A shadow silently watched from its place high above the dry and dusty gorge. The dark, night sky secured its hiding place as it observed and listened to the inhabitants that encircled the many campfires below. Its attention was drawn to the largest encirclement of reptilian beings, the place where the eldest were seated, imparting knowledge and teachings to the youngest of their kind.
The canvas awnings, stretched over the entrances to meagre mud-brick huts, flapped softly in the gentle breeze. Many caves had been burrowed into the canyon walls, their openings formed and hewn to resemble places of hospitality, trade and dwelling.
Scrawny dogs kicked dust up around their feet as they snapped and growled, fighting over the scraps discarded by the large reptilian folk gathered by the fires.
“Fish and quedia would go down well right about now,” one of the elderly creatures hissed as he dangled the leg of a broiled rabbit between his leathery fingers. He wore a collar of iron claws that hung from his shoulders and over his chest, resting on a black bearskin cloak.
“Why do you torment us?” an adolescent female spat, moving her head to the side with a snarl. “We can only catch rabbit, rat and raven. Perhaps a deer or steed if we have the favour of Q’sharh. What talk is this of fish and giant fowl?”
“I was leading to a tale of old,” the elder replied angrily. “Some of our young haven’t heard of the lands we came from.”
“Tale of old,” a young adult male chided before spitting into the fire. “Why tell such tales of grander days?”
“It is good to remember, Greil,” the older one suggested. “It is good to know our history and where we have been.”
Greil eyeballed the elder angrily before moving his green eye across the faces of the other old ones sitting closer to the fire, edging nearer and nearer with each passing year. One day, he supposed, they would be sitting upon the flames if they lasted that long.
“Is it good to teach our children of how miserable our forefathers were?” he asked.
“Miserable?” the elder replied.
“They brought our people out here to die after we were sent running from our homeland.”
“We found a way to survive,” the old one argued. “We found a new way to live and be satisfied.”
“Satisfied?” Greil raised his head, disgusted by the word. “Is that why we lost so many of our brothers when the White Witch called us to her side?”
“She was not the answer to any of our concerns,” the elder told him. “We should not have got involved.”
“No,” the younger replied. “We should not have listened to her false promises. We should have united and taken the land back on our own.”
The elder got to his feet, his long tail coiling behind him.
“We have no right to that land,” he bellowed. “Not any longer. They took it. It is theirs. We belong here, now. For twelve generations, we have been here and we have survived.”
“We were warriors.” Greil raised himself upright. He stood taller and broader than the other. “Our brothers knew this.”
“And now they are dead,” the elder barked.
“Listen to Kayl’sro Marrok, child,” another elder remarked, holding up his hands in an attempt to calm the fire burning in the younger one’s chest. “We are content. We have families. We have homes.”
“We are limited with food,” the young female told them, siding with the younger male. “The cold is coming and our stores are lower this year than ever before. They have fish, and fowl aplenty.”
“And you would do what?” the second elder asked. “Go and ask for some of their hard-earned provisions?”
“No,” Greil told them. “I will take it all for our people.”
The younger males and females started to grunt and hiss their approval for such action. Some rose to their feet, nodding and patting Greil on the shoulder in support.
“You fools.” Marrok shook his head. “You would be killed just as your brothers were.”
“Men are weak,” the younger male growled. “Their flesh is soft and easy to break. We will take back our land and kill those who stand in our way.”
Growls and hisses echoed along the walls of the canyons as more and more rallied behind Greil.
“Then you will need to start with me,” Marrok roared, pulling his curved sword from its sheath.
“And me,” said another elder, joining his leader.
Within moments, lines had been drawn as two opposing forces faced one another over the flickering light of the fire.
“We have the numbers,” Greil told the old ones. His sword glinted in the firelight. “We have our strength.”
“I have the Iron Claws of Agrodia.” Marrok touched the collar around his neck.
“Not for long,” the younger slurred as he stepped over the hearth, swinging his blade high above his head.
The blow was met with a loud clang as Marrok blocked the younger Agrodien’s blade with his own. But strength was on Greil’s side as the elder was knocked off his feet and sent tumbling to the dust.
