The Warrior's Pride

There are many kinds of war, most of them deadly.

I am Hillbrak the Arydapian, High General of the Arydapian Warrior Riders, though I am young. The only man higher in rank than I is Damon, the Dar-Par, leader of this Arydapian clan. We are presently at war with the Grundels, a savage tribe of Black Dwarves, a most unfriendly group. Hostilities began only three weeks ago, and I expect a development soon.

Arydapia is a pleasant place, and I am glad to be part of it. I will willingly lay down my life, if need be, in defending my beloved land. Not only do I love the land; I love the people. Most of the people, that is. There are some who make anger boil inside me like a pot of water over a hot fire. Some of these men are within my very ranks.


Trouble came to life one morning.

We had just raised camp the previous night atop a slope with its back to a cliff. Our location: just outside Grundellian territory. My rest in, I rolled out of bed before the sun and headed to the edge of the cliff, where I gazed out over the landscape. Fog spread throughout the valleys and shrouded itself among the trees and rocks, making the river-bottom below appear ghostly and still. A light snow had fallen during the night, and it softly glazed the surrounding, moss-covered hills. My breath made white puffs in the morning air as I stretched my weary muscles and surveyed all with a careful eye. The air smelled clearly of snow, mist, and heather.

The cook brought me a steaming mug, and I was proceeding to gulp it down when I heard hooves beating a tattoo on the frozen ground. The sun was barely risen. I recognized Captain Salek's messenger boy as he approached me on his mare. I waited.

He saluted me; I saluted back. "Sir," the lad began succinctly. "I come from a valley to the south of here. Captain Salek sent me to tell you he has attacked the Grundels, but will need your help. It is urgent, sir."

Something snapped within me and I threw my cup onto a stone, crushing the mug. I ranted under my breath as the messenger stood raptly by. My aide, Squire Malone, came running, asking what the news was.

"Salek has attacked the Grundels. Without my orders! The Elders will require recompense for this."

"What shall we do?" Malone questioned.

I ignored my aide and continued. "That man, Salek, is a burr. An especially irritating one! He‘s a coward! What we need in this war are real men. Not fops and weaklings! When I was in the colonies we stuck to the Code of the Warrior’s Pride. What‘s wrong here? I know Salek never knew that code; he disobeys orders whenever he thinks he‘ll get away with it, whenever it’s most convenient. Well! I swear he won‘t this time. Salek is a disgrace to me . . . and the Warrior Riders."

I faced Malone. "To answer your question, Squire, there is only one thing we can do. I am afraid we are going to help Captain Salek. Sound assembly."

"Yes, sir!" My aide scampered off, grabbing his Mox-horn trumpet and blowing three mighty blasts. I turned to the messenger boy, still at attention.

My anger subsided a bit then. At the very least, this boy bore no responsibility for Salek’s decision. Obeying orders crafted his duty. I said, “Go to my cook, messenger. Tell him to give you a drink, the best. You’ll need it, I’m thinking.”

“Yes, sir,” he shot back as he dismounted.

“Hurry up, men!” I yelled. I lifted the flap of my tent and went inside. I picked up my armor off my hammock and strapped it on. No servant for me. I retrieved my sword, drew it, examined the gleaming metal. I plunged the blade back into the sheath with a snap and clipped the whole bit onto my belt. When my preparations were finished I exited the tent with a flourish.

Cook approached me, saying, “I’ll be getting vittles up for your return, General. Fights make fellows hungry!”

“Indeed,” I replied, “they do, and I want the men well-fed. But be reasonable. We will have to ration our supplies eventually.”

“Yes, sir.”

In a few minutes, we headed out. We reached the battle scene half an hour later as we came atop a little knoll. And below us what a sight! Approximately two-hundred of Salek's Riders were engaged with five-hundred Dwarves. Men lay dead and wounded on both sides.

Many do not consider the true fightworthiness of the Grundels. They are short people- standing at about four feet-with sharp, pointedly fierce features. Though they are small, they wield strong bows and battle-axes in their six-fingered hands as well as any full-grown Human-man. What is more, they know not the meaning of mercy.

My troops held, waiting for the word to charge. The sun was to our backs, and to our advantage. The snow-reflected light would blind the Grundels' eyes when they saw us.

