Of Gods and Beasts - Weapons of Choice

Weapons of Choice

Taking a deep breath, Leomeer enters the small cabin, the sharp smell of human sweat clinging heavily to everything. His thoughts go wondering, to everything that lead him to this point. The rules of the Suarech are as old and hard as the rules of the desert itself, his father kept saying. When entering one of these training camps, you gave up everything you ever were for the chance to become everything you ever wanted. Your family no longer matters, if you were born a king or a peasant, everyone is treated equally by the bondsman, treated equally hard. All Suarech pupils bend to the bondsman’s will, until they feel that there is nothing left he can teach them, then they challenge him to a fight for the right to return to their family, for the right to carry their own weapons, for the right to show the world they are Suarech now.
But like everything in the ancient desert empire, the corruption that spread through the lands like cancer, and did not halt even before the ancient Suarech tradition. The cancer called politics. Their society based on hundreds of different tribes was so vulnerable to intrigues, countless pacts, treaties and marriages were forged and broken between the clans that nobody could be sure when a friend could turn an enemy.
The strife for power didn’t halt before the Suarechs, and slowly they degraded from being the forges of the very society, baptizing the young warriors in the ways of their forefathers, in the ways of the desert they, eventually only became objects of prestige. It was clear to send the firstborn son of clanleader to one of the new Suarechs in the big cities… where he had no risk of failing the trials, buying the Suarech title to show the other tribes what a great warrior he was.
Leomeer was as sick of it as his father. Luckily, as thirdborn, he mattered not. One son was necessary, the firstborn heir, to forge mighty alliances between rivaling tribes. A second son is convenient, should some unfortune happen to the firstborn, or to have other options available. Every further son was a nuisance, playing no role in politics as virtually nobody with a slight sense of honor left would accept an offered third son, only a source for trouble if he wants part of the clan heritage. His farther, graduated from a true desert Suarech and the youngest man ever to do so, challenging and besting his bondsman at the age of 19, hated what their society had become. But even so he was Lord of Gilead, a powerful and respected clanleader, he had to play along if he and his tribe was to survive. Luckily, as alliances are forged through marriage, another player entered the game, and as much his father loathed the game of politics, as much his mother loved it. And when it came to intrigues, she had yet to find her equal. She had the best marriages arranged for Leomeers older brother before they were even born, ensuring safety and wealth for their clan for years to come. Unfortunately, that also meant that he was of no use to his mother, as nobody could use third sons, so after caring for his brothers his mother shifted her attention to his sister, trying to get the most benefit from her only daughter as possible. But that was okay for Leomeer, he did not get involved in politics at all, making him fathers favorite. They spent long hours together, his father telling him about the old ways of the desert. Leomeer still remembered the looks on his parents faces when he announced that he was going to wander into the heart of the desert, to find one of the ancient Suarechs to study, one that had not forgotten the old ways. The overwhelming proud look in his fathers face and the overwhelming look of relief in his morthers face that he would not cause any troubles in her plans.

