Eyes closed. An eternity for every breath. An old saying from the shaman's scriptures entered Yorg’s mind while he inhaled and then exhaled deeply. At the moment that he had completely voided his lungs of air, he looked inwards. His body felt calm, but the words echoed through his restless mind: ‘For every life a warrior takes in battle, he is in depth to Merg, the fallen God of War.’

Yorg could feel that the faceless spirit of his father was nearby. He seemed to be with him always, looking over his shoulder and feeling what he felt. Sometimes his presence was so strong that, regardless of his beliefs, Yorg couldn't help but imagine a world very different from the one he knew, where the dead stayed on earth to watch over their loved ones. Sometimes he seemed to be able to hear them, like distant whisperings in the mist.

Yorg was startled by the sudden gust of wind and billowing of the soft hide walls of his dwelling. Veriyan, the horsekeeper of the Deer Tribe, stood in the entrance, and gave him a moment to regain awareness of his surroundings. The sudden awakening from a meditative state, especially in those from divine heritage who had a great aptitude for the Ability, could drive a man mad.

'Yorg,' he said. A dark strand of hair fell past his face, making his blushing cheeks stand out against his otherwise pale countenance. ‘A group of our warriors patrolling the southern grasslands have captured one of king Verseyus’ scouts from Irulyar.'

Yorg got up and attached his sword scabbard to his belt. He followed Veriyan outside while he put on a thick cloak, and together they walked through the tribe’s nomadic village. Two months ago, the Deer Tribe had settled in a shallow valley north of the Red Lake that stretched out for several miles and protected twelve hundred men, women and children from the biting winter winds racing across the grasslands. There they would stay for the season.

Commotion had arisen in the village, and many of the villagers had come out of their dwellings to see what was going on. When Yorg and Veriyan reached the ceremonial fire pit in the middle of the village, the crowd broke up to let them through. There, the scout sat on his knees between two warriors, his head turned to the ground. The warriors, clad in leather cuirasses, bowed to Yorg.

Although the ceremony to swear in his succession as commander had yet to take place, the warriors already treated him with the respect his future position would require. Yet, he had yet to prove himself to the fallen God of War, by undergoing the rite of passage.

‘Get him up,’ Yorg commanded.

The two warriors grabbed the scout by his shoulders and lifted him on his feet. The skin under the man’s eye looked sore and a superficial cut ran from his ear to the corner of his mouth. He kept his eyes averted.

‘Look at me,’ Yorg said. When the scout did not respond, he grabbed the man’s jaw with both hands and forced his head up. ‘What are you doing here?’ Yorg moved his face close to that of the scout. ‘Look at me, now. Why did Verseyus send you?’

The scout finally looked Yorg in the eyes. For a brief moment, he smiled. Almost relieved. Then his expression turned cold. ‘You’re gonna have to be a lot more persuasive, before I tell you,’ he hissed.

Yorg quickly pulled his right arm back and punched the scout hard in the stomach. As the man heaved over gasping for air, Yorg firmly grabbed his hair with his left hand and held his head down. With his right hand, reversed grip, he pulled his sword halfway out and pressed the blade of the weapon against the scout’s throat. ‘How about this?’ he said softly.

The scout mumbled something while trying to catch his breath.

‘Speak up,’ Yorg commanded.

‘King Verseyus…’ the man said, panting. ‘He will attack your encampment along the trade route to Kalur.’

‘When?’ Yorg asked.

The scout took a deep breath. ‘Tonight,’ he then answered. ‘After sundown.’

Yorg let go of the scout’s head and pushed his sword back into its scabbard. He turned to the warriors. ‘Tie him up and make sure to keep him alive for the time being. I will have some more questions for him later. But for now, get him out of my face.’

As the crowd dispersed, Yorg and Veriyan hastily made their way to the dwelling of Yorg’s uncle Olgart, the Chieftain, on the westside of the village. High above them dark clouds started filling the sky. Yorg looked at the hollow eyed men and women in the village who resumed their daily activities. Many of them had already thrown on their winter coats, but even the thick layers of clothing could not disguise the fact that they were emaciated and had lost much of their strength.

As they approached the Chieftains' dwelling, they saw Lady Inga, the wife of the Chieftain, sitting outside by a small fire. She had tied her gray hair into a long braid and was tanning a wolf's pelt. She looked up and smiled. But her eyes didn’t wrinkle as they used to do.