My hand lifted. “Advance!” I shouted and my aide blew one trumpet blast. We charged then, scattering snow and muddy turf into the air as our horses' hooves tore at the ground. My horse overtook a Dwarf who was apparently the leader. He waved his axe at me and yelled, "Gillon, gillon! Ooggy! Falon dangle!" I do not know much about Dwarfian, but I gathered he was calling me the enemy and adding some hateful words in the mix. Not cursing, though; Dwarfs claim to be above such language. I disagree.

I reached the leader and swiped at him with my gleaming sword. A clang sounded as sword met battle-axe. He swung at me; dew and sweat shook from his long, furry, black beard. I knocked aside his axe and drove my steel deep into his chest, severing part of that beard.

The Grundels quickly appreciated this counterattack, and - their leader dead - retreated before we could make a fight worth our travel. Some of the men wanted to follow, Dwarfian screeches receding in the morning air, but I would not allow it. I made a beeline for Salek. The disgusting man was up on a ledge, one hundred yards away. He never joined in a fray if he could help it. A most unworthy man!

"What happened," I demanded, reining my restless horse beside his, looking down. "I gave no orders to attack."

"It was my order," he sneered, face set forward.

My temper flared. "Go back to Beru immediately. You are unfit for this post. If I had never come, those Dwarves," I jerked my sword toward the Dwarf heels, "would have your head on a pike this very moment. Anyway, the only reason you received this assignment at all is your badgering."

With a snarl he pulled away from me, and glad I was for it. I had almost slapped him.


And now, I was flying toward Beru, the battlement-protected capitol of our young country. My horse panted with effort; yet he perceived my urgency, and on he went like the wind. My dark-cloak flowed out behind me.

The night was quiet, but not dead. The moon hung silently in the midnight sky; now and then, clouds passed its silver sphere. Tall, furry tree-trunks pointed gravely up, shaking in the breeze, like ghosts of the forest. A stag bounded away from us. A wakened squirrel chattered, angry at my awakening him. An old owl hooted.

My thoughts went to Salek. When he reached the city yesterday, his men had started a cheer . . .  for Salek. This could not be! The rider who brought the news assured me it was true. Salek had told the city that he was the victor, that he had driven away the Grundels as they approached Arydapia. However, that was not the worst. He also told of how I sent him back, but said I did it to cover my disgrace!

"He will pay!" I informed the dark.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared before me. My horse reared up on his two back legs. I drew my sword in fear.

Then I recognized the figure. It was a Nanjel, a messenger from Emmanweh. His robe was white, and he stood at seven feet, when he was not hovering above the ground. His ears were long, his features fair, and he fairly glowed with an unearthly radiance. Otherwise, he was much like a man. In a second, I was off my steed and bowed on the ground. I cried, “Nanjel, messenger of Emmanweh, overlord of this planet, what do you want of me.”

"Get up!" the Nanjel ordered. I stood to my feet. Nothing shakes me. Nothing except Nanjels, and the high magic associated with Emmanweh.

The Nanjel gave me a stern face. "Last time we met, I told you not to worship me. Only Emmanweh is worthy of such honor."

"I am sorry."

"I have a message for you from Emmanweh, Hillbrak. Are your ears open?"

"They are." I nodded solemnly.

"You are a prideful man. Why do you seek revenge upon Salek, one of Emmanweh's Chosen?"

I raised my head. "I go to avenge my honor, Nanjel. Salek has spread deceits concerning yesterday's battle. I am the one who won that skirmish, and I should get the credit! Salek compromised my honor, and I will have a duel, as is the way of the Warrior's Pride."

"Oh, man of Humankind!" the Nanjel exclaimed. "You are an Arydapian, and still you hang on to that pagan Code of the Warrior's Pride, which you romanticize, ignoring the Code’s evil and idolizing its good. Take heed! The Ancient Books proclaim the truths of the magic that binds your world, and this magic goes back much further than the Warrior‘s Code. One of those truths contained inside the Books is this, 'Humility is worth more than honor, and pride goes before a fall.'

"Do not wage violence against Salek, for he is a Chosen Human and Emmanweh's to judge. What you contemplate is near to murder for petty pride. Do not deceive yourself; Emmanweh sees all. To kill is evil. To kill for pride’s sake is horrid. Mark these words, Hillbrak. Obey them. If obedience is not rendered, immense grief will most surely be the production, for resisting Emmanweh’s high magic ever ends in eventual ruin. So declares Emmanweh, along with the promise that obedience will bring reward."

