Beyond?

“One shall never ignore the tradition of our ancestors. The rules which were laid down by the ones before us. What results from ignoring the order of things? Chaos and the loss of moral values.”

-Old Nomad.

***Eastern Plains***

***Azir***

We cautiously ride closer to the small nomad camp. After weighting our different opinions on the situation, we found it to be the most likely answer that the nomads are inviting us to talk. So everyone decided to take a look at the situation.

I attempted to convince Stella that it would be best if she stayed behind, but she wasn't willing to. Since I was really interested in the nomads, I fought down my tiredness and doubts about taking Stella with me. If anything happens I'll simply take her and teleport us away.

So it turned out that we mustered a few guards to accompany us, which increased our group of six to twenty people. The Great Shaman also decided to join the fray since he didn't want to be left out. He and his aides plus guards increase our party to forty people, which is twice as much as the nomads sent. I hope that coming with so many people won't represent us in a bad light.

Everyone else is riding a nightmare, while I got my good old warcat for that purpose. Ghost is a good riding opportunity and I never had a thing for the nightmares since they gave me a trauma as a little child.

My brain must have shorted out that day when I tried to run away. I honestly can't remember why I made that decision. Maybe my mind was still a little clouded by the recent summoning.

Now that we are coming closer I can make out finer details. The nomads created a nice little camp in a flat part of the grassy plains around us. There is a big open tent as cover against the sun and a fireplace. The cloth of the tent looks like it is put together from random pieces of clothing, but the used material seems expensive. Probably the wardrobes of the nomad's victims.

Leon and Giana also decided to take the invitation, so they came in their usual transporter. Our three groups are eyeing each other from a distance while we wait for someone to make the first move. The nomads finally decide to act by putting a wooden stool in front of their fireplace. One of the nomads sits down on the wooden stool. Two more empty stools are also placed around the fire, which makes it hard to misinterpret the Nomad's intention.

The Great Shaman wrinkles his nose while he watches them. “They forgot about me!”

One of his aides tries to help out, he approaches the Great Shaman and bends down to him. “They most likely don't even know that we are here.”

Chuck pushes his face away. “That's no reason to forget about preparing yourself for surprise guests.”

So we slowly approach the nomad camp and dismount. The transporter from Quinn stops only a few metres away to let Leon and Giana step outside. A set of guards accompanies them and fans out around the vehicle.

The nomads are strangely silent, but Helen decides to take one of the offered seats anyway. She acts like there isn't anything to be feared by stepping so close to your enemy. I guess the utter lack of survival instinct is one of the key features a great leader needs to have.

Leon takes the other empty seat. He traded his fancy colourful clothings for a still very colourful, military design. At least there are no frills or other bells and whistles which could hinder his movement. There is a nasty bump on his forehead. I guess he saw a little personal action during the encounter with the nomads?

Giana is still wearing her neat sparkling dress, which distracts the eyes of quite a few men because of the tight and revealing nature of her outfit.

Chuck doesn't seem to be bothered by the tense atmosphere and walks up to the triangle with his arms folded in front of his chest. He stands at Helen's side for several moments until one of the nomads decides that it could be better to simply give him a stool.

The nomad who is leading the negotiations is in the prime of his time. He is in his thirties, but the long braided hair and the weather aged skin are making it hard to say for sure. One of his horns is broken a few centimetres above his head, while the other fans out and twirls like a sick dead tree above his head. His face as well as his body is scarred and strict with a very distinct bony structure.

He is wearing a loincloth with a big leather belt and leather trousers. His boots are made out of fur and he has a medium sized dagger at his side.

The musculature which is revealed by his trained, naked upper body looks strange to me. I can't put my finger on it, maybe there are a few packs of muscles too much? And the bones emerge a little too high from his rips and collarbones? His disfigurements are all within the accepted norm, but all of them together draw a strange picture for me. The most important point are his eyes, which aren't the normal slits, but have a second horizontal gash, turning them into star-like crosses.

I bend down to whisper into Stella's ear. “Is he one of those who got exposed to a bit too much mana?”

Stella nods. “He must be. No way to tell how old he is, but the muscles and sinews are all wrong. Especially the eyes. That's outside of every possible normal disfigurement.”

The nomad decides to break the silence. “Now let's talk about your violation of our sacred land.”

Leon snorts. “Why should we respect the home of someone who doesn't respect ours?”

