Blade and Prayer

The restoration of Lothoria

Index: Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Chapter 1

Leht of yore

“Varen, this beautiful armor is a perfect fit for a Heron.” – The elderly Lothorian armorer said with audible pride in his voice, accentuating on the word Heron.

It was from the olden language and meant hero; it came to Lothoria through the Pillars, traversed the void between planets. A wise Egyptian priest called the voice of Horus taught Lothorians many things, among them his language, traditions and customs. Calling the young leht a Heron distinctly separated him from those who served Rot’s clergy or the now begone, “nobility.”

“Indeed, this is your best work yet!” – Agreed the young leht, after moving his limbs freely, despite them being protected by chainmail, covered with interlocked metal squares.

One of the few young warriors who became leht during the Liberation, Varen stood out because of his incredible constitution. Not only was he slightly taller than the average man, Varen possessed powerful musculature. People in Ichtia knew well how he earned his strength; since early age he dug, maintained the city’s outlying sand dikes, together many other serfs.

He was trained secretly by his father, Gart, a leht who escaped from his lord.

Varen’s shoulder long brunette hair was braided, so he could comfortably wear his helm. Because of many years toiling under the hot desert sun, his skin was dark-gray, therefore the contrast between it and his light-green eyes was ever so striking. He usually wore a stern smile on his chiseled face, which made his high cheek bones stick out.

Many a young maiden sighed longingly, dreaming for a man like Varen since they could not have him – he was happily married.

“These days we use what our Terr’aan friends donate. It is not just my skill, young one, ‘tis the materials.” – Smiling said the humble master, who was one of the best in his trade in all of Ichtia.

Armor smith Morden gave Varen a thin piece of cloth, one which felt sturdy to the touch, flexible and light.

“Is this... armored cloth?” – The leht asked, while further examining the contents of a nearby open chest, full of crafting gear.

“True, and of the greatest quality! I am told that only the Terr’aan War Saints could craft this... panzerweave. The armorers of Clan Shimazu were the ones who first taught me how to work with this new for us, rather wondrous material. I and the other masters, we made armored uniforms for our troopers, may the Ancestors shield them in life-saving battle. Finally, after all those years of dreams, our skill serves to enable the freedom of people and ensure a better future!” – With a calm, tired smile on his face, stated the armorer and then made a simple hand sign to ward off evil.

“How could the ancestors not aid us, when our soldiers are clad in such marvelous-looking uniforms?” – Exclaimed boisterously Varen and mirrored the elder’s sign; he first touched his forehead, then the heart with his index and middle finger.

Morden used a tiny hammer on each megasteel plate, gently hitting them until their ring was satisfactory to him. Then the master checked the riveted mail, painstakingly crafted by his apprentices and with keen attention to detail. Long sleeved and reaching to Varen’s knee, the mail could stop any normal blade, even slow down a vibroweapon since master Morden forged it from something special. Underneath the leht wore a full body size undergarment made from padded panzerweave.

These new armor suits, the first of which he would go into battle with, were made from Terr’aan star chariot armor.

Those who fought during Liberation day, they all saw many lights glitter up in the skies. Some were enemies, those who came here to keep Lothoria enslaved, yet many were Star Saviors. They fought and died with their vessels, many thousand debris blasting through the air and then raining down on the surface. The Terr’aans who came to bury their kin, they graciously offered the bodies of their starcraft, as a gift to the warriors of Lothoria.

Varen once again gazed at his plated chainmail, noted the metal’s whitish glint and smiled – he was clad in star metal!

“Heron, forget not your helmet.” – Morden’s raspy, yet still quite lively voice reminded the young leht that he had one more piece of armor to don.

He picked up the great helmet and marveled for a bit how light it was, compared to his old headgear. Varen put the helm on since he already wore the padded undergarment, made from reinforced with a thin layer of riveted chainmail panzerweave. The helm fit him perfectly and he lift his visor up, enjoying a good field of vision.

