Part One
Exiting the cave where Lord Fel lay dead, killed by Rydal, Ufburk's companion, they run and through the air whistling in his ears, the Son of Tiber hears odd, gyrating mechanical noises. Adrenaline fuels him as his knotted beard flops near his chest and his dark brown hair floats behind.
Ufburk's heart, stricken by the recent loss of his cousin Danno nevertheless carries on. In the distance, in the Northeast, there erupts a thrumming sound. It is almost musical in nature. But Ufburk sees something of more immediate import; it is a small cut in the jagged mountain nearby his old hunting path. He motions to stop, and Sefer's pups stand and wait expectantly. "They are well trained," he thinks, and that thought widens the sadness growing inside.
Rydal, still spattered with Lord Fel's blood, stops smoothly, breaking his gait with much more ease than one might expect.
"That cropping in the stone face is where I often sat, waiting for deer when I hunted here. Do I smell the others? Should we ambush them?"
"I think so," says Rydal, "Let's move; so we might surprise one or two before all falls to rubble."
Ufburk begins to sprint for the rock wall, hearing the odd mechanical noises ever still. Rydal runs beside the once-barbarian. At full-speed the bulky warriors make their way to the alcove of stone, and they hunker down.
Rydal is frowning, and the furrows on his face deepen and wrinkle the more he sniffs at the air.
"I had hoped," says the Merrigan.
"What, say you?"
A lengthy silence or at least an unpleasant one to Ufburk stretches onward to what he judges to be infinity. His nerves prickle, and it feels as if his skin is crawling with fire ants. They stink, aye he smells something out there. But he is not only concerned about the unexplained noises or the enemy. He ponders his mysterious friend Rydal of Evan-Moore and the death the Merrigan gave Lord Fel.
That cycling sound comes nearer and under them Ufburk thinks then and later knows he hears trudging. For some time nothing happens. Rydal does not speak, and Ufburk feels his tension rising.
A mist has lifted from the forest floor as the mid-morning sun evaporates the dew and warms the wet earth. To Ufburk the scene seems more like a dream world than Tarak, his birth world.
"Friend, if I die today, you must travel to the Valla Cortex, and you must swear you will kill that many-eyed wizard. Stop Seljuk; he strips the galaxies of all life and resources. I fear that unless a warrior claims Seljuk's life he could live on for generations," Rydal's eyes widen momentarily, sharpen.
Ufburk's mouth falls open to start to speak, but Rydal shushes him.
"No time. These things are machines, not alive. There is one way I found to slay them. A thick plating lies at the base of the neck; it creates a bulge, like so. Break that free and below are wires, tough to see, but no matter. Just cut them away. Slice those wires and these monsters stop moving. Or this strategy once worked. These are rough enemies Ufburk, do not let them get a hold of you."
Nodding, Ufburk makes use of what precious time he has. Golden sunlight shines, and the rays are visible in the mist. Ufburk can faintly hear Whispering Stream a mile off. The trudging is steady, even. He judges the timing of his approaching enemies to be a work of wizardry, for each foot lands simultaneously with the others as if the machines are synchronised entirely. He shivers involuntarily, wondering what these enemies might be like to face in mortal combat and knowing he will soon learn what it means first hand.
Sitting in the natural blind, where he spent many days and nights killing deer and rabbits for the village makes the once-barbarian misses his bow. Sighing, Ufburk equips his Raygun, the thing that led him to all of this. But Rydal tells Ufburk, no, to use his father's axe: to hack at the bulbs near the base of the enemies' skulls. The Merrigan uses a word to describe them; a word Ufburk will long to forget -Cyborgs.
Soon, three figures emerge, casting long shadows over the wall of mist. The sound of the Cyborgs is inescapable. Though the three shudder and Bob as they move, they are quick. There are many of the mechanised Dirvaks, at least fifteen. These are far off in the woods yet.
Throughout this all, Sefer's pups wait quietly for a command Ufburk does not give them, in a nearby strand of trees.
"Quietly," Ufburk whispers, and he motions that he will flank the enemies.
The Cyborgs freeze, their heads are turning toward Ufburk and Rydal is charging the enemy. Ufburk whirs into action and the promise of battle excites him. What he sees as he draws within striking distance horrifies, and he does his best not to retch. Wishing he could turn away, he is committed to his assault nevertheless. Ufburk's actions have exposed him to his enemies making now the time to fight.
He rolls past one Cyborg, hearing Rydal smashing into another, but loses sight of the third. He takes no time to wonder over the wires, pumps, and gears or the fluids that preserve the fleshy remains of the Dirvaks. These Dirvak cadavers, made host to the evolution of tech sicken him.
