WOR of ULS

1

With a short scream, Sir Lucas disappeared. Springing up into the small tunnel, still ringing with the terrified man’s shout, I discovered that it had not been a dead end after all. At the back of the cramped space where he had sought refuge, I could see a shadow, the inky stain of a pothole. Where this pit lead to was anyone's guess ... but where ever it was, Sir Lucas had already found out. Even as I approached, I could hear flailing hands and feet tearing frantically at loose rocks. And peering down the well, amid a shower of debris, I saw this noble Sir plunge to his escape. Above the distant roar of unseen waters, a magnificent splash rose. Then there was nothing but impenetrable darkness. Seeing him slip between my fingers so suddenly left me dumbfounded. But he was mine! And now destiny had sent him on his merry way. Crawling back down out of the niche, I wondered if he had survived the fall.

There had been water.

Angry at myself for lingering so long by the hole, I returned to the fresh air outside in what must have been a comic display of childish stamping and muttering. It was hard to accept that I had been so deftly robbed of both the only link to my quest and the key that could have unlocked some meaning to my crazy nightmares ... and to my shame, not before I had vented explosive reproaches down into that hole, selfish frustrations hurled uselessly at the perhaps dead or drowning fugitive. Howling like a madman alone in those dank caves, I now cursed my lack of self-control. Foolishness! I knew that he had been snatched from my grip by whoever played this game with our destinies. Still, it was no consolation for the strange emotions twisting my guts.

I left the cave behind the waterfall to seek some peace of mind back down on the wooded hillside. Passing the maimed corpse of the soldier, Quiin, I could only think of the human energies the Demon Prince wasted on his Game of Destinies. Perhaps wasting human energies was entirely the point? This thought reminded me of a popular saying of Jha' Harg, greatest of the Urorkk heroes, 'Habitus arak arakat It-uron bes' Rak', Kings drink blood without wetting their lips. My grandfather had confirmed the truth of this proverb, but warned me that this was only half of Jha' Harg’s comment. The other words were never heard in my village: 'Habitu ivok kor' Telis lenis abaabik-si Su', a real King, however, bleeds twofold the tears of his crime. My grandfather told me the great warrior’s words referred to the aftermath of the war that finally saw the seven Dwergu, or dwarven, nations driven off the Eric-Uls mountains for no reason other than my peoples’ hunger for wealth. Ancient cities of stone left toppled, while the conquerors lived like dogs in caves. Legend stated that with our most respected enemies vanquished, Jha' Harg looked on as the victors turned amongst themselves to fight over the spoils of war like children. My grandfather told me that this was the real reason Jha' Harg had abandoned his people. My grandfather knew, because the great warrior himself had spoken these words, as they stood together on the rocky slopes after the last battle of this war ... foolish old Urorkk he was, my grandfather Yatik.

Walking through the light underbrush, leaves and twigs snagged my black, studded armour. It seemed even nature was not going to let me forget that I still wore the cheap, shoddy armour that was the hallmark of an order of warriors that no longer fought for a living. Their weapons were untrustworthy, too. But with my captain's death, I was a Knight of the Order of Tessel no longer. As Knights, we had come here to catch the prize. Now, the prize had escaped. Now, one soldier lay dead with one of my crossbow bolts still in his throat, and the other, my captain, lay with one of my cardinal fletched bolts in his back. Alone again, I certainly did not feel it was my duty to bring the dead warriors back to camp. Their souls were gone. Let their bodies rot peacefully back into the soil as is the Urorkk way. There and then, I shrugged off the yolk of the Order of Tessel, surrendering my Knighthood to whomever wanted it.

The day was still, with only the muffled noise of the waterfall crashing magically behind me. Warily, I climbed up onto a large, renegade boulder to crouch, looking out over the remarkably tranquil wood. So perched on the granite giant, I recalled when I had first been driven out of my village in the Eric-Uls mountains as a child. There too, in the rocky wasteland, I had crouched to appraise my options. Sometimes the flow of life is amusing, I thought. Sure one can say, if I had of done that, my life would now be different, or if I had followed that road I would be happier, wealthier ... out of the trouble I’m now in. This is the dance of circumstance that spins us all, Urorkk and human alike, spinning us through life and through time towards an unknown end ... Well if this is a crossroad, I muttered, then let that demon Choss take Sir Lucas!

