Chronicles of Golden Bear

[Golden Bear]

For our kind guests, I am copying here the remaining Chronicles - these are the unedited versions, not necessarily fit for the public.

I'm looking for the 2 or 3 early ones, but I think that they may just be lost.

[Golden Bear]

Decision at Kurra

Golden Bear nears the end of his dusty ride to Kurra. He has been joined by Lord Shogun, the Master of Arts for Babylon. Shogun’s tiny pony had made an immediate friendship with Golden Bear’s barely tamed horse and the two of them pranced with happiness to be outside on such a fine and sunny day. Shogun carries his sketch pad as well as his usual bundle of surprising pictures that he has collected over time.

“Golden Bear,” Shogun smirks, “truly the image of the wood sculpture of the Bear should inspire Babylon to greater and greater hope in this hour of need. You with your pen and the statue with its, ahem, member, will inspire awe and respect among our enemies.”

Golden Bear shakes his head ruefully with the memory of the monstrous statue, and grins.

“It’s a lot more attractive than that statue that I saw up in Hordeland a while back. You might create a whole new art form.”

With that, he hears thunder from the north. There are clouds building there, perhaps a harbinger of a change in the weather. Rains should be due any time now. Peasants in the fields have completed their tilling and seeding and await the natural irrigation so that the crops will grow in again. The endless cycle of growth, harvest and building continues. Many can only hope that it will continue for another season without interruption from the forces that threaten Babylon.

On the outskirts of Kurra, Golden Bear can see how the workers are spending their time while they await the coming rains. A small army of peasants ring Kurra, digging pits and sharpening sticks to plant into them.

“Hey, you two!” a sentry on the road into Kurra calls to them. He is backed by a small unit of soldiers. “We’re drafting you into the work force and your horses into the army. Don’t cause us any trouble now. Get down from your horses and we’ll do this all peaceful like.” The soldiers block the road ahead and behind Golden Bear and Shogun.

The speaker steps up to grab the bridle of Golden Bear’s horse. The horse immediately stops and plants itself, ready to batter the soldier or to flee like the wind at his rider’s will.

“Whoa, wait a second.” The man fumbles for his knife. “Don’t do anything rash.” He looks up into Golden Bear’s face, pauses, looks at Shogun.

“Aw, crap. Down with the weapons, boys.” The soldier starts to make a shallow bow. “My Lords Shogun and Golden Bear, we mean no disrespect…”

“All right, all right. None of that bowing here.” Golden Bear is clearly uncomfortable with the formality of greeting. “We’re just here to inspect the situation.”

“My Lords. Lords Beta and E_T arrived just last night.” The man is clearly at a loss to understand the presence of so many of his nations leaders in this tiny outpost of Babylon. “If you go straight on in to the center of town, you should find them there.”

Shogun and Golden Bear share a glance. “I did not know that we would find both of them here. General E_T of course should be near the fighting, but Lord Beta?” Shogun scratches under his cloak. “Something must be up.”

The soldiers part and the two companions ride past and on into Kurra. The town itself is truly tiny, scarcely more than a marketplace and a well. Its dusty square is framed by some low buildings with thatched roofs. General E_T forms the focus of a small crowd of soldiers and villagers in a corner.

The two travelers dismount and pass their mounts to a man for stabling, grooming and feeding. Shogun goes along to see to their care. Golden Bear approaches E_T.

In front of E_T a man is explaining, “…and we find these crystals beneath piles of dung from the horses. Mixed with this smelly yellow powder that comes from up by Iron Mountain and with some charcoal, it can have a surprising and sometimes explosive effect.” E_T looks dubious. “Well let’s see it then.”

The man waves people back. It is apparent that he has a small piece of wood set onto a table in front of him. He holds a smoldering stick and stands next to a tub of water. Nervously, “Well, all right then. Mind your eyes, now. Sometimes it makes quite a mess.” He whirls the stick around until the coals glow cherry red and thrusts it at an opening in the hollow wooden box. Some sparks fly and then the box cracks with a dull “whumphf.” Immediately a cloud of foul smelling smoke spreads through the crowd.

E_T and the rest hold their noses and cough. He waves at the air as the smoke disperses. “Hardly something that is going to frighten off the Morporkians if they come to Kurra,” he laughs. “We might make them ill with it though.”

The wise man looks crestfallen at the failure of his demonstration.

“Buck up man. It’s just your first try. Keep working on this and figure out how to make it more reliable. I’ll find men to help you.” E_T straightens up and his aides fall back and form up. He notices Golden Bear and waves to him.

“Come inside, we have a reply from the Horde to your last message.” Turning to his men, he orders, “stand guard around the house and keep people clear while we talk.” He ushers Golden Bear into the largest of the houses in the town. As they enter, he calls out, “Lords Beta and Ruby Maser, look what the storm blew in!”

As Golden Bear enters the house, he sees a large room with chairs, benches and tables. At one of the tables, Beta and Ruby are seated. A scroll sits on the table with in corners held down by mugs and glasses. An unrolled map rests beneath. The two men stop an apparently earnest discussion and look up.

Beta speaks, “Here’s the Horde’s message. We’re trying to figure out what to make of it. They’re sounding as if they truly want peace – but they still want Kurra as the price.”

E_T breaks in, nearly shouting, “And we aren’t giving it up! Better to go down as men rather than helping them to kill us by pieces. I can’t, I WON’T give up my only supply of horses. No iron now and no horses in the future – that’s no life at all.”

Beta waves his hands in a gesture of slowing. “Yes, you’re the General and you see things as a warrior.” He smiles to take any sting out of his words. “But we’ve got to see if we cannot find a way through all this so that we get some time of peace so that we can rebuild.”

Ruby shakes his head, hard. “Can’t I get you people to understand simple words? You’re as dense as a Horde warrior. We’ve got to play Morpork and the Horde against each other for our own advantage. E_T’s correct, and you’re correct also, sort of.” Threaten the Horde with Morpork and threaten Morpork with the Horde. It is all so clear.”

Golden Bear realizes that the argument that began in Babylon a week ago is still raging. “We need some kind of decision, men. The Horde gets worried if we don’t write to them almost every day. I want peace, but I am just here to do the bidding of our country. What are we going to do?”

With that, all of them begin speaking at once. Even from a back room appears Lord Skrobism voicing his opinion. Golden Bear stares around. “Well, this is Babylon.” He thinks. “We’re notorious for our discourse. Hmm, I wonder where Con is – he usually shouts as loud as everybody else combined. Probably sleeping one off in one of these rooms.”

Suddenly Golden Bear gets a look of concern on his face. Shogun, who has just entered sees it and stops. Golden Bear sounds worried, “Con didn’t bring his wife with him did he? We could be in for a beating if he did.”

The arguments stop suddenly – quiet envelopes the room so completely that Con’s snores can be heard. Then the room breaks into raucous laughter.”

…..