Greil turned his blade downward and struck forward, intending to pike Marrok through the back. The elder rolled to his side and regained his footing in one quick move.
“I’ll take the claws,” Greil told the other. “I will be the Kayl’sro.”
“You have not earned the right.” Marrok swung his blade towards the younger. It was blocked effortlessly, again and again, by Greil.
The sound of clashing blades and snapping jaws erupted around the two Agrodien as the others siding with each of them joined the fight.
The younglings scurried to the edges of the canyon, hugging the rocky walls in fear as blood was spilt and cries of pain filled the gorge.
Greil seized his moment, tripping the elder with his tail before plunging his sword deep into Marrok’s chest, spilling dark blood onto the ground.
The elder tried to stand again, his legs shaking beneath his weight.
“Now,” the young one snarled, “I have earned the right.”
“No.” Marrok dropped to his knees. His tail drooped into the dust. “You do our kind a great dishonour today, Greil.”
“Kayl’sro Greil,” the younger corrected him, retrieving the blade from the elder’s chest.
As the sound of clashing iron subsided, Greil hoisted the bearskin from the shoulders of the elder and draped it over himself. He then carefully lifted the Iron Claws of Agrodia over the head of Marrok and placed the collar on his neck.
“You bring shame,” Marrok hissed. “You are no Kayl’sro.”
Greil lifted his sword and licked the dark blood sticking to the blade with his long, forked tongue.
“The old ways are dead,” he growled. “As are you.”
With a quick swipe, Marrok’s head fell to the dirt and rolled towards the hearth. His body twitched, and his tail shuddered as blood seeped from his reptilian body.
The young female moved her gaze to Greil, staring to him hungrily.
“Hail Kayl’sro Greil,” she hissed. “Hail Kayl’sro Greil.”
“Hail Kayl’sro Greil,” another joined her, then another.
Greil raised his stained sword above his head triumphantly.
“Hail Kayl’sro Greil,” the Agrodien chanted. Their voices echoed along the walls of the canyon. “Hail Kayl’sro Greil.”
The shadow chose that moment to retreat. It moved to the lip of the gorge and swiftly floated away into the darkness. The Agrodien’ voices grew like thunder, reaching into the night sky and shaking the ground like tremors.
The canvas awnings, stretched over the entrances to meagre mud-brick huts, flapped softly in the gentle breeze. Many caves had been burrowed into the canyon walls, their openings formed and hewn to resemble places of hospitality, trade and dwelling.
Scrawny dogs kicked dust up around their feet as they snapped and growled, fighting over the scraps discarded by the large reptilian folk gathered by the fires.
“Fish and quedia would go down well right about now,” one of the elderly creatures hissed as he dangled the leg of a broiled rabbit between his leathery fingers. He wore a collar of iron claws that hung from his shoulders and over his chest, resting on a black bearskin cloak.
“Why do you torment us?” an adolescent female spat, moving her head to the side with a snarl. “We can only catch rabbit, rat and raven. Perhaps a deer or steed if we have the favour of Q’sharh. What talk is this of fish and giant fowl?”
“I was leading to a tale of old,” the elder replied angrily. “Some of our young haven’t heard of the lands we came from.”
“Tale of old,” a young adult male chided before spitting into the fire. “Why tell such tales of grander days?”
“It is good to remember, Greil,” the older one suggested. “It is good to know our history and where we have been.”
Greil eyeballed the elder angrily before moving his green eye across the faces of the other old ones sitting closer to the fire, edging nearer and nearer with each passing year. One day, he supposed, they would be sitting upon the flames if they lasted that long.
“Is it good to teach our children of how miserable our forefathers were?” he asked.
“Miserable?” the elder replied.
“They brought our people out here to die after we were sent running from our homeland.”
“We found a way to survive,” the old one argued. “We found a new way to live and be satisfied.”
“Satisfied?” Greil raised his head, disgusted by the word. “Is that why we lost so many of our brothers when the White Witch called us to her side?”
“She was not the answer to any of our concerns,” the elder told him. “We should not have got involved.”
“No,” the younger replied. “We should not have listened to her false promises. We should have united and taken the land back on our own.”