As the Nanjel said this, he slowly disappeared.

I was stunned. How can I be wrong in what I am doing? I thought to myself. I have never been wrong before, have I?

No! That Nanjel must be some kind of mind trick. That little speech, maybe it was charmed! I shook my head. No; no. That’s wrong. The Nanjel and his communication were both more real than my own thoughts! But maybe he was of Okken, Emmanweh‘s enemy! I sighed. But my heart testifies against this.

I stepped into the saddle. A burst of rebellion came upon me. I will go! I must avenge my honor! What’s wrong with entertaining the Warrior's Pride? Surely Emmanweh will forgive me that. How could he think I could leave this matter alone? He knows me.

"Take heed!" The voice came again.

A battle inside me seethed, with one part telling me to do what the other declared wrong. One part of me was furious, raging, angry; the other was gentle, but firm. I struggled with what to do; my good side conflicted with my bad side. My pride was great, as always it has been and always will be. Yet the Nanjel's message was greater.

This was so sudden. Controlling my passions is so difficult. Surrendering is hard for me.


Even as my inner battle continued, the same Nanjel visited another man. A Captain of the Warrior Riders.


A week later.

A well-dressed servant led me to the royal chambers. An oaken door with iron hinges was closed. I reached for the knocker and lifted it.

I had come here through a secret tunnel, for I did not know if Salek's men might be seeking me with violent intentions. The morning after I saw the Nanjel, I received word that Salek had hired three killers. Their plan was to ambush me as I came along the road toward town, as Salek knew me well enough to know I would seek him out after he had perpetrated his odious perfidy.

I had obeyed the Nanjel and was saved. My eventual thoughts that Emmanweh’s magic is just were correct. Emmanweh had rewarded me.

I released the knocker and it slammed a silver disc. A rustling swished, and Damon Dar-Par opened the door.

"Hillbrak!" he greeted. "Come in. I've been expecting your report for a whole day now!"

I grinned widely. "I am sorry to be late, sir."

Damon chuckled and we entered his room. Damon's wife, Roxanne, relaxed on a couch near the window, and a young woman I did not know sat upon the window-seat. The stranger was dazzling, but I faced away, serious business at hand.

Damon led me to a map. "How is it with the military, General? I trust the reinforcements I sent were adequate."

"Quite so, Dar-Par Damon. As to the condition of my command, only one man has met death so far. It was a young private, Wilsonn. He was on sentry duty. Apparently, he fell asleep. A Grundel Dwarf did him in. Cut his hand off, too, the dirty rascals.

"We are currently situated here," I fingered a needle on the map. "It is an excellent spot for defense, as it is up on a sizeable hill. No other peaks are close enough for an enemy to use to fire upon us from. We draw a large amount of water from a river at the foot of the hill every afternoon when the Grundels are unlikely to attack. We are working on a rock fort now, and are quite far along on the project.

"The Dwarves have led three attacks so far. Four if you count the affair involving Salek. All three attempts failed for the Grundels."

Damon studied the map for another minute. "Hmm," he said, "This is getting off to a slow start, not how I like to fight a war."

"As I well know," I chuckled, "you and I having fought our fair share together."

The Dar-Par turned to me, furrowing his brow a bit. "I want to discuss Captain Salek.  Did you know the people believe everything he says now? I get numerable requests every day to hurl you from the Generalship and put Salek in your place. I have remained neutral so far, and told everyone I am waiting for your side of the account."

I coughed into my hand. "Well, sir. To be frank, I am the one who saved the Captain’s command from total annihilation. That is all I have to say." It was hard for me, this restraining myself. "The entire account is contained in my report."

Damon nodded. "I believe you. And this is what I expected. Salek’s messenger boy  and a few others attest your story. The rest of Salek’s men are probably hoping they will rise in rank if they go along with him.  Salek is an utter coward, and nothing but. I also have the irrefutable testimony of the Macklin brothers to give witness to what you say. However, I'm quite surprised you didn't press charges against him. Last time somebody did this to you, you challenged him to a duel. You won, I remember."