“Still of the same sturdy design which I kept secret for so many years, yet now with a visor. Truly, this helm offers the best trade off between protection and visibility, young leht.”

Varen moved about the armory, first with a lowered and then lifted up visor.

“I notice that none of our armorers copied Clan Shimazu designs. Even that armored suit I wore before, during my most recent battle, it was made by Terraans, not of Lothorian craft.”

“Why would we replicate their designs, young Heron? We have our own culture and traditional motifs. I learned the Terr’aan way to forge plates, how to work with megasteel and panzerweave. We have better tools now; the complexity and quality of our craft improved manyfold, yet it did not fundamentally change. A suit of armor is not some mere item, this is a piece of life-saving artwork, endowed by its creator’s will. With each stroke of the hammer, yet another shard of the smith’s very soul is imbued within.”

The elderly armorer, rejuvenated by good food and advanced Terr’aan medicine was nevertheless, quite old. After delivering this declamation, Morden sat beside his upgraded forge, the tiny testing hammer still in his hand and sighed. His watery eyes followed the lines of all metal plates he’d so painstakingly crafted, the glint of Lothoria’s sun reflecting off his brand new tools.

“Forgive an old craftsman for being sad, for he is saying goodbye to a son of his. When you go into battle he will take all the hits instead, so you can return to your son safe and sound. Go home, so your young bride can know how safe her manful betrothed is.”

Varen bowed to the old master armorer and, helmet visor still up, swiftly left the forge.

His wife, Heva, was expecting their second child, after delivering into this world a healthy baby boy. The firstborn was named after Varen’s late father, Gant, as it was customary in Lothorian culture. Varen also presented himself as son of Tarva since she was his only remaining parent. Had she ascended one day, the young leht would only say his own name.

His mother was visiting friends in a nearby village, to return on the morrow.

Soon after Varen recovered from his brutal wounds, Heva quickly gained weight. Doctors trained by the Terr’aans examined her and informed the young family that their second will be a girl. It was decided that their daughter shall be one of the few Lothorians to bear an alien name.

“Clarissa...” – uttered the young leht and stopped mid street.

Varen squeezed the handle of his sword, remembering the Terr’aan woman who gifted it and his first proper suit of armor. The ancestral blade was many centuries old and hailed from a kingdom named Bulgaria. He, just as many other leht during the Liberation, did not wish to go into battle swinging a zhatarn. In the eyes of many a Lothorian, this curved blade was seen as an executioner’s tool, the weapon of oppression.

Instead, the young warrior strode into battle wielding the “Wraithbane.”

The olden Bulgarian sword had a fuller-less, straight and wide blade. It also sported a longer handle, which allowed for one or two handed combat stances. Weighing in a full two Terr’aan kilograms, it was a bit on the heavy side, yet still very much within the acceptable margins. Moreover, the sword was perfectly balanced and had a comfy parrying guard, which could also be used to strike the enemy in a pinch.

The power cell and vibro generator were located inside the pommel and handle, respectively. Varen was told by his benefactress, that its creator forged the blade from gray iron. When he asked about this type of rare earth, the young leht was given an answer most mysterious.

The Terr’aan Lady could only tell him a legend passed from generation to generation. A nameless, ailing smith, crafted this sword to fell the daemons who attacked his people from another plane. Whether those were spirits or creatures of daemonic origin, the Lady did not know. These beings hunted down not able warriors, but murdered children in a most gruesome manner. The sword smith fought with everything he had, yet this was not enough. He died a death most valorous, but not before banishing the strongest of daemons, thereby ensuring the safety of his kin.

It was his one surviving daughter, who started the Lady’s noble family.

Last of her line, Lady Miroslava traveled long and through dangerous space, just to reach Lothoria. Shortly after she gave Varen her family’s blade, a shield, and an armored suit to go with it, the elderly Lady ascended. The very next day, he walked between the Pillars and then entered battle.