Somewhere to the north a lean and hard Horde warrior sits astride his equally hardened pony. Although the rains have come to his hill and thunder rolls all about him, he sits unmoving and stares south. General Rubychaser thinks of the Babylonians and of the Morporkians. Although he cannot see the town of Kurra through the rain he stares to where he knows it to be. “Well, Lord Bear. Have you come here or do you still sit on your silken pillows in Babylon. I think I know your measure now and you will be here. Do you come to ride with me and hunt or will you still hide behind your walls of diplomacy and paper? What will your people do? Won’t you raise a finger to save yourselves?”

The thunder continues to pound the hills, echoing the thunder inside Kurra.

[Golden Bear]

A Storm Passes Through

The storm had passed, leaving in its wake the smell of damp leaves and grass, tiny tik-tik-tik dripping sounds from the eaves, as well as enjoyable fresh sense of chill waiting to be relieved by the sunlight. Even now the sun sneaked around the clouds to project multiple brilliant rainbows over the flat and fertile valley. Storms harbinge change and this one marked the first rain of the season, sweeping with it increasing winds and water until it ended in the Fall just for the harvest.

In Kurra, things had also changed…

“Dammit,” pound, “dammit,” pound, “dammit,” thundered the voice and the fist of Babylon’s Lord of Martyrs and Discipline, Con. “We finally all agree on something and then we screw it up five minutes later.” He quiets a little but continues cursing under his breath. “It figures that Lord Beta would be lost on the road back to Babylon at a time like this.”

“He and that pipsqueak Golden Bear have completely thrown this one into the flames.” More fist pounding.

Con sat inside a house of Kurra, rife with the smell of wet thatch and ancient molds. His nodding audience was played by the Master Artist, Shogun and the Master of Diplomacy, Skrobism.

“Bear is scarcely able to write… we only gave him the Horde duty in the first place because it was a dead end.” Skrobism stated. “We should have stepped in long ago when things got serious again.” He shook his head, “I can’t imagine that he had anything to do with that, it must be all from our private communications with the mighty Khan on the side.”

“We’ll find some harmless and meaningless job to keep him busy and out of the way. He’s almost a barbarian anyway – not really one of us, you remember. Do you recall how he looked when we found him writing letters for the merchants down in the marketplace? An absolute hill person!”

The three chuckled at the thought.

“Well, we’ll sort this out right now. Time for the real diplomats to take over. We both know the Khan from our days of hunting in Euphorica. Let’s cut out all the lower diplomats and go straight to him.” Skrobism nods.

Shogun coughs gently and looks up from his sketch board. He’s drawing a picture of Con and Skrobism poised together on the same side of a chess board, considering the game. The opponent is in shadows. Con is flicking one of his own pawns off the board with a curled up finger. “If we look closely, we might find that these, ah, “junior” diplomats have brought us some distance down the path to peace – and the current situation is entirely at the feet of Lord of Lords Beta. It might be a mistake to judge our wanderer as a barbarian by his clothes…”

“Bah.” Con snorts. “You can even find a good side to our blood enemies in Ankh-Morpork. We can handle this correctly without their help.”

-----

Indeed, as the previous day and night had passed in Kurra, there had been an interchange of messages passed by busy couriers riding between the Horde units in the Iron Mountains and the Lords of Babylon in Kurra.

First had been a message penned by Golden Bear to accept the offer of peace with the Horde in exchange for Kurra. At the same time that he sent this, Beta told his aides to order the townspeople to pack up and move out – he would save his Babylonians and find them a new town to build.

Then the reply came. It asked for details of Kurra – populations, houses, wagons, horses, sheep and such.

Beta ordered Golden Bear to obscure the evacuation of the town, and yet another message was sent.

This time the returning, mud splattered and shivering courier told them that the Horde would need time for a full reply.

In the meantime, Lord of Lords Beta packed up his retinue to return to Babylon. “We are done here, I’ve got to find out where we can resettle things. General E_T, come with me at least for a few hours so we discuss our next plans.”

With that, Beta and E_T left, riding through the mud on the road to Babylon. The evacuees would be soon following them on the same path.

The remaining rulers of Babylon sat down to drink and gossip. Golden Bear promptly fell asleep in his chair. “Our diplomat has been on the go with these negotiations for two straight days, I think, along with riding from Babylon to Kurra… his head for wine is light now!” Shogun said with a smile. “Take him to the back room and let him sleep.”

And off they dragged Golden Bear onto a bed. Shogun pinned a picture that he had made over the bed, depicting a hamster with enormous testicles. “That’ll KILL him when he wakes up!”

The remaining three returned to the main room to listen to the rain and drink their way through the night…

Sometime after midnight Con was shaken out of dream by one of the guards. “Lord Con, the man says it’s urgent-like. Something from the Herd, he seys.”

Con struggled awake and sat down at the table. “OK, what’s going on?”

Another courier stood there. He quickly reached under soaking clothes and leather to pull out a message tube wrapped in oilskin. “From the Horde my Lord.”

Con pulled it open, spreading the bark-cloth page open the pile of maps and messages and pulled a candle close. His eyes scanned down the page and grew wide. “WHAT IN HOLY HELL???” His roar awakened everybody in the house, and practically everybody in the town as well.

Skrobism and Shogun rushed over to look. “Numbers, drawings, everything. They must have a spy – or they can see better than we give them credit for from that hill of theirs.”

“We’re caught in a lie – did anybody know what Beta and Bear were going to write to those horsers?”

“Beta’s gone, but I can beat the story out of Bear. Go drag him in here,” yelled Con at some nervous guards.

“Umm, Lord Con, he’s not waking.”

The three Lords rushed in the bedroom. Golden Bear was visibly pale and sweating. The furs he had been covered with were tangled in his limbs. Skrobism put his hand on the man’s forehead and pulled it back sharply. “He’s burning up. He’s got a fever. He’ll need to sweat it out.”


Skrobism and Con had found Golden Bear’s message kit where he kept the laboriously copied duplicates of all correspondence. They tore through the pages with impatience, barely looking at them.

“Who thought there was so much of this?” Con questioned.

“Diplomacy takes time and a lot of writing, Con,” answered the Master of Diplomacy.

“Well there’s nothing in here. That fool of a hills man forgot to copy it. I’ll have him beaten when he gets healthy.”

With that, the two forgot about everything else and began writing and posting messages for the Horde, many addressed to the Khan himself. In return they received even longer posts, many with quotes from earlier missives. The Khan and his coterie were not pleased with this apparent disinformation.

“What’s he on his high horse about, everybody lies in diplomacy,” mutters Con.

Shogun looks up from his couch, “Yes, but you are not supposed, ever, to get caught.”

“He had better get over it. We’ll call back the townsfolk and give him the town then, if that’s what will quiet down his whining.”