I sighed. "Damon. Honestly, I planned to confront him, just as I always have. But you know what the Ancients say about my former methods."

"Former?"

"Yes. A Nanjel visited me. I am now convinced I should let the mess with Salek die on its own." I shut my mouth then, for I did not want to say anything else, anything further against Salek. Damon knew of what I spoke, being well acquainted with Nanjels himself.

At that moment, Roxanne rose from the couch and came over to where we stood. "I am so glad you didn't fight Salek," she said. "It would be terrible for a scandalous death here amidst all this war."

I bowed. Roxanne acknowledged this with a tilting of her head, then said, "Let me introduce you to my guest, General.  She is staying with me while her father is at war. Hillbrak, meet Abigayle of Macklin. Abigayle, this is Hillbrak of the Colonies and Adopted of Arydapia."

Abigayle advanced, and I got a good look at her. She was beautiful, with chestnut hair, and a gentle aura about her. I took her tender hand and kissed it, as is the manner; but I blushed horribly, and did so even worse when she spoke softly, "You must be quite a man to refrain yourself from doing something extravagant about the lies Salek is spreading."

I tried to gather my composure. "Yes, well, uh, it was unnecessary to defend my honor. I am glad I did not kill him. I know now the deep magic would have burdened my conscience had I killed one of the Chosen."

"I'm glad some men still have a conscience." She smiled. "I think I sense some humility in you. And I believe, from my study of the Ancient Books, that humility is a noble virtue."
I agreed. However, any humility was new in me. Any humbleness stemmed from a healthy, respectful fear of Emmanweh’s binding magic. But I kept quite.

“I know your father, Abigayle,” I began. “A brave man and a good one. We have fought together many times.” We continued talking a few minutes more. Before we finished, we heard a mob outside in the streets. I hopped over to a balcony door and opened it. All of us went out onto the platform to see the trouble.

Down two stories below, the royal courtyard brimmed with people. Everyone in the city must have been there. There was shouting, pushing, yelling. The words heard above all others were, “Salek . . . General!" The crowd shouted again and again, as we watched, until they hushed as quickly as they started.

That is when I saw Salek up on a dirt speaking mound calling for silence. Addressing Damon, he cried, "Dar-Par Damon. Make me General. Hillbrak does not deserve his rank! One week ago this day, I turned aside a wave of Dwarves that threatened to drown Beru in its fury! I did this when it was our good General's place, though he drew back in cowardice. And how did the Warrior Rider‘s High General pay me? He sent me away from the front and gave me the lowest task, the reserve position. How dare he!"

I felt a burning deep inside me. I began to see that the Warrior's Code holds a spell of its own. But I knew it was not Emmanweh's touch. No. I have to keep quite, I thought even though I’m sure more words will follow. Salek’s only talent is oratory. That’s how he’s got this crowd to go with him. The colony Dar-Par’s never allowed such talk, though.

"Well, then, swear it!" an old man in the crowd spoke. "Swear it by Emmanweh!"

A shadow of something . . . perhaps horror . . . crossed Salek's face. To swear by Emmanweh is the Binding Oath. Here in Oure-worlde, any liar who vows upon Emmanweh's name is instantly cursed, one way in which Emmanweh has given us justice.

Salek sputtered a moment, then, "Let it be! Yes, let it be! I swear by Emmanweh's name and Emmanweh's magic . . ."

We never knew what else he was going to speak, for at this time the mound under Salek's feet began to quake. "Miirkenworms!" someone yelled, and I knew it.

Miirkenworms, Fire Worms, Emmanweh's Curse; all names given to one of the plagues Oure-Worlde's magic brings to misuse of the Binding Oath.

In a second, the stringy, yellow creatures erupted from the earth and wrapped themselves all around Salek, covering him from his boots to his brows. "Help him!" a woman cried. Salek's messenger boy rushed to the mound and began chopping at the mass with his sword. Just as the blade entered, it flew from the lad's grip. A single choke of anguish escaped the poor wretch Salek's throat before he disappeared in a haze of swirling Miirken.

Damon stepped forward. "Death services will be tonight at the tombs," he announced.

"Why did he do it?" Abigayle questioned. Her hands were tightly wrapped around my arm.

I sighed and leaned my hands upon the platform rail.

Author's Note

What do you think?