Looking up at the thinning cloud cover, a cold blue sky signalled a change in the weather. It would be winter soon. Funny, I had been caught up in the lives of others for so long now, that even after they were gone, it still felt like I was drifting without direction. Had I no destination? How long ago was it since I left my home world Uls together with the priest, Ashlar? He had offered me direction ... so where was I now? A murderer and deserter and traitor to the very cause for which my wise, old friend had given his life ... nice begin, I thought bitterly. Here in Elsevier, servitude in the Order of Tessel had at least offered me a chance for revenge. Servitude gave direction and motivation and ... but was it servitude? I suddenly asked myself. Being ordered to attack a group of armed dwarves on the icy slopes of Rakor, or being ordered to move into a neighbouring Urorkk village at dawn to raze homes and slay all above the Naszerr age, or being ordered to run down a herd of bison, sending them over cliffs and feasting on them with a thousand strong, an army gorging itself until it cannot move for three whole days ... orders all easily followed, whether by Urorkk warriors or human knights. But how had serving my friend Ashlar and his god Berek the Lawgiver been servitude?

I stood up on the rock, having made myself too restless to finish eating my rations, when I heard something behind me. Spinning around, searching the leaf-covered ground, I saw nothing. And after a long moment, still nothing moved. The sound I had heard was of a larger creature ... to my dismay, I saw that if something was trying to sneak up on me, it would be easy. Numerous trees, shrubs and rocks lay scattered and strewn around this renegade boulder from high. Defence was impossible. There was no way I could make it back up the hill to the cliff, the waterfall and the weapons, nor was it possible to easily reach the horses tied up on the edge of the expansive prairie below. Fool! I hissed through clamped jaws. Now I really was acting like a human, curling up to lick my wounds, bathing them in self-pitying emotions! What had my father done!? Why had he taken a human, a consenting human for his pleasure? Why poison me with their weakness?!

"Hereka' inikanu"! I barked, letting off some of my rising anger. Step forward! I repeated in the common, Planar Tongue. And promptly stepping out from behind a tree was yet another half-bred demon, of the kind that filled my nightmares (appearing to my left ... and I had been certain that the noise had placed the creature to my right. Terrick! Damn! I cursed under my breath in my native tongue). At that moment, I considered that I might now be sleeping upon the rock in the warmth of the sun, thereby placing what I saw before me in the ethereal landscape of my imagination.

He stood as an impossible half-breed, half goat and half man. His legs were covered in rich, curling tresses of dark brown hair that tapered to a pair of rough and cracked cloven hooves. Making a distinct line around the waist, his animal half ended in the smooth, tanned skin of a thick and well muscled torso. A dusting of fine hair over his proud chest grew like a tree from his loins; from a tangle of roots that could barely conceal a thick, pendulous dick, the hair rose as a single trunk to delicate branches spreading over his chest, embracing the sweet red fruits of his nipples. This strange combination, the strong and heavy arms, broad shoulders and squared, prominent chest that bespoke a warrior’s life, the heavy scent of his musk drifting on the negligible breeze, the powerful animal thighs ... all caused the tip of my sex to twitch involuntarily against the restraining force of my leather armour. Broad and smooth and hard, his human half was unlike any other. I noticed his eyes, impenetrably black and glistening like polished obsidian, holding my own stare patiently as though such incredulity was routine. Thus, in giving me time to accept his form, I realised he had not come to kill me.

His face was remarkable. Despite the two, short, amber horns curving abruptly from his tangle of loose dark curls, and the thick pointed ears jutting out from under these same curly locks, his face remained human in every way. A thin, dark beard framed the line of his jaw, tracing a sensuous ring around his red lips. Here too, the skin that covered the large, arching nose and high cheek bones glowed with vibrancy. Soft eyebrows under a smooth forehead and long, almost feminine lashes exaggerated his wet eyes, which continued to glint suggestively.

Then he winked lewdly.