After a time, Golden Bear rouses himself. First he sees the hamster picture from Shogun and starts to laugh. Then he realizes that his body aches and he feels chills. He recognizes fever from his traveling days. Then he spots a piece of paper that is tacked on the door where he can’t help but see it. “Get your ass out of bed and get out here.” is all that it says.

Outside, when he enters the main room, he notes the litter of papers, the ransacked message bag, Con and Skrobism reading and writing madly. Shogun raises an eyebrow at him. “Our Lord Diplomat arises from his sepulcher!”

“You know I’m not a Lord. I’ve got no title, so cut that out.”

Con and Skrobism, now that they see him, start talking simultaneously while waving their hands excitedly. After a moment, Golden Bear hears their concerns and walks to the ruined message bag. He bends over for a moment, and pulls out two or three documents that he hands to Con. Con’s eyes widen as he reads. “Well, err, hrmph…”

Golden Bear sways dizzily and has the thought that his wandering days may be approaching again. Then he sits down, hard.

... Golden Bear, now that he is up, can feel his strength returning. Curiously, once he delivered the not-so-hidden documents to Con and to Skrobism, the two of them faded and fell asleep at their table.

Wide-awake, Golden Bear could only sit and admire the snoring skills of his companions as he, alone, kept watch on the rainy night following the storm....

[Golden Bear]

The Chess Match

This was contributed by Shogun Gunner:

[Golden Bear]

So What Happens Now?

[I]…the town square is crowded. Packed into the muddy open space are peasants with carts and townspeople with packs and sheep, cows, horses, swine and unhappy barking dogs. It is a scene of confused and unhappy pandemonium. To the side, the small has been shrine has been taken down and rests in pieces. After the opening thunderstorm, the late season rains began in earnest and continue in fits and starts with barely a glimpse of sun in between. This only adds to the misery of the already homeless people in the square.[I]

Inside, the Babylonian Lord of Martyrs and Discipline, Con, again sits at the well used and paper-covered table with aides, companions and Golden Bear.

He speaks, “Well, that ought to about do it. We’ve called back all the refugees and we’re forcibly resettling them. Not to happy about, they aren’t. Things aren’t great back home, but they aren’t looking forward to meeting the Horde here as their new masters.”

He looks up from a map. “Why couldn’t anybody find Beta out there on the road? We found every pig, every chicken, every crying family, why can’t we find him? At least we know where E_T is, back in the capitol, but where is Beta?” he intones almost plaintively.

Golden Bear breaks in, “Where do we stand now? Do we or you need to sign a treaty or something, or write one or what? Are we really at peace? I’m confused.”

Con looks nonplussed. “Hadn’t thought about that. We should be at peace. We’ve fulfilled their conditions. The people are back home and we’re pulling our troops back. Dunno what happens next. Maybe I’ll tell those people out there to get moving.”

Con and the others get out of their chairs and exit the primitive structure. Con steps up on an overturned barrel half and shouts for attention. “Heads up there, quiet down a bit. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going back to your homes. These fellows here will help you out and make sure you get there all right.” A wave of grumbling passes through the crowd.

“Yer not terning us erver to the wildmen are yer?” A woman with children speaks out of the crowd.

“That’s a problem, that is. You’re going to have a new government here. The Horde will be your new rulers. Now, now..” he makes a placating gesture in response to loud curses. “One government is pretty much the same as another when it comes down to it. You’ll be OK. They gave their word on that.”

Con steps down as the crowd gets tumultuous. Soldiers begin pushing parts of the crowd out of the street and back down the lanes to their hut and cottages. Rain falls as a steady mist, subduing the noise.

Con and the others stand to their side of the square and watch the proceedings. Their heads turn as a call comes from the north side of town, “…a rider from the Horde, coming in with dispatches.”

With that, a young man with wild hair and the beginnings of a moustache rides in on a pony. The man tries to look arrogant and proud but is clearly uncomfortable being surrounded by so many Babylonians. Without dismounting, he pulls out a scroll of beaten bark cloth and passes it to the waiting hand of an Aide. Another aide hand signals him over to a place to rest and eat while his pony is taken care of.

“This should be our answer here,” Con starts, “probably the conditions for us moving out and them coming in – whatnot like that.” He starts to read message and tosses it to Golden Bear. “It’s addressed to you from that Rubychaser of theirs.”

Golden Bear proceeds to read, “…Peace equals trust,” blah, blah, “…your nation is not to be trusted.” "They’re pulling out?" He raises an eyebrow at Con, who stands with his mouth agape. They’re blaming us for this screw up and they’re walking out. Leaving us to the Morporkians.

Everybody starts talking at once. Master of Arts Shogun and Golden Bear push the Lords back into the hovel where they won’t be heard by the crowd.

“Lemme get this straight,” Con vents, “we pay uncounted gold to get the folks to move out of town, and then even more to get them back in, we tear down our church, and now they’re gettin all high and mighty on us?”

Lord Master of Diplomacy Skrobism slaps his open palm down hard onto the table. There is a hush in which the bleating of sheep can be heard. “Now friggin what? Now what? I don’t want to talk to these guys anymore anyway. We’ll take our fates like men. But what is it that’s their problem?”

Golden Bear sits down with his dispatch case and starts pulling sheets from it and reading as he goes.

“Hmm, we were supposed to betray Euphorica for them. They got pissed off when we didn’t. Guess they don’t think anybody but the Horde has honor.”

“Then we tried to sent them money but it got waylaid. Pissy about that too.”

“Then they want Kurra. Then they want Kurra’s people. Then they threaten us and bring an army to our doorstep.”

“Then we try to evacuate the town before it gets sacked. Then they don’t like that and we bring the folks back.”

“Yes, I can see where we let them down – only joking. No, really I can’t. They’ve cost us a bunch of cash, the trust of our people and even our shrine. I can’t believe that Rubychaser would think like this.”

“Maybe it was their plan all along,” says Rubymaser, Master of Reason for Babylon. “Where were they when our iron got sacked by the Morporkians, if they were going to help us? Why didn’t they ever tell us anything? Half the time they’re threatening to kill us all and the other half demanding things that we don’t even have. Because of our attempts to reach peace with them, our country is in frightful shape with almost no resources."

Golden Bear ponders. He thinks of the friendship that might have been with Rubychaser. Should he seek out Rubychaser on his own and speak the blunt words that must be spoken?

He rises, “I’ll see you folks all in hell if I’m there before you. I’ll keep a place at the bar.” He ducks under the dripping thatch at the door and goes to look for his horse and his kit.

Shogun looks at his retreating back thoughtfully. He lays on the table a poem that he had been writing and follows Golden Bear out into the rain.

[Golden Bear]

Circle of Poetry

Master of Arts Shogun clapped his hands together quickly with the sound of three twigs breaking quickly, "Attention, now. The Academy has been working with verse to ease the troubles that we all bear in these dark hours."