The elder got to his feet, his long tail coiling behind him.
“We have no right to that land,” he bellowed. “Not any longer. They took it. It is theirs. We belong here, now. For twelve generations, we have been here and we have survived.”
“We were warriors.” Greil raised himself upright. He stood taller and broader than the other. “Our brothers knew this.”
“And now they are dead,” the elder barked.
“Listen to Kayl’sro Marrok, child,” another elder remarked, holding up his hands in an attempt to calm the fire burning in the younger one’s chest. “We are content. We have families. We have homes.”
“We are limited with food,” the young female told them, siding with the younger male. “The cold is coming and our stores are lower this year than ever before. They have fish, and fowl aplenty.”
“And you would do what?” the second elder asked. “Go and ask for some of their hard-earned provisions?”
“No,” Greil told them. “I will take it all for our people.”
The younger males and females started to grunt and hiss their approval for such action. Some rose to their feet, nodding and patting Greil on the shoulder in support.
“You fools.” Marrok shook his head. “You would be killed just as your brothers were.”
“Men are weak,” the younger male growled. “Their flesh is soft and easy to break. We will take back our land and kill those who stand in our way.”
Growls and hisses echoed along the walls of the canyons as more and more rallied behind Greil.
“Then you will need to start with me,” Marrok roared, pulling his curved sword from its sheath.
“And me,” said another elder, joining his leader.
Within moments, lines had been drawn as two opposing forces faced one another over the flickering light of the fire.
“We have the numbers,” Greil told the old ones. His sword glinted in the firelight. “We have our strength.”
“I have the Iron Claws of Agrodia.” Marrok touched the collar around his neck.
“Not for long,” the younger slurred as he stepped over the hearth, swinging his blade high above his head.
The blow was met with a loud clang as Marrok blocked the younger Agrodien’s blade with his own. But strength was on Greil’s side as the elder was knocked off his feet and sent tumbling to the dust.
Greil turned his blade downward and struck forward, intending to pike Marrok through the back. The elder rolled to his side and regained his footing in one quick move.
“I’ll take the claws,” Greil told the other. “I will be the Kayl’sro.”
“You have not earned the right.” Marrok swung his blade towards the younger. It was blocked effortlessly, again and again, by Greil.
The sound of clashing blades and snapping jaws erupted around the two Agrodien as the others siding with each of them joined the fight.
The younglings scurried to the edges of the canyon, hugging the rocky walls in fear as blood was spilt and cries of pain filled the gorge.
Greil seized his moment, tripping the elder with his tail before plunging his sword deep into Marrok’s chest, spilling dark blood onto the ground.
The elder tried to stand again, his legs shaking beneath his weight.
“Now,” the young one snarled, “I have earned the right.”
“No.” Marrok dropped to his knees. His tail drooped into the dust. “You do our kind a great dishonour today, Greil.”
“Kayl’sro Greil,” the younger corrected him, retrieving the blade from the elder’s chest.
As the sound of clashing iron subsided, Greil hoisted the bearskin from the shoulders of the elder and draped it over himself. He then carefully lifted the Iron Claws of Agrodia over the head of Marrok and placed the collar on his neck.
“You bring shame,” Marrok hissed. “You are no Kayl’sro.”
Greil lifted his sword and licked the dark blood sticking to the blade with his long, forked tongue.
“The old ways are dead,” he growled. “As are you.”
With a quick swipe, Marrok’s head fell to the dirt and rolled towards the hearth. His body twitched, and his tail shuddered as blood seeped from his reptilian body.
The young female moved her gaze to Greil, staring to him hungrily.
“Hail Kayl’sro Greil,” she hissed. “Hail Kayl’sro Greil.”
“Hail Kayl’sro Greil,” another joined her, then another.
Greil raised his stained sword above his head triumphantly.
“Hail Kayl’sro Greil,” the Agrodien chanted. Their voices echoed along the walls of the canyon. “Hail Kayl’sro Greil.”
The shadow chose that moment to retreat. It moved to the lip of the gorge and swiftly floated away into the darkness. The Agrodien’ voices grew like thunder, reaching into the night sky and shaking the ground like tremors.