The nomad smirks at Leon and nods at the transporter. “People who disrespect their land and create such abominations aren't worth to be respected. They are nothing but prey for those who live with the land.”

The Great Shaman nods. “So you have a problem with us being here. That's okay. Let us finish our talks and we will retreat. There won't be a problem. Further death's aren't necessary.”

“Don't speak like that to the chief little man! Show respect!” One of the rougher looking nomads shouts from behind their chief.

Chuck's expression turns grave and he looks up to Helen. “Did they just call 'The Great Shaman' … a … 'little man'?”

Helen's lips turn thin and white. “I think so?”

Chuck glares at the chief. “How do you intend to pay for this insult?”

The chief shrugs his shoulders, amusement in his eyes. “Not at all. In our culture everyone has to earn respect for himself. Nobody will interfere with a personal problem between a warrior and a... 'Great Shaman'.”

Chuck sucks in air and starts mumbling something incomprehensible while he is getting up from his stool. He approaches the man who called him a 'little man' while shaking his totem at him.

The guy in question isn't intimidated at all by the dwarf in front of him. I guess in his eyes Chuck looks like a small maniac who is throwing a tantrum.

When Chuck reaches the man he stops his nonsensical murmuring. “I'll show you what happens in Dwem if you insult the Great Shaman!”

The stupid smile of the man in question disappears and turns into an angered expression. “Don't get cocky you-”

He executes a simple straight forward kick to Chuck's chest, but Chuck isn't there any more and the nomad's foot passes through an after image. Instead the Great Shaman is suddenly half a metre to the left and raises a very small dagger. It appeared in his hand from seemingly nowhere. Chuck draws the claw-shaped sharp tool with cool precision over the man's Achilles' heel. The man grunts in pain and stumbles to his knees.

He attempts to follow the Great Shaman, who turned away from the nomad to walk back to his stool. But the nomad's foot doesn't follow his owner's wishes and he falls flat on the ground. It's hard to walk with a cut tendon. “You little bastard! I'll take my time with you! Come back here!”

Chuck ignores the nomad who is getting back to his feet with the aid of his comrades. He pulls a stick from his pocket and covers it with the blood from the small dagger.

“I. Am. Not. Little!”

He snaps the stick, folding it in the middle.

The nomad, who was following Chuck by jumping on one foot, suddenly folds backwards at his hips. “AAIAAEEE!” A scream of surprise and pain fills the air.

His companions, who were trying to aide him, jump away from him in shock. The nomad tumbles over and starts wailing and cursing at Chuck. I am impressed that a person can still curse like that while being in horrible pain.

The Great Shaman turns around and reorients the bloody remains of the stick between his fingers, then he snaps them a second time.

Abruptly the wailing and cursing stops, as the nomad is folded a second time, this time sideways. Chuck ignores the heap of bone and flesh on the ground and returns to his stool. While passing the fire he throws the remains of the stick into the fireplace and the crushed corpse of the nomad bursts into flames.

The chief's smile disappeared during the show and now he is eyeing the Great Shaman like someone to be aware of.

Chuck places himself onto his stool and starts cleaning his bloody hand with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Now, since order is restored, we can continue the discussion.”

Stella bends over to whisper into my ear. “Did Chuck have a bad day? The wasn't diplomatic at all!”

I whisper back. “I think he is grumpy because they didn't immediately give him a stool. And speaking about his size is an absolute taboo!”

The chief straightens himself. “To make this farce short, you have to die since you violated our sacred land. But you fought well so far and our rules dictate that a worthy opponent has to be treated with respect. That requires us to give them the chance of explaining their reason for breaking our laws, though that won't change anything. As the strongest chief among the tribesmen I was chosen to give you the choice to surrender.”

Giana snorts. “You just said that we have to die in any case. Why should we surrender? It sounds more like your tribe's politics require you to put up a front. Maybe it's more like the other chiefs refuse to fight any more and now you have to show them your strength?”

The chief grins. “A smart one? But you are mistaken, they would fight you in any case. This is just about me becoming the leader of the whole raid. You see, fighting you as honourable opponents requires killing all of you properly. If you surrender, you aren't honourable opponents any more and we can take those whom we choose to as slaves.”

His eyes wander over Giana's body and then to Sola and Stella. “I could imagine myself rescueing such nice maidens from certain death.”