The small group of companions lay back on their pillows, more that one feeling the bruises of the extended time travelling in the saddle back on the long road from Kurra. Golden Bear attempted to hold back a sniffle but settled for a quiet one, so he hoped. He didn't catch the fever in Kurra but came down with a cold - which the ride in the rain did not help.

Each of the gathering looked around at the rest, thinking of other faces that had congregated like this in the past. Where was Micha now? Where were the many whose names were inscribed on the Stone of Souls in the Great Palace of Babylon? The past seemed a dark and hollow hole at a time like this. The rose colored marble seemed subdued, almost more like a tomb than a place of music and art. The ceaseless rains outside on this night brought a chill far greater than the actual cold. Only a small cluster of people huddled together in a circle of light and dancing shadows cast alternately by oil lamps slung in netting from pillars and walls.

Babylon seemed very, very empty at this time. Many were in the fields, shops and armories readying and training for the War of Salvation.

Shogun began, "I must start with some poetry from our peripatetic friend, Planet. He stayed but long enough to leave a bundle of scrolls for me and then left. We remained too long in Kurra for us to meet. He never can stay still for very long..." He lowered his head for a moment and pronounced a story of Babylon and Inanna and their cooperation to achieve a place of beauty, art and science. At the end the gathering made a sound like an intaking of breath and then began talking at once.

"Marvellous! Oh how we miss Planet when he is not here."

"His words are always alive. His soul truly rests here," and so on.

Then Skrobism and Shogun each pronounced their verses and received accolades and praise. Even Beta tried his voice with short verses.

At the end, the companions were all standing and toasting, their hearts were indeed lighter. The rain seemed no longer a dark harbinger of evil and indeed like the heaven-sent sustenance that it is.

Beta, Lord of Lords, summed it up for everybody:
"I am so proud to be part of Babylon."

And none at that place, at that time, could ever disagree.

[Golden Bear]

...I don't want Con to feel left out of the story...

After the Hall had cleared and all had gone to their beds, Con, Master of Martyrs and Discipline, reeled in - much the worse for drinking.

"I can poet wish tha besht of 'em." Belch.

The Horde still sucks
The Horde still sucks
They really really really really suck
The Hooooooorde still sucks

Belch again.

"I never said I had any talent."

The cats, troubled from their mouse hunting duties by this rambling visage, thought about what he said. They decided they didn't give a crap because he didn't bring food.

[Golden Bear]

His Own Road to Hell

Ardos straightened up and reared back while he set his iron headed pick on the ground. Sweat glistened on his head and bare torso and sunlight picked out glistening beads in his head. Hot. On the brow of this hill west of Potamia, the sun bore down unbroken by any shade or shadow. Off to the west and north he could see the white haze of the Western Desert. If he could somehow look through miles of hills he could see white walls and spires in Potamia, resting as it did by the river.

Ardos and his crew were set to the task of creating mines and workshops in the productive hilly area. They were given tools of iron, that now rare metal, to speed their task because it was of such importance to the country. While Ardos dug on this hill with a group, he could see other teams constructing water driven mills and digging on other hillsides. Even without iron it was possible to make weapons from bronze and many items from tin and copper.

“Hey Ardos, yer lazy goldbricker. You’re not the Lord of this land, not yet.” A bearded, dirty and equally sweaty man smiled up at the image of him stretching. “Yer don’ get to decide when yer works and when yer desn’t.”

Ardos stepped over to the water butt and lifted a ladle of liquid to drink. Partway through his quaff he turned and tossed the remainder of water onto the man. This man shook his head and laughed while the water drew short twisting paths in the dust on his face and shoulders. “Aye, fool around you. I’ll be lookin to get into the creek soon enough to scrape this grime off.”

Ardos slapped him on the shoulder and bent back to his task. Chunk, scrape. Chunk, scrape. Pause to let someone shovel. Chunk, scrape.

These work crews had a few guards scattered about, looking for hungry wild animals, but mostly to break up fights. Here, far off to the western part of Babylon, it was peaceful and quiet. The war was a distant story except to the men that got pulled into service. Of course, there were refugees with stories and not much else. They were no real problem because there was plenty of good land empty and available. People from Potamia were happy to help them get back on their feet.

North of Potamia, it was a different story. There the work crews went about their duties while shielded by a formidable unit of armor clad pikemen. This was one of the few remaining formations that remained with iron weapons – a not insignificant sign of how important the work was around Potamia. To the north, these men could be threatened by Morporkian riders slinking through hills and then circling through the Western Desert in a surprise attac,

However, to the west, none of these risks were apparent. The men worked. Meals were brought at midday. They rested and worked some more. The sun continued to beat down. In the afternoon, Ardos again stood and stretched before pacing over to the water. He took the dipper, drank, and spilled water over his own head. His eyes were closed and he thought about cool streams idling between wooded banks. When he opened his eyes he looked west again to the Western Desert, down to where a river flowed. He turned back to the work…

But a second. “What’s that I see?” he thought to himself. He looked again, trying to think what had made him pause. Then he spotted it. The white patch of desert had a plume of dust coming up from it – but not from a sand or dust storm.

“SOMEBODY’S COMING.” He yelled. All around, men stopped digging, women stopped carrying and shoveling. They turned to look at Ardos. He pointed down the hill to the white of the desert. Heads all pivoted as if turned together by some wonderful mechanism. Then they stopped and stared. Some started to step back and to look over their shoulders as if to run. The few scattered guards looked at each other. Their thoughts were clear, “We’re screwed.”

However, they squared their shoulders and turned to herd the workers back from the hills and valleys, hoping that they could all escape whatever fate was now rushing towards them. The workers carried their tools with them as they began moving east, back towards the city. However, the city with its safety was two hard days of marching away. Their only hope was in flight and in hiding.

Ardos cast a glance over his shoulder as they came down the far side of the hill into a valley… down close to the tents where they made their work camp. He saw movement. Movement a down the valley where it opened out. There were riders there.

“Ahh, crap. It’s the Scythians.” He almost whispered. Now everybody stopped.

Scythians were a tribe of people who lived on their horses and prospered by helping themselves to the work of others – other tribes, other cities. Even other Scythians, if it came to that. Their entire culture was geared to war in the saddle. When one of their great warriors would die they would dig a grave into the top of a small hill. They would build a wooden house inside the grave and lay the warrior on a bed within it, surrounded by his weapons and jewelry from his conquests. His horse would be led into the house and slain there so the horse would always be nearby to serve its master. Then they would roof the house and pile earth back upon it. They would dig up even more earth and rocks and turn the original small hill into a mound. The Western Desert was dotted with these mound-graves of the Scythians.

However, their opponents or victims were not treated so well. Many of their bones lay whitening out in the desert sun, unmemorialized and unremembered.

The current group of horseman, having now spotted quarry, began to accelerate their riding. Groups split off to north and south to seek more victims and encircle others.