Gaining his feet, he has time enough to hack away the bulbous pocket behind the Cyborg's neck. Metal on metal squeals quickens then vanishes as the behind the neck cover pops off on impact, revealing a network of thin gossamer wires, which look like spider webs to the adrenalized once-barbarian.
"Still no sign of the other," he thinks even as something sends Tiber's well-made weapon sailing, wrenching it from his hands with ease. The cover has flown off the first Cyborg, but Ufburk sees he has to finish the job. He realises time is sparse.
Rydal fights the last of the Cyborg Trio and is bleeding. Sefer's pups remain silent.
Anger surges through Ufburk, igniting his battle blood. The coverless Cyborg has spun toward the once-barbarian who is bewildered at the sight of its glassy eyes. Ufburk does not fully comprehend what he is seeing. Our hero curses the abomination before him and shoots one glass Cyborg eye off with the Raygun, sending golden sparks flying.
It fires back, but Ufburk no longer stands where he once was. He rolls back and away, gains his feet and leaps at the third Cyborg. It fires a green-lit gun that shoots bluish rounds unwillingly to the sky as Ufburk pries open the hatch at the base of the Cyborg's neck and plunging one hand into the web of wires there, pulls them free, ignoring the jolting electrical shock he receives as best as possible.
The thing halts, remaining upright, the reddish glow in its glassy eyes flicks out even as the other fires on Ufburk. He feels a flash of severe heat fly past and then Rydal's alarming cry. The Merrigan rushes the last of the two Cyborgs as Ufburk sees the other smoking on the trail, laying flat and face-first on the misty lawn. Rydal's powerful arms entrap the Cyborg from its front side.
"Cut the wires!"
Ufburk is already doing so, after prying open the cable hatch with better speed than the first and soon he is again electrocuted as he yanks away the Cyborg's circuitry. The thing stops immediately; its lone eye goes cold. Ufburk kicks it over. The Cyborg falls with a satisfying thud, a lifeless sound.
Rydal is opening the leather purse he uses to stow various useful items. Out comes a brown bottle, an ancient one according to Ufburk's discerning eyes.
"You did some of the work already, but we must hurry. Pull an eye free from each of these other husks. Let us be sure these Cyborgs will at least be challenging to repair."
Ufburk groans, "Others, more by many will arrive shortly. We should push on."
"No. If we are not sure that these machines will remain useless, we might need to fight them again far too soon. Takes a moment each."
Removing the cap from the brown bottle, Rydal pours from it some acrid concoction that immediately starts to erode the alien circuitry that somehow allows dead-flesh to walk. Thin grey smoke flushes from the open eye-socket of the first. While grunting, Rydal finishes the other two.
Ufburk calls the pups over, rewarding them with petting and kind words for not joining the fight. Perhaps he will use the dogs, but not now.
Soon, Ufburk, Rydal, and the pups are again underway, running toward the knife-e
dged mountains at the edge of Thunder Plains. They plan to divert the Cyborgs and the Scala away from Tiber's barrier.
The natural basin of Whispering Gully provides thick-forested cover for predators, yet Ufburk and Rydal are the only living creatures here, save rodents.
Ufburk eventually slows his gait, wanting to keep a close enough proximity to his pursuers to keep luring them. His brain spins with all that has occurred, and now he stops, panting, clutching his sides and bends forward to draw in a chest full of fresh air. Slowly, Ufburk rights himself.
"Before we go on, you must talk more friend. My thinker is twisted up. Confound it; I cannot understand! How were you able to slay Commander Fel when he wore this trinket? I was unable to scratch him, and I fired many shots right at that devil. The Commander even said that as long as he wore Antar's Brace, I would encounter bad luck. So how did you kill him? Lord Fel was a god; he had strange powers. And what will this artefact do for me? To me? And the armour? Why do you lead? It's more my world than yours. Tell me; I must know."
"As I told Fel, I am a guardian of sorts. What I guard is the power you witnessed, the one I used to kill the Commander and other magics. It is a magic that nullifies the spellcasting of even the elitist master. Antar's brace emits a kind of forcefield. It repels projectiles and guards the wearer against piercing weapons, though one can still get skewered by a powerful foe. Don't rely on the brace in hand to hand wars."
Ufburk's stunned expression disappears only after some time. He speaks slowly, hearing the steady march of the Cyborgs some miles away.
"You killed Lord Fel with a magic trick?"