"Finished yet?" he suddenly said in a curious voice that was neither low or masculine, nor was it anything like the feminine. A boy's voice, I thought curiously. No, that wasn't it either. He now smiled. "You stare like you're still unsure ... I’m unarmed. I’m alone. I have come to speak with you," he continued with sudden seriousness.

"For whom do you come to speak?" I interrogated sharply, aware that this was perhaps yet another messenger of my enemy, the Demon Prince Choss.

"For whom? Am I to understand that I am not the first?"

"No."

"No, I am not to understand, or no, I am not the first," he asked, flashing an insolent smile.

"I don't care whether you understand or not, goatman …and no, you're not the first! Why do you play games?!" I demanded harshly, "Speak, forest creature and do not stand there smiling at me like the village idiot!" The broad and merry smile waxed full across his strangely neutral face. He nodded slightly.

"Perhaps we should start again ..." he murmured between stretched lips.

And he vanished.

Like a battle worn soldier, I couldn't even turn to look for him. Why should his disappearance surprise me? The creatures of my dreams seemed to come and go as they pleased ... ethereal dreams whispering lies.

"Good afternoon, Wor. Allow me to introduce myself," burst the same voice with ample volume from behind, "I am Castitar Babakaris of Lyandrille, an uncommon satyr who welcomes the opportunity to return a favour to his most esteemed Mistress Nature, the goddess Jannestra."

Naturally, I was shocked.

Naturally, I also thought it was a lie.

"How can I trust your words?" I grilled, measuring my curiosity with the promises that had just been offered.

"Look, Urorkk," he barked in sudden fury, driving a hoof into the forest humus, "I've already tried to re-establish this first, and as far as I'm concerned, last meeting with a tolerable degree of courtesy. I will also hazard to point out to you, because it seems to me that no one ever has taken the liberty of pointing it out to you, that politeness is not something you should continue to neglect ... I should have guessed that talking to one of you thick-skulled, blood-drinking, hog-hided, dog-faced apes would have been a waste of time! Especially since all you can do is stare at the size of my ..."

"I'm looking at your ... legs," I lied, suddenly embarrassed, despite his frothing racial slurs that would be reason enough to kill him … but considering the odd creature speaking them, I bowed my head. "My apologies. I thought you to be one of the Demon Choss' messengers. You come to deliver words from Jannestra? But this is impossible! Is the goddess aware of all the crimes being committed in her name?" I stammered awkwardly.

There was a pause then, as his temper cooled.

"You like my legs?" he finally replied coyly, apparently not hearing my questions.

"Ahh, yes. You are a handsome creature. I ... I have never seen or heard of the likes of your kind ... what is a satyr?"

"Hmm, if I had of known you liked hairy legs, I would have brushed them out this morning," he mumbled abstractly, "A satyr? That is simply the remarkable and apparently inviting form which you now see before you," he announced brightly, running his hands seductively from his shoulders down the sides of his body to his legs, as if to highlight both his words and his sensuality, "We, that is my brothers and I, guard the woods and fields left untouched by civilisation. With the bite of an iron axe or plough, I taste man's encroachment just as readily as a tree or the virgin earth. I am Nature's servant ... and in this case, Her ambassador. You must believe me when I say that we suffer the imprisonment of Jannestra as the rest of Elsevier does, if not more so. We are dedicated to the struggle for her freedom ... even if most of Elsevier has long ago given up and fallen asleep to the crooked lullabies of your Knightly Order of Tessel."

He spat as he spoke the name of the Order, whose armour I still wore and to which I officially still belonged, as if it poisoned the sweet taste of his mouth, or discoloured the cherry-stained redness of his tongue, even to mention it. Then he smiled, continuing to strut around the boulder on those peculiar, backward bending goat legs. Each step was taken with a grace and agility that described a dance. He spoke with his arms too -- even more robustly than many humans. As he circumscribed the boulder, he turned his back fearlessly to me, showing off his broad, rolling landscape of powerful hills, the muscles rising and falling from plains of smooth, tanned skin. Lower hills tapered seductively to a smooth delta, a bowl in the small of his back with a light ‘v’ of hair rising from the line of darker hair above his ass; I was even surprised to see that hidden beneath the thick curls on his firm and well formed ass bobbed a small, flat tail. Again I felt my loins ache, as well as my stomach and my head, at the thought of playing my hands over both man and goat, over this remarkable bestial messenger of the goddess of Nature, Jannestra.