Ardos’ group turned like an animal at bay and looked to make such a stand as they could. They threw over tables and barrels to make a barricade. Men with their tools stood behind it. The guards moved to the sides to watch the flanks and to climb the valley walls a short distance so they might use their bows. Although the workers did not have weapons they were big and powerful men. If they could tangle the Scythians in the barricade they might stop them, so they said to each other.

“Steady now, steady,” Ardos put his arm around a youth who was all but ready to scream with the fear that welled up. “You’d die alone out there. You don’t want to die alone do you?” The lad shook his head and attempted to stand straighter. He shook his shovel and tried to sound self-assured when he said, “I’m with you,” but it came out as a squeak.

The horseman had looked far away and looked to be approaching only slowly. They kept coming on. Men had a moment to relax a little and their hearts stopped pounding so hard.

But then it seemed as if the riders were transported by the very wind as they changed from being so very far away to being right atop the defending workers. Arrows seemingly materialized out of air and chunked quivering into the wood of the barricade and even into the shoulder of one worker who made a sound like, “awwww…” and seemed to sit himself down on his rump and then collapse. On the sides, the guards fired their composite bows but seemingly with no effect.

The Scythians charged in. Some pulled right up sideways abreast the barrier and fired bows while others leaned over to stab with spears or even swords. Many crowded to the sides to ride up over the rise and around the barrier. A few even attempted to jump the barrier. Fewer still did.

Ardos had ducked when the arrows first flew. He watched through a gap in the makeshift wall until the horsemen got up close. Then he sprang up with his pick cocked over his shoulder. If front of him a small rider, barely a youth, leaned over screaming with his face contorted in apparent rage. He had his arm drawn back to stab down with a spear. Light though the spear was, Ardos’ spring carried him up to a step on the barrier and the heavy pick smashed down on the attacker’s head and shoulder. The point missed the boy but the mass of iron shattered his arm and neck and carried through on an arc until it hit the horse in the head and knocked it down with its rider.

The thrashing caused by this dismounting cleared a space in the attackers and Ardos, his blood afire now, climbed to the top of the barrier while dragging the pick back up. An arrow slapped his side but the point missed. A different rider drifted his horse sideways to finish off this fool of a peasant. But Ardos knew his pick well – knew its balance and how to make its weight and momentum work for him.

The pick snapped up under the man’s horse and caught it under the left leg. This time the point struck and it snapped easily through the horse’s ribs and into a lung. The horse sheared away with a scream, flinging the rider down to be crushed by its weight, but also pulling the pick free from Ardos’ hands. The pick came free as the horse thrashed dying next to the other but it lay across the barrier. Ardos started to reach down after it, but found someone pulling his right leg. He turned with a snarl, ready to fight with his hands, selling his life dear. But it was the boy with the shovel.

“Ardos, don’t go over there, they’re behind us!!”

Indeed, it was as the boy said, when Ardos had a moment to glance around. Apparently the riders in front had mostly been there to attract attention while the majority just rode around the barrier. The only thing that had saved the few men at the barricade so far was that the Scythian riders, having trapped their victims, were now in the middle of their camp. No Scythian can resist the opportunity for loot or for fighting, but it is looting that comes first. These wild riders on their leggy horses were tangled in tents and boxes… opening, grabbing, stabbing anything that moved.

Ardos started forward and then realized that the spear from the boy that he first fought had fallen across the barrier. He picked it up and felt its light but sturdy heft. He realized that the fight was over and that it was time to flee again. Flee and hope that the riders got too involved with the looting to chase anymore. He hoped that they would stumble onto the beer rations so that they would intoxicate themselves and give up.

He pushed the boy across a stony, wide and shallow creek. Ardos aimed him towards a stand of cottonwood trees that huddled next to what had been their bathing hole. He hoped that they could get there without being spotted… too many eyes focused other places.

The youth was fast when he realized what they were doing. He flew across the stones of the creek bed so quickly that it seemed his feet didn’t touch. Ardos, much larger and heavier did not run so quickly.

A sound behind him made him turn. His hoped for luck was apparently too unlikely. Two riders were pointing to him and to the boy and were slapping their horses on their rumps to make them run. Ardos stopped and turned slowly. He stepped back so that they would need to cross the shallow sheet of water to get to him. He heard the boy stop clattering across the stones behind him. He slowed time down while he watched the men coming. “GET OUT OF HERE,” he yelled to the boy and heard the movement pick up again behind him.

In his heightened sense of awareness he saw the horses and riders striding a step at a time. Horses’ nostrils flaring. Riders’ eyes opened wide and seemingly all white. Mouths opened, maybe for yells but he could no longer hear. Trailing ends of leather straps swung left and right with each stride of the mounts. One wore a yellow surcoat taken from some other raid on some city far away – his accelerated thoughts hoped it was Morporkian. That same man also had a round iron cap helmet on. The other wore only leather and carried a sword over his head, poised to strike down. He led the yellow one by a little.

Bad idea, the thought flashed through Ardos’ mind. I can get the spear point up much faster than he can swing down. The horses reached the span of smooth river rocks and rattled onto them. They slipped and skidded on the stones. “Something to remember for next time. These desert mounts don’t like rocks.” The riders urged them on in their now mindless lust for blood. As the horses attempted to pick their way into the stones and through the water, Ardos caught movement out of the corners of his eyes. “Too late to worry about anything else. I’ll stay focused on these two.” He forgot about anything else. Fate would determine the rest.

The two mounts stumbled up onto Ardos, scattering spray from the creek. The first, with his sword raised blocked the second as they bore down on the seemingly paralyzed tall peasant worker. Ardos bore the spear at an angle across his chest as if carrying a ward against their oncoming death.

Suddenly, giving no time for reactions, he crouched a little while bringing the lance point up. He didn’t try to be clever, just stuck it into the chest of the first rider. The man’s eyes showed surprise as he tried to bring the sword down. But he was slow, so very, very slow. The sword seem stuck high in the sky, sparkling from the sunshine. Ardos’ lance caught the man high in his left chest and punctured the leather jacket easily.

Ardos now yanked back hard on the lance and a patch of bright red blood gushed out after it. He stepped left so that the horse shielded him while the man tried to bring the sword down. It seemed that the man’s arm had no strength and would not feel the sword any longer. With a soundless yell, he collapsed from the horse, staring up at the sun and wondering why he could not move, why he could not feel the sword. The sun became as large as the sky to him and turned red as his own blood fountained over his face. But the man knew nothing of this, because he was dead.

Ardos let the riderless horse lunge by. Without its rider it suddenly felt light and picked up speed as it shot away. The second rider reined up and attempted to turn but Ardos gave him no time. The rider attempted to bring his own spear around. Ardos reversed the own he held and used the butt end to slap the horse one its muscular behind. Surprised, the horse reared a little bit which caused the rider’s spear to strike high. Reversing the spear again, Ardos struck again with the point. This time, seeing that the man had a mail shirt and a cap, Ardos guided his spear at the throat. In the slowed time sense he had, Ardos saw the spear slide under the Scythian’s arm and smoothly into his throat. Blood shot out immediately. Bright bright blood pumped hard from the man’s beating heart. The spear slipped from nerveless fingers and dropped with a clatter onto the creek’s stones. Again a riderless horse bolted.

