The Champion

Several days after leaving the river they spent the night in a comfortable inn outside the small, but prosperous village of Kirz. They left the village early that morning and took to the road. As the sun rose, warming the thin atmosphere, Throad began to shed his clothes until he was stripped down to his threadbare loincloth. They talked for a while; but eventually Gamma dozed in her chair beneath the awning and the monotonous gate of the piks and the rhythmic sway of the wagon made the boy dozed off in the driver’s seat. The animals plodded on unguided. Their slow steady pace was unbroken. They traveled in this manner for most of the morning. It was near mid-day when Cullul sensed a change in the gate of the piks and came fully awake. He opened his eyes to find them climbing a short grade. Stands of torcha bushes flanked the road on either side fighting for space and nourishment with the ever-present huk. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reigns to spur the animals on, and as they climbed he called to them softly. “Ho Ilza, hey Utta—Climb the hill! Climb piks…haw-haw!”

Suddenly four men stepped out of concealment in the huk grass, two on either side of the road. Two of the four grabbed the piks harness and the other two brandished weapons. “We don’t want any trouble with you boy,” growled one.

In fact Cullul was too shocked to act.

Gamma spoke from her seat in the wagon before he could respond. “What is it you want?”

“Certainly not your virtue old woman,” laughed the man who spoke. “We want your valuables. Give them to us without a fuss and we’ll let you keep the wagon.”

Cullul was surprised to hear Gamma’s cackling laugh. “You call yourself robbers? You have picked a poor target—an old blind woman and a boy—you should be ashamed. The bandits of my day would never stoop so low.”

“Shut-up old woman!” growled the leader. “Throw down that chest boy.”

“No,” said Gamma firmly. “Our money we will give you, but not the chest.”

The leader—at least the thug Cullul perceived to be the leader for he was the one who did the talking—stepped forward brandishing his sword. “Don’t give us any trouble, old crone or I’ll stick the boy, take the wagon, and leave you to the ossos and cannibal lizards. Now throw down the chest boy!”

Cullul felt anger rising in him like a beast. He had never known such rage. How dare this bandit taunt Gamma? His vision turned into a red haze. Blood pounded in his ears. Even though he was weaponless he launched himself fearlessly from the wagon’s driver’s seat full upon the unsuspecting brigand leader.

So swift and unexpected was the attack that the bandit never had a chance to use his sword. Though he was a big man, physically powerful and fit, he suddenly found himself fighting for his life against the ugly boy who proved to be incredibly strong. To his horror he felt the boys teeth fasten on his shoulder close to his throat. A savage animal growl that made the bandit’s hair stand on end issued from deep inside the boy’s throat. The robber who was at heart a coward knew mortal fear unlike any he had known in his life. He cried to his fellow robbers for help. The other thugs came hesitantly to his aide. One used a club made from a piece of wala wood. He brought it down hard across Cullul’s shoulders. The boy released his grip on the first bandit and turned on his new attacker smashing him across the face with a backhanded blow that sent him reeling. Another bandit, braver than his fellows, threw himself on to Cullul’s back and wound his arm across his throat choking off his breath as the other bandits closed and grabbed hold of his limbs. Though the uneven battle could only have one conclusion the boy’s amazing strength continued to surprise the bandits. But slowly as the breath was choked out of him the three men holding him took control.

By now the leader was on his feet cursing and trying to staunch the flow of blood from his wounded shoulder. Angrily he picked up his sword. “Son of mismatched water-blats!" he screamed in rage. "I’ll kill you for this!”

“No!” cried Gamma from the wagon. “You fool! The boy must live!”

“Shut your yap hag!” The bandit wheeled and raising his sword to strike. “Say good-bye boy!”

One of the first weapons ever used on Aloja was thought to be the mola. Early molas consisted of two rocks fastened together with a length of grass rope or rawhide. Later versions consisted of two molded metal spheres attached with a length of chain. In the hands of an expert the primitive throwing weapon could be quite deadly. It could be hurled in two manners. One way was meant to entangle prey; the other was to strike a blow with either metal sphere that often resulted in death. The mola that struck the bandit leader was meant to kill. Fortunately for him the man who threw it miscalculated the distance to his target and the mola dropped in flight enough so it missed his head. It struck him instead full in the chest with enough force to break several ribs and knock him completely off his feet.

The thieves holding Cullul turned to look in the direction from which the mola came. “Altho’s spawn!” One cried.

There on top of the hillock in the center of the road sat a rider atop his dun colored beast. At a glance the brigands could see he was a warrior for his weapons festooned his mounts saddle. It was also evident from his dress—for he wore a fur kilt and his mount was draped with a white Baroda skin mantle—that he was a warrior from the northern tribe of Ar, the most feared and respected of all Alojan warrior caste. As the terrified brigands watched the warrior drew a long-handled war-axe from a scabbard on his mount’s saddle and with a howl thundered down the hill toward them.

Piks, the six-legged dun colored animals with short flat snouts, large floppy ears and short stubby tails are the main beast of burden on Aloja. They are versatile animals. They have been bred in two varieties; the large lumbering draft animals that can pull loads of great weigh with a tireless stride and the smaller more nimble piks bred for riding. As mounts piks are often difficult to control, but once they settle in with one master they become trusted and reliable steeds capable of great loyalty. They are able to traverse long distances without rest and attain astounding speed at the charge.

The piks ridden by the newcomer arrived in the midst of bandits in less time then it takes to talk about it. Cullul, gasping for breath next to the fallen brigand leader watched as the rider struck deftly right and left with his war-axe. The head of one of the bandits seemed to leap from his shoulders followed by a fountain of blood. Another screamed as his arm was nearly severed at the shoulder by a backhanded blow. The last of the would-be assailants dove for cover and disappeared into the tall grass beside the road, followed by his fellow with the gaping shoulder wound, and the bandit leader who had recovered enough to crawl under the wagon and slink away into the tall huk.

Only when he was sure there was no longer a threat did the warrior turn his attention to Gamma and the boy. “Are the both of you all right?” he asked.

“We are fine, thanks to you,” said Cullul.

The warrior was a handsome man with green eyes, something not uncommon amongst the hunters of Ar. They twinkled merrily as he looked at Cullul. “You did rather well for yourself,” he said. “Remind me if we argue to stay well clear of your teeth my young friend.”

“My great grandson is a bit impetuous I fear,” said Gamma from her seat on the wagon. “Attacking four armed men with nothing but his teeth was less than wise.”

“The wise don’t always win the day honored grandmother.”

Gamma cackled in response. “To whom do we owe our lives?”

“My name is Bren honored lady.”

“Ah yes,” said Gamma softly. “You are Bren of Ar, grandson of King Valtar.”

The warrior looked astonished. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“Because it is fitting one such as you should join us on our journey.”

Bren looked confused. “What journey, Madam?”

Cullul smiled. “Don’t worry; she’s always talks like that. You’ll get used to it.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 4