Another Terr’aan woman died there, this time gifting him with a second life...

It didn’t take him long to explore the painful memory, center himself, and continue on his way. Lamenting the fallen was never a Lothorian tradition, and especially when these ascended were warriors. Life here was cheap; most children died from illnesses and malnourishment before reaching three years old. Peons and serfs saw death as an escape from their hellish existence, even if many of them believed in that fake “god” Rot.

Heretics in the eyes of Rot’s clergy, Varen’s father and mother taught their son forbidden knowledge. The tale of the Star Saviors was most important, yet there was also something else. He’d learned that those of his ancestors who died without being marred by evil, they’d ascended and became one with the Universe.

Later, when the alien allies of Terr’aans came to Lothoria, they all shared what knowledge each possessed with him. Some were Universalists, others told Varen about these ancient starfaring people called the Precursors. To his amazement, the young leht discovered many of their tenants aligned with what his parents had learned him. In the olden days, Lothorians sought guidance from their ascended ancestors, emulated their shining example, the leht first among them.

The new leht, those who served Rot’s debased Order, they were a perversion.

This is why Varen and his brothers, they saw themselves not as some new reiteration, but the restoration of the leht of yore. Everyone who broke all oaths of allegiance with the Priest King and their debased lords, they did not wish to be associated with them and what they stood for.

One of the best things Terr’aan knights had was their code of honor. Since they never ceased to be an active part of militaries, their rulebooks were still required reading in war academies. Most of the famous adventurers who now roamed between the stars, many of them were knights, diligently followed their code. The Book of Herons was another matter altogether and it probably dated from the visit of Lothoria’s most important prophet – the voice of Horus.

There was a desire for relearning the old ways, from times when being named a leht meant something more than just holding a whip, hunting down escaped serfs or slaughtering emaciated peons. Varen and the leht who fought for freedom, they all yearned for that knowledge! Thanks to a wise mystery researcher from Earth, Lothorians might yet uncover a copy of their prized cultural heritage.

Someone had to walk through the void, step between the pillars, high up in the mountains. Where the doomed leht of Rot and Lords of old lay, within the depths of a hidden cave there was one staircase. Those who climbed it would eventually pass through a set of hieroglyph etched columns, then arrive at another place. Filled with ancient doom vault, where the Lothoria’s Book of Herons lay hidden, safe from evil hands.

Varen knew that Earth’s warriors and priests, especially the mages hailing from Egypt, they were aware of this vault. When one of his brethren discovered the path which led to where the staircase was, Terr’aans from Clan Shimazu contacted Earth. The young leht was promised aid and, as a matter of fact, the star chariot which carried said assistance, arrived today.

First he’d go back home, hug Heva and kiss little Gant, eat the hearty meal his wife cooked. Then Varen would go to the landing zone situated at the further north part of Ichtia, greet his new ally. Whomever this was, he cared not, for one Terr’aan was worth a dozen or more enemy warriors. He would uphold all lessons learned from the Star Saviors, every little bit of “heretical” knowledge his parents taught him, for this quest to succeed!

From his dead father, Varen knew that one of the most important tenets was upholding balance.

Ahead, there were a number of construction workers, who toiled day and night in order to repair most of ruined Ichtia. Roads and buildings were turned into heaps of molten ruins, by debased aliens wielding beam weaponry. Shooting indiscriminately, not a care about the collateral damage and innocents they were slaughtering, these thralls met their doom by samurai blade. Months passed since Liberation day, yet the reconstruction was still ongoing.

The group of workers were laying a new brick road, complete with covered by tiles ditch. Since Lothoria was no longer an authoritarian theocracy, but a Terr’aan style Minarchy, projects like these were directly supported by the populace. Some paid money, others fed the construction teams, housed and clothed them. There were people who actually joined in, providing their own labor whenever possible.

Sadly, Lothoria’s age old legacy of corruption, indolence, and pseudo-religious fanaticism, oftentimes proved a hindrance.