"And strength, yes. My spell allowed for enough time to remove the limb. I made use of that time. I am sorry for not telling all. It is tough to decipher what is relevant, and I have only just mastered the Tarakanian tongue, though someone tried to teach me lifetimes ago. I have travelled many roads. Look, Ufburk, we must go. They draw ever closer."
"Aye."
Together, Ufburk and Rydal agree on a course of action. Their plan is not a plan at all. The band of Cyborgs that are stalking them and the undoubtedly larger contingents of Scalas, the brutal race that destroys and enslaves the Dirvaks even in death outnumbers them. The Scala force is overwhelming; the Cyborgs are unrelenting and with each soldier having the strength of ten men. Ufburk is grateful for Rydal and what the Merrigan knows. Between them, Ufburk carries three weapons, a dagger, Tiber's axe, and the Raygun that got him into this mess. Rydal carries only one, a blade of bleached bone, fourteen inches long. Ufburk has a shield slung over his back, neither wears any armour, but they still hold a rough advantage or two. Most all their so-called powers lay in their skulls, in the shape of their brains. Ufburk can win battles with wit, and he knows the powers of rational thought. The Merrigan named Rydal uses his mind to tap powers unseen, unimagined. Collectively, they know their duties. Even so, their plan remains hardly formulated, because they are warriors, and they cannot endlessly collude their thoughts before fighting a battle for their lives.
To kill their enemies is only one part of their loose-knit mission while speaking to the Chieftain-King Tiber is the end goal. Ufburk glances at Antar's Brace, knowing much rides on the artefact.
Ufburk prays to the Light God to aid him aiming his bow and to steady his axe. He asks for resolution, "and thanks to you Lord for my continued safety, I will not squander your gifts."
Rydal says nothing, but he is praying to that same God, given a different name by his race a billion miles across galaxies from Tarak, Ufburk's homeworld.
At long last they reach the rock face, Ufburk climbed years before, to board the same spacecraft he used to return to Tarak.
"Places hold power son. And this authority is known by those like us. Our world seems unremarkable, ordinary, but we are not of this world, and this place has many strengths." Ufburk clearly recalls Tiber's words now, as if spoken afresh. Gooseflesh erupts covering his arms and legs. In context, to Ufburk as a child, Tiber's statement seemed odd, nothing more. Now the once-barbarian cannot help but wonder what meaning Tiber had suggested.
Ufburk loosens his shield straps, made of long leather strips and fashions harnesses for the pups; Rugsin whines as Ufburk ties the animal to Rydal's back. Bevold makes no whimper as if the dog is keen to reach the top of the hill.
The climb is arduous, lengthy and taxing. Ufburk takes to the cliff side with the fervour of a mountain man and has time enough to rest at the top before helping Rydal over the lip and onto level ground.
"From here we will see them coming. It is the best we can do, I think," Ufburk lifts the Raygun, "I will pick them off, but be ready. I've no idea what those blasters the Dirvak drones haul can do to one."
"Then I will guard our backside. Call if you need help, and I will do the same. I'm going to stand vigil by yon stones. Stay alert friend; I've no wish for either of us to fall this day."
Ufburk watches Rydal go and thinks it is good to have a friend. He takes a second look at the dogs and decides to have them wait in a nearby strand of grass lying flat. He does not need to ponder if Danno trained the pups to fight, every Tarakanian does. Nor does he worry what command to issue because he already knows what word Danno would have chosen. The command will be the name of Danno's only love, Marsa, who drowned one day at the pond on his Cousin's land. Ufburk admits something to himself that he had not before, that Danno's womanising was merely a way for his cousin to get over the loss of his love. Ufburk understands. His first and only love, Davina, was slain by the evil many-eyed demon Seljuk. Ever since the once-barbarian has sought revenge on the Wizard and every soldier that fights for his standards.
The Scala and the Cyborgs are part of Seljuk's fold. For this, they shall perish.
From his high mount Ufburk does not relish the sight of his world. The land lies in semi-ruin ravaged for resources by the Scala, who no doubt come on behalf of the Demoki, Ufburk's long-sworn enemies. North, past his hometown by a short distance Tiber's protective and arching dome shimmers with silverish flecks, coloured in violet-reds by prismatic events occurring in intervals.
In the debris that once was, the Thunder Hills are the hosts of the Scalas, pilots, and bombardiers. Ufburk sees familiar vessels, of Scala design, and Demoki crafts. The Greys or Scalas, beings with dark orbital eyes and consistently grey skin-pigment have fashioned an encampment, nearby the face of Golgi, a Mount of Summoning.
The sights disturb Ufburk as he strains to make sense of the sprawl. He listens to the advancing mob of Cyborgs as well.
