a great woosh, a Khormchak hunting falcon struck the druzhinnik head-on, its sharp talons raking across the eyeslits of the warrior’s helm as it beat about his head with its wings. Troyan roared like a wounded bear as he stumbled off with a mailled hand over his eyes - and through his armored fingers dripped blood.

The swordsman before Yesugei groaned as he tried to bring his saber to bear, but in an instant Yesugei rushed forward, dropping his bow and scooping up the fallen waraxe from the mud. The saber flashed silver in a wild cut, but Yesugei struck the blow aside, and then with a scream buried the crescent blade of the axe into the swordsman’s exposed neck. There came a terrible crunch of steel shearing through flesh and bone, and then the druzhinnik fell with a gurgle, his corpse giving a shlick as it slid free from the axe blade.

The falcon gave a squawk as Troyan’s swinging fist clipped the harrying bird on the wing, but just as the warrior struggled to his feet, Yesugei fell upon him. His heart surged with a strength like he had never known before, as with one blow he shattered the warrior’s hand which gripped the longaxe, and with a second buried his waraxe into Troyan’s stomach. There was a great spray of split maille rings, and then blood, running red and hot over the axe blade and Yesugei’s hands as Troyan groaned. The warrior tried to reach for the dagger in his belt, but surrendered with a bloody cough as Yesugei ripped the axe free and kicked the druzhinnik to the ground.

“Gods…gods…gods give me mercy,” Troyan the Faithful gurgled. The rain pattered down upon his iron helmet, and with one blue eye the warrior fixed him with a baleful stare as he lay dying. “Go on. Finish it. Send me to Perun’s halls, you wretched heathen.”

Yesugei obliged him.

As he staggered to his feet and cast a look about the blood-soaked ruins, he spied the falcon flapping awkwardly up to a tree some distance away. A perching arm detached from the shadows of the tree, followed by a lithe figure which slipped from a thick branch and landed as quiet as a leaf upon the forest grounds.

Yesugei hefted the waraxe to his shoulder with a grin. “What, you could not have let me out of your sight for even a day? I knew your faith was little…but it still hurts.”

Tuyaara glowered at him from behind her leather veil. “You were easy to track, and I daresay in need. You should be kissing my boots for the aid I’ve rendered you - my companion is injured, and on your account.”

“I’ll do whatever it is you ask, but only once we are out of this rain.” Together, they dragged the dead warriors out from the ruined keep, and by the time the nomad and the shaman took counsel by warming fire, the pounding rain had turned into a storm. As the great winds blew through the woods, Yesugei thought he heard the sound of wolves howling in the looming darkness.