In this particular instance, Varen noticed one rather daft-looking person, trying to dissuade his fellow Lothorians from helping.

“Why should I, why would any of us even care?! I tell you, this won’t end well. Before we know it, everyone will be forced to do literally everything!”

“Because all of us, me included, we are no longer enslaved. No one is paying these impossible taxes or is forced to work themselves to death for one spoonful of gruel, and a sip of dirty water. The price of freedom is personal responsibility and, from time to time, a little bit of honest work.” – Varen’s voice boomed across the street, causing both everyday Lothorians and builders to temporary halt their activities.

“But what if we don’t want these responsibilities you are pushing onto us?!” – Whined the man, waving his hands in the air to attract the attention he’d lost since Varen appeared on the scene.

“We all lived through what happens when honest people cede even the simplest of responsibilities to some overbearing, governing body.” – Reminded everyone the young leht and then walked straight towards the nearest brick pile.

“If not by accepting responsibility, a little bit of work on time, helps every time.” – Smiling Varen bellowed and grabbed a whole bunch of bricks, which he carried and gave to one of the builders.

“I am not a builder! You can’t expect us to throw everything we are doing and toil where is a new project.”

“I am not one either, I am a leht, yet that does not halt me from aiding them. You know full well that there is no need for a full day of work. Every job one can do, no mater how mundane it looks, is of help. There are a lot of Lothorians and not very many tasks to be completed! If everyone living on this street laid a few bricks a day, carried a couple of buckets full of water or shoveled cement for an hour, work will be done in no time.” – The young leht had already carried his third load of bricks and everyone could visibly see how the street got a bit longer.

“Moreover, you can clearly see that people are doing exactly what I just said and... it is working. The peons who suffer terribly in whipped by flaming hot sand villages, even they find time to help neighbors build or fix their homes. They not only have to survive, but do grueling farm work everyday, from dusk till dawn. Had you been sick or a disabled veteran, a victim of the beams, not a soul would expect anything from you.”

“I-i am not sick, I just c-can’t do hard labor, that’s all!” – Squirmed the obviously very lazy and dim-witted person, whose initial whining fit also served to feed his desire for attention.

Terr’aans used a specific term to describe such individuals, but Lothorians had their own word – Ba’ag. It literally meant a “useless pillar” and came from the old language, most probably Egyptian. One could force the ba’ag to work, but anything which required personal initiative or critical thinking was nigh impossible.

Varen thought of asking the ba’ag’s neighbors about him, but they appeared to have forgotten about the fool and returned to work with redoubled efforts. The self-centered nagger squirmed away from the scene, slinking into a nearby ruined street. The young leht carried another load of bricks with a smile plastered face and then, after excusing himself, dashed back home.

When he finally entered his house, brand new armored suit and boots dusty, Varen was greeted by the chuckling Heva:

“Why, husband, you said you were going to the armorer! I expected you home earlier.”

She danced at him with her light step, dark-white hair flowing, two clean rags in her hand.

“Now, sit over there and let me help you wipe all that brick dust.” – Smiling whispered Heva and after throwing him one of the rags, added:

“The Terr’aan you expected has arrived much earlier, and is now a guest of our house.”

“Why... why are you whispering, beloved?” – A bit startled whispered Varen, still holding the rag she gave him.

“Yes,” – a powerful male voice boomed from inside their living room – “why are you whispering? An Egyptian can smell the scent of freshly baked bricks from a league away. Moreover, the warriors of our land are proud to help those whom they swore an oath to protect.”

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Who exactly is that Terran? Perhaps he a powerful, armed to the faceplate soldier or a fleet-of-foot commandos? An adventurous, lone volunteer or sent by one of the enigmatic Terran Orders? This and more, in the next episode, titled Pillars of the Void.

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You can find this and many more stories in my 2nd Anthology collection, The Blood Of Tyrants.