From the knoll come Rugsin and Bevold, slinking low, withers high. Bevold draws close to his new master, and the dog nuzzles Ufburk's side.
Now, he hears a new noise. A stealthier sound, underneath the mechanical pumping pistons and synchronised marching of the Cyborgs, and this noise is in closer proximity than the others.
"Good, heal dogs. War has come,"
From the Glade nearby a bellow issues from many throats, and a lake of Greys storm Ufburk's perch.
"Stay by," the once-barbarian tells his hounds. He is firing his Raygun, red streaks of fiery laser beams criss-cross from target to target, blowing heads apart. Ufburk sees no sign of Rydal, and he has lost track of the Cyborgs. He senses an ill-omen but fights, hounds lying near his feet. But the Scala are too numerous for Ufburk to seek his friend, and he resolves himself to stand or die.
His fingers reclaim their earlier fervour for the strengths the Raygun holds and the destruction it brings. And it seems that the Scalas cannot hit the side of a mountain as they return fire and those azure bolts shot from Grey's weapons fly fully away.
"It is Antar's brace. 'Tis..."
"Ufburk! Ufburk!!!"
Rydal calls, but Ufburk's mind remains consumed with murder. His shots cut down the advancing mob in droves, but the Scala no longer fire. Their only desire is to reach him. But they will not.
"Not while I wear Antar's Brace," Ufburk says.
Beams rip from the Raygun's muzzle. One hi
ts a Scala, tearing the top half of its now flaming skull off and spinning the Grey eighty degrees before it drops dead, burning on the ground. Ufburk's next shot opens the chest of the leading Grey, and an expanding hole begins to glow. The ember looks like the tip of a colossal and hot cigar; flames shoot up from the corpse as it drops. Another shot blows away the weapon wielding arm of another Scala, and another removes its head in a similar fashion. Another Greyskin's one blackened orbital eye burns as it hangs from the creature's face, scarlet goo dangles from the wound, sizzling from Ufburk's fiery laser beams.
A battle lust builds, charging Ufburk's barbaric fever as he fires with steady accuracy at the charging horde of Scala infantry. Rydal's cry escapes our hero's mind, as he no longer even calculates his shots. The warrior does not measure results; he fires and legs, arms, torsos and heads fall to the ground, struck with flaming madness. His only focus is the rate he fires his weapon. Its coils often overheat during times like this causing the Raygun to malfunction. Losing those moments will not do.
'The Cyborgs are gone,' he decides. 'This bunch is meant to be enough, perhaps those machines wait below, in case I retreat, which seems cowardly, but smart.'
The Son of Tiber does not retreat, Crimson bolts fly. Smoke drifts from the dying and dead. The Scala force continues to pour over the grassy knoll towards him. Ufburk continues to kill them, turning the aliens to smouldering ashes and sacks of ruined flesh.
The numbers dwindle. Ahead less than five Greyskins remain, but three are close, within yards.
Ufburk depresses the trigger, taking away the first Scala's features, formerly featuring the same looks as the flanking two, and vaporising that alien face. The others merely swerve to avoid their fallen comrade and dive headlong at Ufburk. They brandish electrified wands that sparkle with silvers and blues in three-digit hands.
Those long, shiny rods come close to striking Ufburk and then are jolted loose by Ufburk's parry. The lightsticks bounce away from the Scala's peculiar fists where they flop and crackle on the ground, shining brightly before abruptly going dim.
The once-barbarian pummels one of the Scalas several times with his bare knuckles and lands a lucky kick on the other, managing to send the Gray sprawling.
"Marsa!"
Sefer's pups come running, ears flat, teeth barred and the once-barbarian feels a pang of guilt for calling on them. But pups have to learn to fight.
The two dogs spring with supernatural grace, muscles rippling -mouths foaming, and the deep growl of war in their throats. Rugsin and Bevold tear the pair of Scalas to shreds in a horrific display of savagery, returning obediently to rest at Ufburk's side, slathered in dark blood.
The big man scours the embankments, the knoll, the grassy battlefield and nearly gives up hope of finding Rydal when his eyes settle on his friend's unmistakable bulk, lying face down near an outcropping of stones.
"By the stones" Ufburk mutters as he moves toward Rydal. The dogs follow, eager to stay with their new master.
The Merrigan's sides heave rapidly as Ufburk approaches, and the sight disturbs him. It is as if his friend is critically wounded. Ufburk begins to think the worst and to believe this to be true.
"Rydal!"