Ardos stood shocked as time caught up with him. He looked wildly around over the two limp and bloody corpses at his feet. His spear dangled loosely in his left hand. He saw a third Scythian to his right, dismounted, blocking his escape to the trees. A sound to his left made him look, involuntarily to that side where he spied yet a fourth warrior, also dismounted coming at him beside a cluster of brush that grew at the river’s edge. Ardos started to bring his spear up as he looked from left to right. However, this time it was as if he was the one moving in slow motion while the two new opponents had their spears raised, ready to stab or throw. A sudden, ‘THWACK’ made him look at the third warrior, the one to the right. The man dropped his spear and spun around spitting blood from a broken nose and jaw. A stone deflected upwards from his head. A scream to his left made him turn, ready to block with the spear but not stab. One of the militia guards stood there, pulling an arrow out of his quiver to reload. The Scythian lay still with an arrow in his eye.

“Run now, yer bloody fool,” hollered the guard. “Get the HELL out of here.” The guard started to run past Ardos towards the trees.

Stunned, Ardos began to turn. The guard grabbed his elbow and spun him, trying to drag him. Ardos then started to run for the cottonwoods. Ahead of him, he youth was waving him on with one hand while a strap of leather dangled from the other. A sling! The kid carried a sling! The three of them mounted the bank of the creek and darted into the trees.

There, they threw themselves low and looked back and around them while they crouched and caught their breaths.

Seemingly, nobody else had seen their flight. Back in the camp, there was screaming and pitiful wailing from women that stopped with a frightful break. The Scythians were pouring into the camp and breaking and burning.

The three just sat down and looked at each other. Ardos felt exceedingly weary. The gasped for breath and simply stared. Ardos’ thoughts were a jumble that he couldn’t stop. Dead men he had killed covered in blood… riders bursting upon them so terribly quickly. The Scythian boy’s face as the heavy pick crushed him.

“’right yer two,” the guard started, “somebody’s gonna notice those bodies wot we kilt back there. We gotta move and keep moving and don let anybody ever see us. Good tink they didn’t find us in the morning. Maybe we can last til darkness.” He didn’t sound like he much believed it.

He looked at Ardos. The man was big but had moved incredibly quickly. “Yer, there. Yer ever a fighter somewheres like? Take down two riders with not’n but a spear yer did.”

Ardos shook his head. “Nah, I’ve worked in crews and led them. That’s my only job. Just lucky today, I guess.”

“Lucky, my ass,” thought the man. “He’s never going back to that line of work again. We need him in arms, and lots more like him. Man’s a natural warrior, just never had a chance to find out.”

Ardos had come back to the present. “We’ll have time for life stories later. You’re right, it’s up to us to save ourselves now. I know a path back through the woods here that’ll take us away from the other camps. I figure that the Scythian’s have probably killed everybody we know in these hills now.”

The guard let the big man lead the way with the spear. He didn’t look scared or nervous, but like he already what to do next. Even the boy with his sling looked ready for more – he was filling pockets with round river stones. With a sigh, the guard stood up. “Well, no sleep fer the like o’ us t’night it seems. Lead on then. He brought his bow up and moved to take a covering position at the rear.

Across the hills, parties of Scythian horsemen repeated the scene. They sprung from seemingly nowhere to surprise and murder groups of workers and supply wagons. Smoke from a thousand fires trailed up into a darkening sky. All the work of months was undone in a few hours of frenzy.

The sun finally went down on this day of carnage – not that the Scythian warrior by the river would ever know of it. Hopefully he had found his own heaven, or perhaps his own road to hell.

[Golden Bear]

The next two have never been seen outside the Babylon forum...

[Golden Bear]

Act II

Finally, the heavy late season rains lift, bringing striking bright sunshine to raise the spirits of the Babylonians who have been living like moles for the past few weeks. Over much of the realm, workers go their fields to tend the rows and hoe out the weeds that spring up almost as quickly as the crops. To the north and northeast, however, there are few fields ready to produce. Many more fields show the destruction that war brings – nascent crops splattered into the mud by horses hooves, burned huts and wagons and bodies joining back to the soil from whence they arose. In Babylon, sheets of water cover the streets as a wet carpet for the denizens that begin to creep out to carry on the business of the day. The sun hits the water and quickly begins to evaporate it, turning the town into a closed in, humid, sweatbox. In the marble palaces of state, the Lords of Babylon continue their desperate search for solutions to the threats to their country. Always alert for any opportunity to change their fortunes, these Lords work hard to leave no stone unturned…

Tick, thump. Tick, thump. Master of Martyrs and Discipline Lord Con busies himself by throwing a knife into a board. Tick as he pulls it free, thump as it strikes wood. Tick, thump. He lounges on a couch. Nearby, there are sheets of parchment covered with small pictures and caricatures that he has drawn over the last days. Tick, thump.

Rubymaser paces around the room, looking at artistic pottery and sculpture without really seeing it. The room is marble and open on the sides so that it can be entered from three directions. On the fourth side is a door that leads to chambers. “After all that work out at Kurra, things have certainly come to a dead halt.” He says, and paces some more. Con looks, raises his eyebrows, and throws the knife again. He’s heard this over and over.

At this moment, Lord of Lords Beta and Master of Armies and Domestic affairs Lord ET walk up the steps together through the guards and into the room. Rubymaser and Con both freeze and look expectantly at the two of them.

Beta does not disappoint them. He flings scrolls onto the table. “You will never guess who has been writing to us!” He gives no time for a response to his implied question. There is one from Ankh-Morpork, another from Desolatinous Roe and yet a third from Chrisius,” at this Con wrinkles his nose and squeezes the grip of his knife, “of the Horde.” Beta looks somewhat content and surveys the room. Where’s that hillman, Golden Bear? And where’s our Master of the Arts? Somebody call them in.”

“They left days ago, I think to visit Kurra.” Con answered. “Dunno when they are coming back.”

“Hmm. Well I’ll send a message to them so they’ll know what is happening. First, Ankh-Morpork writes. Full of flowery talk and hints at apologies… and a suggestion for a cease-fire since we cannot seem to agree on peace terms.” He grins. “It seems that they have finally realized that they made a mistake getting tied up in a war with us when their real enemy is to the north, the Horde.” After a pause, “I’ll need to think about what to tell them. Now is the time for an Alliance to bust the Horde but we cannot afford to be the only ones thinking so – we just don’t have the reserves or resources any more.”

Con grumbles, “Ankh-Morpork only wants to see our skins stretched over their shields. You simply cannot afford to trust them under any conditions.”