"And one more thing I might mention, warrior knight of Yissta," he continued, obviously acquainted with the various Houses of the Order of Tessel, whose colours I wore, "It is not uncommon that humans, and unexpectedly an Urorkk too it seems, will find the erotic animal presence of the satyr, that is, his exuded lusts, his beguiling, ample and shameless sexuality simply irresistible!" he yelped, leaping into the air and clicking his hooves together in a flirtatious display of agility, "Mostly, insecure and jealous human males hunt us down as devils," he contorted his face and threw his arms threateningly up into the air, "As their sex-starved women play foolishly to our irresistible charms, easily surrendering themselves to the world of pleasures denied to them by their inattentive and materialistic husbands," he grabbed his hips and thrust lasciviously, letting his heavy, swelling cock flap heavily against egg-sized balls, "But sometimes a male is in better command of his inner self, able to curb his fears and allow for a rare bonding with the sweet essence of nature itself ... but not always," he added brusquely, turning his back to me again. Then, looking back over his meaty shoulder, he cast another wicked smile and another bawdy wink.

"Has a satyr been sent to flush out my lusts or to speak for Jannestra?" I asked, both enjoying and growing irritated by his performance.

"Both naturally," he quipped, "I have the dogs your two companions were sent to retrieve tied up nearby. Sorry creatures, all of them. They're with food and water down by the open grassland. I confess that I have not been sent directly by Jannestra herself, for that would be impossible given her imprisonment. Actually, I dreamed of your coming and what you still had to do, fine Urorkk warrior. I saw your vicious companions die, as well as, the lone man walk off the prairies ... likewise, I saw you drive this messenger of hope into the darkness of the cave and loose him," here I tried to correct him, but he waved me off with a roll of his dark eyes and raised hand, continuing loudly, "And ... and as if to confirm my visions, I saw two Knights dead further up the hill -- no great loss, I know. But significantly, I saw the messenger, the prophesied child of Limbo swallowed up by the earth! So far my dreams have spoken faithfully … all I know now is that this child, the messenger, that human you chased into the cave and lost, must survive until he comes back to Elsevier ... first he leaves then he returns. I have seen it again and again. And you, sweet warrior clad in lies, you are the one who must see to it that he lives at least until he reaches the city of Yissta. More than that I do not know." Without a trace of his playful and erotic banter, he finished with great solemnity and weight of personal conviction behind his words.

"Thank you Castitar, although I am sure I will regret this ... no, don't look shocked ... I meant only that I shouldn't be surprised that my quest is not yet over. Just when I thought I was free to begin my own life at last, the old priest, Ashlar, has found a way back to me. You would have liked my friend." Suddenly, I felt drained and sat back down on the sun-warmed rock. "He was polite," I added as an afterthought.

"Perhaps I will join you on that boulder for a while ... I have nothing to do for the rest of the day, and the dogs have more than enough food and water. No. My afternoon schedule is rather uncomplicated ... we have time for you to tell me of your friend Ashlar. Was he familiar with the teachings of Jannestra?" asked the satyr with a soft, reassuring voice, hopping skilfully up onto the boulder to sit beside me. I sighed and looked down the forested hillside, out over the balding canopy of autumn leaves, out over the shadows of the clouds moving lazily above the endless reach of prairie beyond the trees. Before I began the tale of the priest fighting the griffin from his raft in the river Uls-Med, before my friend was taken from this world, impaled on the twisted horns of hell's white beast, before my teacher and guide instructed me on the ways of the Lawgiver, Berek, I suddenly found it necessary to tell of how I had first come to the mighty river in the first place, how as an exiled youth I had stumbled onto the confusing path which I now walked. Surprisingly, I began with my childhood tale (I had certainly not intended to). As I began, the satyr stretched back languidly on the sun-warmed rock as if expecting a long story from an old friend.

end of chapter one