And now here he stands, fists clenched, trembling with anger, searching for his bondsman.
“Ord !”
“Ord! I want you bondsman!”
His massive body emerged from his shabby sleeping quarters at the end of the small cabin.
“You are early, boy. Two years at least, I should judge.” He said, measuring Leomeer carefully.
“Teach me no more, bondsman. Today, I teach you.”
“It’s too bad. You have been the most promising pupil – the best in two dozen years. It will be sad to see you broken and set on a blind path. This is a waste, the penalty for overeagerness is the same as the penalty for unworthiness. Can you not wait ?” the bondsman said, pausing briefly before continuing with his low, booming voice.
“I blame you not. Yer seeking to follow yer father’s example, challenging me at so young age, seeking the right to carry your own weapons. But your father is Aladraan, Lord of Gilead, and twice the man you are… why not wait half again as long I say ? Well ?” Again he paused, regarding the silent Leomeer, sadly shaking his head.
“No reply? Very well. If yer say so, let it be so. One hour. The weapon of your choice.”
“You will bring that stick of yours ?” Leomeer asked, staring blankly at the floor.
“Polearm… and I always have. What weapon you choose ?”
“That is my business.”
“Wise enough to begin with. You realize you will in all probability never see your father, your mother and your friends again ?”
“I know what exile means.”
“Good, then go now, meditate on your father’s face… much good will it do ya.”
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His friends found him on the way to the rookery, they all stared at him in disbelief as word spread fast in the isolated Suarech camp. Danii, the slender girl of the western shoreline was the first to find her voice.
“You challenged Ord ?? Are you utterly mad ?”
The others kept quiet, Borleeas just shook his massive head, the long coils of breaded beard dangling loosely below his sharp chin, while Terlaan stood there open mouthed unable to find a word. But he had no answer he could give them, he could not even start to explain what he felt, not here, not now, not ever.
So he just wordlessly opened the door of the massive domed rookery and went inside to see his hawk.
“Hey Roland…” as always the keen eyes of his Hawk were fixed on him as he greeted him.
Since the day he found him, Roland was special to him, when he could not speak to his friends, he always came to talk to Roland instead. The others have learned in time that when Leomeer entered the rookery all further attempts talking to him were futile, so they left him to his Hawk and his thoughts.
“You now why I do it, don’t ya ?” Roland instantly responded with high shriek which made him smile. “Thought so… hey Roland, remember the first hawkery training I brought you ? They all stood there gasping - I hope today I can pull off another stunt like this.”
And closing his eyes, Leomeer’s thoughts kept wandering back, to the day he first saw Roland, lying in the cruel desert sands, stranded and broken. He never found out how the Hawk broke his wing, but the others said he would have been dead in a day for sure if Leomeer wouldn’t have taken care of him. He carefully treated his wing, fed him back to health and spent most his few spare time with Roland. But even though his wing healed clean, he would not fly. He would flap his wings a few times and glide to the ground when necessary, meaning when Leomeer shook him from his arms to try to force him to fly, but he would not soar. The other students were quick to mock them, “lamewing” was their favorite name for Roland, or they told everyone how well Leomeers Hawk performs at everything, except when it comes to actually flying.
One day Leomeer was so desperate that he brought him to hawkery training. Ord was not pleased. But they settled on the terms that Leomeer could use his “lamewing”, but the penalty for not striking his target would be the same. He did not care then, he only thought maybe seeing the other Hawks fly and soar would help Roland learn to fly again. The mockery stopped when the first target squall was released. Before the other Hawks had so much as fixed their eyes on the white bird, Roland was already airborne. Like an precise arrow he sped towards the squall and hit it dead on, his sharp talons ending the desperate squeals in an instant. From that day on, Roland never missed his target, nor did he fail once in reaching it first. Leomeer had told himself and others that Roland was so vicious, he solely flies for the thrill of the hunt, and you could only make him fly when he had prey in his sights.

It was then when Leomeer had another desperate idea. While discussing with Roland what weapon he was going to choose, they came to the conclusion that Ord Mantels polearm would be superior to everything Leomeer could pick. He was best with sword or spear, but choosing sword would worsen his already considerable reach disadvantage, and using spear versus polearm was like trying to beat a Hawk in flying. Ords polearm was his personal weapon longer than Leomeer was alive, and so much part of him like his strong arms.
“Then what? What is left to choose for me Roland ?” Again, the Hawk instantly responded with a challenging cry, twiching his head and flapping his great wings anxiously, while his skyblue eyes were staring at him. And then Leomeer understood, silently he got up and started his way to the duel area, feebly trying to prevent the single tear running down his face, taking comfort in Rolands familiar weight on his arm for one very last time.
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When he arrived, the whole Suarech camp had already assembled, his friends, his fellow students, only Ord was still nowhere to be seen.
“Your weapon you stupid… you forgot your weapon!” Dani exclaimed by seeing Leomeer standing barehanded on the training grounds, only his Hawk Roland sitting on his right forearm, head twitching anxiously under the falconer’s black leather hood.
“I have all I need. Has Ord come?”
“Ord is here.” As always, his voice like booming thunder was first announcing Ord’s presence. Even though he was a huge man, Ord Mantell moved as silent as Bearcat when necessary, and he swung the massive polearm with its armlong curved blade obscenely fast.
Without wasting further time, the ritual started with the questioning of the examinee.
“Have you come here for a serious purpose, boy ?”
“I have come for a serious purpose.”
“Have you come as an outcast from your father’s house ?”
“I have so come… and will remain so, unless I best you.”
“Have you come with your chosen weapon?”
“I have.”
“What is your weapon?”
“My weapon is Roland.”
“That Hawk ?… whatever…last chance to cry off, boy.”
“Last chance to surrender, old man.”
“So then have your way, boy. In whose name ?”Swinging the polearm around, blade pointing right at Leomeers chest, Ord Mantel got into battle stance.
“In my father’s name, Aladraan, of Eld’s blood, Lord of Gilead!”
“Good… come then ye poor, damned thing!”

With a thundering battlecry he started his fearsome charge right at the his foe, polearm ready to decapitate the boy were he stands. Ord’s advantage was that when it came to close combat, he knew everything that ever was. That was his strength, that was his weakness. Knowing what has been does not mean a thing if something new is coming. Even as he had announced it right in front of him what his weapon was, Ord still did not fully understand.

As Leomeer rips of the falconers hood and launches Roland like an deadly arrow, Ord begins to comprehend, but to late… way to late.