“Yes, well, that is probably true. But then came this message.” Beta brandishes a different scroll. “Desolatinous Roe is approaching us with an offer to talk about the formation of the Alliance! They say that this message must remain secret and threaten some more if it leaks out.”

ET laughs out loud at this. “More threats? Add them to the pile! We can only die once!” He chuckles.

“But once again, Desolatinous Roe suggests apologies and wishes to make tighter bonds with us.” He considers, “Of course, we might have actually listened if they had started those iron shipments that they promised. And the gold that they pirated from us. Still, it’s a start.”

Rubymaser scowls, “Those two have a lot of impertinence to be bringing up these talks now, after all the time that we’ve tried to warn them and all they did was attempt to humiliate us.”

“Well, right on the heels of these other two comes correspondence from Chrisius of the Horde. And AGAIN he offers a back handed apology and a veiled inquiry about whether there is an anti-Horde Alliance yet.”

ET butts in, “Something is shaking lose out there. But it is really difficult to tell what it is. Maybe Golden Bear and Shogun will have something to add from their visits to Kurra. I wonder what the Horde troops are up to out there.”

The Lords continue to spin their theories and to attempt to unravel the tangle of signals from their neighbors. The sun rises higher and higher over the city of Babylon.

…the same sun shines just as brightly over Kurra two days later. With the sun, the roads have finally become more passable as the mud turns to dirt and then to dust. A steady stream of soldiers and messengers pass back and forth on the road leading into and out of the town.

Outside a stable just off of the main square, Shogun and Golden Bear are readying their mounts for riding. Behind them a crew of laborers is beginning to stack stones in preparation for rebuilding the razed shrine. Townspeople are going about their routines as if all is normal again. The relief and happiness that arose when the people found out that their town would not be given to the Horde led to a state of euphoria that still has not evaporated.

Golden Bear’s horse and Shogun’s pony are shifting restlessly from their eagerness to be out and about in the pleasant weather.

During the night a rider had arrived with the message from Beta. Golden Bear and Shogun had read and discussed its meaning for an hour before returning to sleep. They destroyed the message afterwards lest any too-interested eyes might pry into it without good intentions.

“Where to, oh golden hillman? The clouds have broken and the world is a cherry, ripe for you to pick,” says Shogun.

The two men climb into their saddles and the horses begin to walk through the square.

“I want to see what is happening out there. I want to know if Rubychaser and his horde are truly going to come “visit” us without any warning. He is out there somewhere still I think.”

The riders head north and then northwest, the horses picking their ways through the wreckage that is still strewn from the earlier passage of the refugees. On a forested knoll there is a tent city, largely composed of people fleeing from the disasters in the extinct state of Euphorica.

Fields on this side of town are still tilled where they are close to the protection of the forces in Kurra. After an hour’s ride the fields are empty and the homes all burned wrecks. Fruit trees are picked clean and often cut down and burned.

“They say that the Horde steals everything from the ground they pass through. They eat everything and spoil the rest. Farmers say that they even steal the nuts from the squirrels,” observes Golden Bear.

Shogun stifles a laugh. “But hopefully not from a Bear.”

Eventually the land develops into a rolling plain that trends downhill towards the north. They follow paths that wind through the shallow valleys and over the hills. As the day draws to a close they observe smoke, as from many fires on the horizon.

“That’s probably the Horde now,” states Shogun. “This might be a good place to stop for the night – I don’t want to bump into them in the dark, particularly if they are molesting squirrels.”

Golden Bear rolls his eyes but reins up his horse. They set up a rude camp next to a pleasant stream. As the sun sets, they light a fire and make a trail meal. Bats begin their nightly foraging overhead and through the oak trees that fringe the water. Crickets sing their evening song and fireflies abound over the plains. The travelers share a companionable meal and conversation and turn in, ready for an early start. Across the horizon, dozens of campfires twinkle and wink in the dark, under the open, starry sky.

[Golden Bear]

...continued.

However, the start is earlier than they thought. Golden Bear awakes with a start and listens, trying to figure out what it is that got his attention. He listens to the pre-dawn quiet. Then he realizes that it IS quiet… much too quiet. He rolls into a crouch and reaches to shake the still slumbering Shogun. “Wha’, who’a…, wha’?” are the noises he starts to make. Golden Bear gets ready to hush him up but suddenly sees a lance point aimed directly at his eyes. His look follows up the shaft of the lance to slight and shadowy figure attired in the leather and weapons of the Horde.

The man’s teeth are a white patch in the dark. Golden Bear thinks inconsequentially that it must be morning because he can see the whiteness. The man says something and gestures with the lance to stand up. A cluster of dismounted warriors come into the camp and rustle through the belongings of Shogun and Golden Bear. They search the two of them for weapons. True to form, all the baggage quickly disappears.

The leader of the group struts forward with the bowlegged gait of someone who has spent a lot of time in the saddle. “You two, Babylons, right? You say what you doing here. You know army here. Why you here?” His speech was accented but clear.

Golden Bear thinks quickly and decides, “We came here looking for General Rubychaser, the famous warrior. We would speak with him.”

The commander of this small unit appears to ponder this for a quiet moment and then waves, “All right, you want see General? We go see same. Get on horses.”

Shogun and Golden Bear are led to their mounts and busy themselves with bridles and blankets and saddles, which have suddenly reappeared. Shogun starts to ask Golden Bear about whether it was a good idea to say what he had, but their guard says something abrupt and shakes his lance towards them. Apparently they don’t want the travelers talking to each. Other. Eventually they mount up and the Horde riders take their reins to lead their horses and to keep them from attempting escape.

The burgeoning sun is clearly up over the horizon as the troop with its prisoners begins to pass through the outlying encampments of the Horde units. Small one-person tents have been strung together to make long large tents that several men inhabit. The men turn and look at the procession without much interest. An occasional shout is given to the men in the troops who laugh and shout things back. They pass deeper and deeper into the camp and it becomes clear that this is a large army, almost all of them horsemen. The smell of the camp attests to that.

Finally, the leader tells them to dismount and has a soldier hold the horses while the rest of the troop takes Golden Bear and Shogun into a large tent that appears almost as a portable palace.

“I guess that you’re playing the big house tonight,” Shogun finally mutters. “They’re going to axe us for certain.

The troop leader grunts at them and makes a palm down hushing sign. Clearly he is subdued by the surroundings they are entering. Indeed, as they pass into the center chamber of the large tent, they find an opulently appointed chamber with rugs and furniture. A figure in a chair to the side dominates the scene.

The leader bows to this man. “Khanate Lord, honored among men, I brought these unworthy souls to you because they claim some connection.”

The Lord, Rubychaser apparently, throws back the sides of his red robes and stands to inspect the two travelers. “I don’t know these two. Who are they?”

Somebody pushes Golden Bear. “Speak nice to Lord,” the commander says.