Helen's expression distorts in anger, but I can't tell if it is because she was overlooked, or because her daughters were threatened with a horrible fate. “Aren't you a little too cocky. I don't see us losing to a bunch of bandits any time soon.”

The chief stands up. “Then let me inform you of a little important detail. My tribesmen are watching this exchange from afar and if any of your actions makes you lose face, then you become fair game. Think about all those feisty villages of yours at the border. How many years passed since we raided them the last time? They must be filled with riches! Do me the favour of running away with your army. It would remove your status as honourable opponents.”

He claps his hands together. “That means that you can't get out of this situation by simply walking away from this exchange. I'll get my raid either way. And after all I have this!” He pulls the delicate dagger from his leather belt and the shadows which are thrown by the fireplace grow larger. “I might decide to use this ag-”

I teleport right next to the chief when I recognize the tool in his hand. My hand slices through empty air as I try to take it. Unfortunately he is a bit faster than I expected.

The chief looks angrily at me and then at Helen. “What do you think you are doing? Call that dog of yours back!”

I point my finger at the dagger. “I want that.”

“It doesn't belong to you!” The chief hisses at me.

“Neither does it belong to you.” I point out. “Helen, you recognize what this probably is?”

Helen nods and retreats backwards from the fireplace. “I am sorry chief, but I think your revelation of this item made any negotiations unnecessary.”

Chuck is right beside her, holding his totem like a shield and a few pearls of sweat forming on his forehead.

The chief's expression turns sad. “So you know this artefact. Too bad, I hoped to surprise you. Don't worry, I'll take my time in dealing with all of you.” He turns to walk away. “We'll see each other on the battlefield!”

My eyes wander to his group of followers. They didn't exactly explain their shrewd system of honour and respect, but maybe I can use that against him? “But you said that a man has to earn his respect in your society. How does it look if you, the Great Chief, walks away from someone who attacked him? Isn't such a leader unworthy to be followed? I mean, it looks like you are afraid of facing me? You even jumped away from me like a frightened chicken when I reached for the dagger.”

The eyes of the chief's followers wander back and forth between me and him. Finally he turns around to face me. “Ha! I thought about sparing a child's life, but it looks like you want to be killed!”

“Child?” I look down at myself.

“Of course! Look at you! How old are you? Are you even twenty yet? Just so that you know! I am four hundred and thirty eight! How could I feel threatened by a baby!?” He gestures furiously and turns towards his nightmare.

I point at his mount, which is relatively easy to discern because the equipment on it looks a little fancier than the rest. “Ghost. Food!”

My warcat blurs and flies into the gathered waiting nightmares of the nomads. A single swipe with its paw ends the life of the nightmare which I pointed out. The remaining nightmares flee like frightened herbivores in all directions.

The chief turns around and glares at me. “I liked that nightmare!”

I place my hands behind my back. “And I want that dagger. Don't run away from me!”

His eyes wander to his subordinates who seem to start doubting him. Then he finally decides to face me properly. “Then I'll start with you, Fool. And since I honour our culture I'll properly introduce myself. I am the warchief Narcus. Four hundred and thirty eight years old. I killed two thousand and forty eight men in close combat.”

I nod and smile. “It's an honour to meet someone with manners. My name is Azir Zait, twenty one. I never counted the number of insects under my shoes, nor did I try to remember their names. Don't hope that I'll even try to remember yours. So how do you want to do this, or can I simply kill you?”

The angrier he is at me the better. I think the description of the dagger was that the user could walk through shadows? That could become troublesome when he decides to run, I don't want him to flee and take the dagger with him. His entire focus has to be on me.

Narcus snorts and puts the dagger away. “Then let's have a real magical duel. How about that? You guys from Nict are so proud of your magic, but all you can do is rely on your magical abilities! I'll defeat you in a real duel of magic! How about that? No weapons, no martial arts, just magic.”

Maybe he isn't fully aware of what's in his possession. He doesn't act like an agent of the Master either. Was it pure luck that the dagger fell into his hands? No, it's too unlikely. I can't let my guard down. “Okay! A duel of magic.” Fighting on my own field of expertise can't be to my disadvantage.

But he is an old mage like me. Underestimating him could cost me my life since a real battle of magic is a fight of the mind as much as it is one of power. All the cards have to be played right and it doesn't hurt to have a few hidden ones up your sleeve. I reach into my pocket and bring out a worn, old coin. It's the one which I got from Chuck. Then I flip it while keeping the eye contact with Narcus.

.