To Battle

The sentries are clearly on the lookout for hungry predators rather than lone raiders. You are almost upon your chosen target before he recognizes what is happening.

You bash your club into his stomach, and his thin hide tunic provides no protection from the blunt **** of your mighty swing. A sickening crack tells of bones breaking, and the man cries out before crumpling into a heap.

You whirl, preparing to face a rush by the remaining four men, only to see them shrinking away in terror. You bellow out a warcry, a vicious sound that would have made even your father's warriors nervous. Two drop their spears and gear, fleeing as fast as their legs will take them. A third is visibly shaking. The last, a scrawny young man who probably just came of age, is the only one who seems to retain some of his courage. You can work with that, and decide he will live.

He thrusts his spear out at you awkwardly. You sidestep easily, catching the shaft and snapping it down across your knee. The head snaps off, leaving the boy with little more than a walking stick. Still he growls and charges again, swinging his stick wildly. You catch it again and pull. The boy is pulled forward and falls onto his face. You kick him powerfully in the gut, see him roll away. He'll be fine, but probably won't get up soon.

The last remaining warrior, a heavier set young man, falls to his knees, trembling. A coward, but at least he didn't run. Your club cracks against his skull, and he falls limply to the ground. If he clings to life, he might be worth keeping. If not, it is no great loss.

You grin dangerously. It only took moments, and this settlement fell before you. Three fighting men wounded, but still salvageable. You see the women and elders have mostly fled or hid, but you trust that Kali will harry them, and herd them back to the clearing. A good start.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud, dull blast of sound behind you. Turning, you see a curious sight. A young woman, probably your own age, has retrieved one of the spears tossed aside by one of the fleeing guards. She stands now, blowing into a twisted horn. You hear, far off, other horns calling, relaying the message. Tossing it aside, she grips the spear and glares at you.

You are struck for a moment by the resemblance to your mother, as she must have looked when your father conquered her. Strips of hide cover her heaving breasts, a second wraps around her wide hips. Long blonde hair frames her face, icy blue eyes glare defiantly at you. She is softer, and you judge by her grip that she is unused to the weapon or its weight. But you can see that same fire as your mother had, the one that told you these people were not totally a lost cause.

You point your club at the girl. "Drop your spear. I have won already. I am Rok, and I claim this settlement as mine by right of conquest."

"I am Daya, cheiftain's daughter. My father still lives, and my brother will hear my call and return. You have won nothing yet." Shrieking loudly, the girl levels the spear and charges.