“Lord Rubychaser, I am honored to finally meet with you. I am Golden Bear of the Babylonians and this is Lord Shogun.”

“You came with messages for me? That could be foolish since our peoples are at war. Why did you not send a rider as you usually do?” The Khanate’s mastery of the language of Babylon is flawless.

Golden Bear replies in the language of the Horde, “We come with no messages. I came to find you and to put a face to the man that I have shared correspondence with. We are on out own here, not as an official visit.”

Ruby looks closely at the two, perhaps trying to stare them down. Then he shakes his head. “I should have known that you would do something like this. I had always thought that we would both meet “on our own” as you say. But I am here as Lord of this army and the land that it rests upon.”

Ruby gestures towards sofas and pillows, “Please sit and be my guests. No harm shall come to you while you are with me. I shall grant you safe passage and return you to your lands when your visit is done.” They are speaking Babylonian again.

“Did you just come for me or to see my army?,” Ruby spreads his arms wide.

“I did want to see a Horde army,” Golden Bear admits, “but it was only a small additional incentive.” He pauses, then, “Since you brought it up, however, your force is uncomfortably close to Kurra. A half days hard ride would see you at their gates. Do you have any comment on this?”

Ruby gives a chuckle while servants bring in food and wine. “Ah, the diplomat is never far below the surface is it, my friend? I will tell you that we are here and that is enough for now.” After a moment’s consideration he adds, “and I may have something else to show you that you might be interested in.”

“But for now, enough of that talk. Tell me of yourself and your wanderings. And your friend Shogun,” he waves his hand towards him, “is he not renowned as an artist in Babylon?”

With that, the three begin a long conversation about their travels about the land and about people and art. After a time, Ruby takes them outside to where the mounted horsemen practice their skills with lance and sword from horseback. The troops ride as if one with their mounts and cause the nimble beasts to dart and turn almost like they are dancing. The day is spent in conversations and activities such as this and Ruby continues to deflect any stream of conversation that might turn into a discussion of reasons or motives for their presence. Evening comes and the three dine together in the great tent and then the two travelers are led to a chamber within where there are beds, clean clothes and water for washing. Shogun and Golden Bear take advantage of this opportunity and quickly fall into sleep, clean, in clean clothes, well fed and full of unanswered questions.

The following morning they take a light breakfast in their chamber, still under guard however unobtrusive. After a time, their own clothes are brought back to them, cleaned. The guard indicates that they should don them and make ready to leave.

“Time to go back, old chum,” says Shogun. “You’ll have some material for your Chronicles now, eh?”

“Let’s wait until we really are away from here, Shogun. You never know…”

They are signed to leave the chamber and enter the main room. Ruby also is in there, and dressed for the road. “Come, we will ride together and I will show you true art!”

They pass outside where a mounted troop of guards await. There is a horse for Ruby and the horse and pony of Golden Bear and Shogun await. Their belongings seemingly are returned and are tied onto the mounts’ backs. The three get on the animals and the guard forms around them. They leave the camp heading to the southeast, away from Kurra. Shogun and Golden Bear trade puzzled glances. Ruby talks of hunting as he rides and brags of his ability to shoot birds from horseback while moving.

They plains roll away ahead of them, empty of houses or fields. Animals and birds flee at their approach. Many Horde riders pass along the same path but make way for Ruby’s retinue. After a few hours of this, smoke from campfires is again visible ahead of them. They ride up to and into the camp where the Khanate Lord greets the commandant.

“We shall go see the troops. They have been marshaled for your personal inspection, Golden Bear!” The tents all about are indeed all but empty. They head for a flat plain to the far side of the camp where unit after unit of mounted warriors are drawn up.

However, these are not the wiry horsemen of the Horde, mounted on their nimble horses. These are mail armored men with helmets, seated atop tall and husky horses. Shogun gasps. Ruby turns to him and smiles, “Yes, I see you know what these are. These are the soldiers dedicated to Zeus the captured god and to the Statue we built for him when he came to stay in our capitol. Behold the Army of Ancient Horse of Zeus!,” he makes a sweeping gesture towards the units.

With no signal, as if blown by the wind, the units all suddenly break into motion, aligning themselves into rows and charging and then reforming into columns. Every movement is made at breakneck pace. The control and the mass of armored men is breathtaking and causes the ground to shudder as for an earthquake.

“Ruby, this is spectacular. Thank you for sharing this with us. However, why did you show this to us? We would never have suspected their presence otherwise?”

The Khanate Lord shakes his head and smiles. “Is it not enough just to see them and see their skill? You always must look for reasons inside of other reasons, friend Bear. Just enjoy the show and then you shall be returned to your homes.”

After the drills ceased, they are indeed escorted back to the west towards Kurra. When in distant sight of the town, the party reined up. “And now we must part, Shogun and Golden Bear.” He looks closely at Golden Bear, “The next time we meet, I pray it shall be for a hunt and not for something more formal… or more threatening.” Ruby clenches Golden Bear’s hand, makes a salute with hand raised high and then gallops away into the plains.

The two ride their now tired mounts towards Kurra and home.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I thought I would soil myself back there when you had us walking into his tent all high and mighty.” “One of these days your foolhardiness is going to cost you.”

Golden Bear smiles and says, “But today is not the day! Let’s see if these nags want to race one more time,” as he urges his horse to run.

Indeed the horses did have enough strength for one more run.

[Shogun Gunner]

that's a great body of work. Marking my spot to get updates for the next chapters. Hmmm...an update could go along lines of something just like this....

A fight breaks out a tavern between soldiers of the Horde and soldiers of the Babylon during an uneasy temporary truce. The Horde had just destroyed a road and Babylonians are pissed. Accusations start flying, people start mooning each other and debates about the proper reporting of the conflict through the respective medias echo throughout the building.

Finally, the almighty God on high, Ming, descends upon the scene striking down any who stand in his way. With a wave of his mighty sceplture, Ming erases the past except for the opening scene where the protagonists and antagonists are standing outside the bar in disbelief wondering what had just happened.

Ming leaves with a warning "Any who challenge me and repeat what I have just erased will descend into the depths of the unforsaken." Those ends the Great book of Woe Upon Babylon, Chapter 1: Verses 1-2.

[Golden Bear]

Sheez, Shogun, you read my mind. Now I'll have to write something different. Actually, there are about 5 pages of it written already and I haven't even gotten around to Con yet. Just keep travelling with the title character and you will get lots of air play Shogun.

Hmm. You could start a side story about Shogun's participation in the Chronicles.

You're getting off-topic you spam meister.

[Shogun Gunner]

Originally posted by Golden Bear

You're getting off-topic you spam meister.

Is that the kettle and pot thing?

con is the spam meister, not me. I only post 2.45/day

con posts 2.45/hour

[conmcb25]

Originally posted by Shogun Gunner con posts 2.45/hour

Close but Im working on it, a person MUST have goals

Is the last installment brand new??????