‘Lady Inga, can we see the Chieftain?’ Yorg asked.

‘Of course,’ she answered. She looked up at the clouds. ‘Let me come in with you.’

We entered the dwelling. There, at the head of a large oak table, Olgart sat bent over a stack of parchments. His eyes shot skittishly along the ink writings, some of which, due to the age of the materials, were almost impossible to read.

They bowed. ‘Chieftain, we have an urgent matter to discuss,' Yorg declared. He listened to the sound of the first raindrops, a tapping that quickly turned into a monotonous murmur.

Olgart pushed the parchments aside. 'Cursed be Gidiyon, God of the Heavens,' he grumbled. His gray eyes were cold when he finally looked up. 'What is it?'

Yorg looked at him. Olgart was a tall man. His muscular build showed that he had spent many days at the training grounds preparing for battle in his younger days. People said that Yorg’s father Hadon, Olgart’s younger brother, had looked very much like Olgart. Although Yorg was also tall and broad-shouldered, his face resembled that of his mother Miryam, not that of his uncle. Or that of his father, as he was told.

‘We just captured a scout from Irulyar who told us that, after sundown, Verseyus will attack our encampment along the trade route between Irulyar and Kalur,’ Yorg explained. ‘We need to act immediately. Either we ride out to enforce their position. Or we send them a messenger to order them to abandon the encampment.’

Olgart remained silent for a moment, while he touched his hand where once his little finger and ring finger had been. ‘Verseyus has kept his army warm and well-fed within the city walls of Irulyar. His attack will be difficult to withstand.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘But then, many of our people will not survive the winter. And any amount of food, clothing and horses we can steal from the merchant parties will save lives.’ Olgart looked up at Yorg, but said nothing. Then he looked at his wife, Lady Inga, who had tears in her eyes. ‘We have nothing left to lose,’ he then concluded softly. ‘Except for our honor.’

There was a moment of silence. Yorg looked upon his uncle and all of a sudden saw an old man. A man who felt that after many years he had failed his tribe. ‘Except for our honor,’ Yorg then repeated in a whisper. He straightened his shoulders. ‘Let us take three-hundred warriors. We will leave immediately and fortify the encampment, awaiting Verseyus’ attack. I will make sure they will regret this day.’

Olgart looked him in the eyes. ‘You will ride out unsworn. Let’s pray that the fallen God of War will not punish us for that.’

‘I am ready,’ Yorg said. He clenched his fists. ‘With my predecessor dead, who else will lead our warriors into battle?’

‘Then go. Take the road through the Truyin Forest so you avoid being seen by any of their scouts closer to our encampment.’ Olgart stood up and put his hand on Yorg’s shoulder. ‘Be blessed, Yorg. Your father would be proud of you.’

Yorg hugged Olgart and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you uncle. Be safe while we are gone.’ He exchanged a quick glance with Lady Inga, and then left the dwelling with Veriyan in his footsteps.

The sky was shrouded in darkness, as Yorg and Veriyan made their way to the center of the village again, and gathered the Deer Tribe’s warriors. They quickly prepared their weaponry and horses, and rode out with him, Veriyan at his side. When they had left the village behind them, they urged their horses to gallop southbound.

Gidiyon, God of the Heavens, seemed to disapprove of their mission, as the rainfall persisted and became even heavier. Yorg sat hunched over in the saddle and felt the muscles in his horse's back and flanks contract rhythmically. They crossed the river Litor at a ford close to where it originated from the Red Lake, and continued further south, until late in the afternoon, the Truyin Forest loomed in the distance. They slowed the horses down to walking pace as they passed the first trees.

Yorg slowed down his breathing and cleared his mind. No thoughts of the future or past. Just the smells, sounds, and shapes around him. He couldn't help but open his mind and look past the gnarled trunks and dripping autumn leaves of the trees into the spirit world, using the Ability. The world around him faded and gave way to a churning shadowplay interweaved with strands of silver light that followed the branches of the trees down to their deepest roots. Yorg also saw the spirits of forest animals in their hiding places, as beacons of light. Many of them. Too many it seemed. But that was not all. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shining luminous figure.

'Danger!’ sounded a threatening voice in his mind.

