He strode on proudly, with the feeling that he was well on his way to reestablishing his dominion.
I have been hailed by a parade of well-wishers, have sowed my seed graciously, on one hand shown myself indulgent by conducting trade with a mere slave-girl, on the other hand have crushed upstarts who would defy me, and have shown mercy upon those petulant tradesmen with noble aspirations. When I have established myself it shall be known as an age of honor and plenty.
Behind him in the distance raced a pair of lights ever-more-near out of the lonely night. The lights were those of a carriage, which remained mysteriously dim in outline, even when it neared. As it came abreast of him he saw that it was a night-black carriage, carved with lines of power—a chariot, by Mother! A chariot as black as the Fate Night that feasts even upon us gods!
The carriage veered in front of him at an angle to block his path. the bowels of the carriage rumbled momentarily and then ceased. Tentatively, as if preoccupied with menial things, a warrior emerged from the pilot’s side, and came around toward him. He was of Yule’s own height, strongly made, uniformed, and wearing a type of quilted armor beneath his smartly appointed tunic. A variety of minor weapons, foremost among them a type of boxy handgun, on which this warrior rested his hand, crowded the man’s belt.
A warrior, and of a well-respected noble house at that! And what a fine carriage this is.
Yule was soon caressing the lines of the carriage above the rear wheel. As he felt the metallic veneer of these sleek engine of power, the warrior came to stand beside him, a step back, as he was a hand-gunner obviously.
“What are you doing?” inquired the nobleman.
“I am admiring your fine conveyance. Of what type is it, so that I might acquire one of my own?”
“It’s a police interceptor—a Dodge Charger.”
So they no longer have horses, just these conveyances. Yes, but a charger is still a charger!
He rose and faced the man. “I will have one to ride into battle. Perhaps I shall employ you as a man-at-arms. What is your name, fellow, and to what noble house are you bound?”
The man was all of a sudden so nervous that he spoke to a magical device strapped to his chest and hurriedly identified himself to some sorcerer listening somewhere to a crystal oracle. His words indicated that he was not confident of prevailing over Yule and included a “request” for “back-up”.
These hand-gunners employ sorcery to communicate and summon reinforcements. He is afraid and yet means to take me—me, Yule First Warrior of Heaven—for ransom, and he, merely some lowly, out-riding scout at that!
The warrior then drew a boxy device from his belt with a mind like he was netting fish by his eyes and bearing and then pointed it at him.
“I am Officer Kneel. Turn around and put your hands on the vehicle.”
“No, man! I am War! And I shall have your obedience or your head!”
With those words the warrior launched two barbs into Yule’s chest with the press of a thumb. Attached to these barbs were strands that were attached to the box—a netting device of some sort, and it stings. Poison perhaps? No, it is like a fire in the muscles.
Yule felt as if he glowed, but the pain was nothing compared to his Descent. He supposed that if he were mortal this would be painful in the extreme. He knew this to be the case when he saw the shock and abject horror on the face of Officer Kneel when his mean little weapon failed to incapacitate the God of War.
Well really, what did this puny mortal expect, victory? Bah!
Officer Kneel need only have done what some ancestor of his must have done to earn the sir name, and Yule would have been spared having to make a kill in such a lowly fashion, without a helm on his head, a sword in his hand, or massed ranks of warriors to see the enemy fall before him. But, the man had made his choice. When it was all too obvious that the netting device would not produce a captive for ransom, Officer Kneel dropped the toy and attempted to draw his handgun. By the time his hand had made it to the butt of the boxy little thing that was so unwisely buckled into its scabbard, Yule was upon him.
He first grabbed the man’s gun-hand wrist, in his own left hand—snapping both of the bones to which anchored the tendons o he hand, as he destroyed the impiously unbent left knee with a heavy outward stomp kick. As the man went agonizingly to his good knee, Yule sunk in a choke, but thought better of the time it would take, and heaved the man up over his shoulder and listened to his neck snap next to his ear.
He was not much of a warrior really, not even brave. Perhaps he is a member of some taboo enforcement society—some Christian war-priest perhaps?
Beyond the steel rail tinkled a trickling river below. Yule pressed Officer Kneel over his head, walked to the rail and heaved him down the rugged slope, listening to his slain foes’ slack limbs slap against the jagged rocks of the rugged hillside.
Receive him, Mother with your bared fangs. But make it quick. He fought alone against a god, and besides, provided me with a charger, a fine mechanical war-beast.
Yule ran his admiring hand all along the vehicle as he made his way to the pilot’s seat. Once inside the wondrous chariot, he recalled the methods of DJ Jervis and mimicked these until he had gained full control of the mechanical steed.
I had a brother once, who lived in this World among men, who taught me of such things.
Yes, it is called driving, like commanding your livestock to market.
He was a half-brother wasn’t he?
Do not worry, Mother. I will not permit such sentiments to cloud my judgment again.
I require weapons of honor, worthy of separating a prophet’s head from his body. Somewhere along this road I shall find the answer to the riddles of this hunt.
He pressed the drive plate to the floor with his foot as he controlled his roaring mechanical steed with the pilot’s wheel before him.
Speeding through the forest dark like a torch of might, it was mere moments when he spied a moonlit break in the forest up ahead. His lips wet with the anticipation of Dawn's sweet kiss—a slut like all the rest of her kind. The World of Men was his prey-filled field and his brief life among them would be the glory hunt to herald his return.
