The Quarry

[Rage Menelas]

[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The next morning Ryan awoke to a hangover and a cacophony of noise out in the hall. He rose unsteadily and splashed water in his face from a basin by his bed. Now he donned his robes of office – it was demonstrated in no uncertain terms that jeans and tennis shoes were no longer appropriate attire for him – and went out into the great hall to see what was what.

Raera'ad was huddled up with the other elders near the entrance. As he was noticed they opened up their ranks to reveal a youth in their midst. He strode purposefully up to them.

“Sky Father, this boy is from the Tuanwe, who live to the south of us. He tells us his people have been massacred,” explained Raera'ad. Ryan glanced at the disheveled boy, placed him at somewhere around twelve-years-old. His hair was browner than that of this tribe and his eyes were a light chestnut color instead of pale blue, otherwise he had the same overall appearance as the Segatchwe.

“Can you speak, son?” he asked gently.

“Yes, lord...” and he went into a nightmare tale of ambush and murder. Apparently a new militant force was loose on the high plateau of the Segatchwe. They had attacked in force yesterday at dawn, encircling the Tuanwe village and cutting down all the warriors without mercy, then running down and enslaving the women and children. The infants were all put to the knife.

“How many warriors did they have?”

The lad shook his head faintly, glazed eyes weeping softly, then answered, “maybe two hundred... I don't really know, lord.”

Ryan looked to the elder, “how many warriors do we have?”

“Forty-two, Sky Father.”

“And the weapons? Are the bows and knives I've seen your only weapons?”

“Yes.”

He turned back to the youth. “How were the attackers armed?”

“Bows and knives, lord.”

“Lord, there is more you must know of this...” It was Raera'ad, the others having been dismissed.

“I must know everything of import... please sit and speak,” Ryan motioned to one of the chairs in the great hall, amazing the elder by taking the seat next to him instead of his throne.

“This is murder unlike anything we have ever seen. It is a crime against the people.” Ryan nodded solemnly, not speaking but making it apparent he was ready to listen. Raera'ad took the cue and continued. “This is not the way of dispute settlement. I have never heard of such savagery and barbarity...”

“What is your way...?

“Lord, a champion is chosen along with a strongman from the two tribes at odds. The champions stand back to back with bows, their strongman to their right with a large stone of honor. On a signal the stones are cast in opposite directions, always cross-wind so that no archer has an advantage. Then a boy runs the quiver of each champion to the place that the adversary's strongman has tossed the stone. A word is given by a judge and each bowman runs to his quiver, stands and fires as many of the ten arrows in his quiver as he can. He who fires accurate and quickly will feather his foe. When blood is spotted by the judge, the affair is concluded.”

Ryan had sat quietly while the elder recited the process. That would not be the manner in which this dispute would be settled; fate had thrust him into this world at the very moment when war had been introduced. At last all that useless time spent devouring first-hand war stories and vaunted tomes of military history would come in handy...