Yorg pulled himself loose from the spirit world and heard an overwhelming screaming rise up. 'Defend!’ he shouted. Behind him, spears were grabbed and swords were drawn. At that moment a division of Verseyus’ army attacked. A soldier dressed in ochre and black, sprang forth and pushed a long spear into the chest of Yorg’s horse. The animal sank through its front legs and threw yorg out of the saddle. He hit the ground with his head and shoulder, but managed to roll through and rise up again. He tightened the grip on his sword and parried the next powerful charge from the soldier. Around Yorg, the fray erupted in full force.

From high up in the trees, Versuyus’ archers fired arrows at the Deer Tribe’s rear guard. Desperately, Yorg tried to oversee the battlefield, but his opponent gave him little chance. ‘Move back!’ Yorg roared, hoping to get his warriors out of firing range of the archers, some of them already lying dead on the ground in twisted positions.

Yorg’s opponent soon tired and with a powerful sword blow Yorg managed to inflict a deep wound in his shoulder. The soldier’s weapon fell. Not even taking the time to kill the man, Yorg hastily took a few steps backwards. He grabbed a spear from the packing of one of the slain horses and hurdled it towards the next soldier in his field of vision. It struck him in the stomach. The man stood there, motionless for a moment, while the back of the spear sloped down from where it had entered his soft flesh.

Although they were able to retreat about twenty paces, Verseyus' soldiers managed to move around their flanks, forcing the warriors of the Deer Tribe closer together. There were simply too many of them. ‘Move back!’ Yorg shouted again.

For a moment, Yorg wondered if the time had come he would finally join his father in death. Because had he not defied the will of the fallen God of War? Immediately however, from deep within, his whole being fiercely resisted against this thought. In his mind, he prayed. And as if his pleas were answered, suddenly the battle cries of the Wolf Tribe sounded. Screams of relief erupted from Yorg’s ranks, as the warriors from their neighboring tribe forced an opening in Verseyus’ frontline from behind. Panic ensued among Verseyus’ soldiers and their attack formation started to fall apart.

‘Regroup behind me!’ Yorg shouted to his men. He repeated the words until they were able to resist the enemy and hold their ground. As more and more warriors of the Wolf Tribe entered the battlefield, Verseyus’ soldiers were surrounded and eventually all killed.

Panting, Yorg dropped to one knee. They had killed more than fifty of the Deer Tribe warriors. Where was Veriyan? Yorg looked around him in agony. Veriyan didn't deserve to be killed during a cowardly ambush like today. Not on his watch. Yorg’s eyes shot back and forth nervously until he suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting his name from between the trees. Despite a wound in his upper leg, Veriyan, leaning on his sword, gestured that he was fine. He stumbled toward Yorg and laughed. ‘Not today my friend.’

The commander of the Wolf Tribe came up to them. His axe was covered in blood, but his wolf skull headdress that indicated his position, was upright on his head. Yorg bowed for him. ‘Commander Urdan.'

'Straighten your back, Commander Ildrum,' he said to Yorg. 'You may still be unsworn in your position, but on the battlefield I consider you my equal.'

Yorg rose up again. ‘How did you know we were under attack?’

‘During the night, Verseyus men destroyed the encampment along the trade route,’ Commander Urdan said. ‘We were lucky a handful of our warriors managed to escape to report to us what happened. We rode out to the encampment and followed the tracks of Verseyus men here.’

‘It has already happened?’ Veriyan shook his head in disbelief, and looked at Yorg. ‘The scout we captured…’ he said. ‘He lied to us. He knew.’

‘He wanted us to send reinforcements,’ Yorg concluded softly. ‘We walked right into their trap.’

Commander Urdan nodded. ‘Yes indeed. Along with destroying the encampment, they must have believed they found a way to rid themselves of the threat the Deer Tribe poses. Without your tribe protecting the north, the Wolf Tribe and Bear Tribe could easily be pushed back further west.’

‘I cannot believe this.’ A coldness came over Yorg. Had he been wrong to ride out? Was it his hunger to prove himself as commander that had led so many of his kin to their deaths?

Veriyan put a hand on his shoulder. He knew what Yorg was thinking. ‘Your warriors saw you fight. Not only today. But many times. They will stand behind you. Don’t worry.’

‘And so will I,’ Commander Urdan said

‘And I am most thankful for that,’ Yorg answered. However, it is not my fellow warriors I fear. Many families I know well have lost a loved one today under my command. They will demand proof that the fallen God of War has not punished me for riding out without his blessing. I will be tested by my people, so that the fallen God can judge me.’

To be continued...