Dropping to one knee, the once-barbarian does not see any blood. The Merrigan's sides begin gyrating with the force of Rydal's wheezing respirations. Ufburk wants to freeze time or to run away, to get far away, from the Scala, from watching those he cares for dying. When he rolls Rydal onto his back, Ufburk finds that his friend is laughing, the strain of the Merrigan's uncontrollable laughter has left Rydal's eyes shimmering with silver tears, and those glittering droplets fall as Rydal continues to wheeze and moan.
During his long wait for the Merrigan to regain composure, Ufburk broods on the fields. He sees no further enemies for a long span. All the while Rydal's chuckles grow more manic, less tamed.
Eventually, Ufburk spies a Scala walking alone. He assumes the Grey is avoiding him. He raises the Raygun, flips a switch on its side and peers down the sights and shoots. The Grey, now missing part of its face and jaw drops, smoking. This event only causes Rydal to laugh more.
Some time passes before Rydal stops laughing and then time skirts by as he regulates his breathing. Finally, after staring long enough at Ufburk's scowling face, Rydal does tell his friend what happened to cause his odd behaviour.
"You were firing my direction. I could do nothing because each time I thought you would guard against blasting a hole in me, several shots whizzed by me. Pinned down as I was, I wanted desperately to get out of your firing line, but it was almost like it wasn't you shooting after all. You kill like a demon. I think I laughed due to fear. Once I started, I felt unable to quit giggling. I am sorry for the delay."
"Perhaps now you will let me lead. 'Tis my world, my Brace, my will."
"What is wrong Ufburk? You do not sound the same to me," Rydal's ebon eyes narrow to a slit, "Are you feeling okay?"
For a moment The Son of Tiber does not reply, and a palpable tension marks the time. When he does answer, Ufburk is genuinely confused.
"Yes, yes I feel -no. No, It'll be fine. Yes, fine -fine. Good."
He raises the Raygun to Rydal's eye.
"Ufburk, lower your weapon. Fight him; it is Seljuk. Think how you hate him. Seljuk is telling you what to do -don't let him. Lower the gun and live to kill that crafty wizard with many eyes. Seljuk is your enemy, not me. Drop the weapon Ufburk, let's go see your father."
A chorus of bells seems to be exploding in Ufburk's ears. The chiming is loud enough not to sound like individual sounds at all, but some array of external supersonic beams. A blister suddenly bubbles and pops on Ufburk's shoulder; a searing pain blasts reality to nevermore. Ufburk begins to feel warm, hot, feverish. His skin stings as if he rolled in hot coals.
"Fight Seljuk, he is the enemy," Rydal says.
The thoughts whirring through Ufburk's brain are muddled, disruptive. Whenever he tries to concentrate a sharp pain gnaws at that place between his eyes. "Seljuk..."
The word is all he hears. Nothing else Rydal conveys to Ufburk matters to the big man but that single word. That offensive word. The once-barbarian hears the name of his enemy and does the natural thing. He revolts. Struggling, he senses the wizard's mind, smaller, within his own, that presence, Seljuk's occupancy of his very mind, confirms Ufburk's growing feeling that Seljuk violates him. Red bursts of rage fuel the man as he battles the wizard occupying his brain.
Ufburk's growing agony is fast turning to a destabilising misery. The big man slumps, fighting vertigo. The pain heightens and continues to climb. Driven to one knee the once-barbarian is unaware at all of anything, not Rydal, or the twisted and torn Greys littering the field. The hurt he is enduring is because of the wizard, Seljuk.
"Seljuk killed my love," Ufburk's lips whisper, seemingly against his will. The statement emboldens him. Again, Ufburk lashes out at Seljuk, who somehow has found a gateway to the hero's thoughts and is hiding within Ufburk's brain. The once-barbarian clashes with Seljuk's mind, striving to push the Wizard out.
"Fel is dead Seljuk! Do you hear? That is not all; I am not alone. If you are here on Tarak, let's meet. It seems I should kill you."
From somewhere Ufburk hears a screaming voice, but it is far and unclear to the point that everything he is hearing is unintelligible. Our hero wonders if he will live to reach his father.
A rush of strength-depleting agony explodes in Ufburk's skull. Seljuk's power has turned the big man to so much quivering jelly and as the once-barbarian flops on the ground. Fighting the Wizard's mind, Ufburk feels tiny. But his will does not give in to the demands of the demon haunting him, and soon Ufburk feels Seljuk's presence weakening. The struggle burns in between his ears, a crippling madness that makes his ears ring, and Ufburk is aware of his runny nose.
Still, he pushes, fights. The ringing in his ears lightens, his head throbs less than moments ago. Ufburk gains a new found hope -and fights doubly hard. Before