CHAPTER 62 – THE WOODLANDS


    Excelsior wiped his blade with the min-clothe as the group journeyed over the bridge and into the town suspended above the waterfalls. It was as clean as it was going to get after the bloodshed back at the border. They had finally made it to Compis Falls. There were only low leveled buildings, but the waterfall village’s layout was so systematic and well inter-twined it was able to house a great deal of the Stag Kingdom subjects.


    Every one of the villagers at Compis Falls was outside doing something. Whether it was bringing food in from the forest cultivation centers or repairing scaffolding, no one was wasting time. A quiet citizen sweeping the front bridge looked up to find the company arriving. Excelsior led them around like he owned the place. It would appear that the wanderer fit in all his friends’ hometowns like he was a lost brother. This was the true essence of the canine kingdom.


    Immediately, the company went to check on Mitakahn. They entered the fine glass palace, decorated with exotic flora and hard wood sculpted walls. Inside was a shaman sitting next to the bed of Mitakahn. Anilithion rushed to the bed and held Mitakahn’s cold hand, “Is he going to be okay?”


    “It was close. For a while we thought we were going to lose him,” Bridger explained.


    Bridger’s mother, the High Shaman, cut in, “He is resting now…and will be fine when he wakes.”


    They were all relieved.


    “What of the lioness that brought him here?” Anilithion persisted, “Did she leave?”


    “The lioness is bound to the prince,” the Shaman told the company, “A beautiful example of the love in nature. She will always protect him. A creature worth more than any man. She sat by his side until he awoke, soon thereafter she left our lands.”


    Bridger showed them to the kitchen and the bathhouse while they waited for Mitakahn.


    Back inside he whispered to the Shaman, “Her name is Gabriella.”


    “Gabriella is a blessing from the gods.”


    The company refreshed and reloaded their packs and quivers. Occasionally, the shaman would return and check Mitakahn’s bandages. His skin was black around the wound, his veins the grayish color of dead venom. There was also some mix of herbs and rebelgrass, ancient woodland grass brushed with the cosmos. It acted as a disinfectant, fusing with the venom and then purifying it through Mitakahn’s system, clearing him of any more lasting effects. Rebelgrass was extremely rare and practically invaluable. The royal family of the Stag Kingdom used their rations on a prince from another kingdom. The lion prince would never forget it was the mercy of neighboring nations that saved his life.


    When Mitakahn awoke he had a new companion on the floor in his room. He got out of the bed and let Orion lick his face. He hugged the pup. Orion’s black and brown fur brushed Mitakahn’s face. It was the other end of the spectrum from the lioness’ fur. Orion’s was longer with a musty scent. Where Gabriella’s coat smelled and looked pristine, the mangy mutt’s wasn’t exactly dirty, but it, to put it nicely-- smelled like the road.


    It was a good, earthy smell. It got Mitakahn thinking about his journey. He was so happy to be alive, but still tired after what he’d been through. The prince wiped the tears from his cheek, hoping no one noticed. Mitakahn felt well enough to get up and walk around.


    Mitakahn greeted everyone and made it clear that he wanted to get back on the road to Mount Fire. He got his wounds wrapped with new bandages, found his pack replenished, and dressed and armed himself. Bridger walked in suited in his light battle armor with a cloak. Light enough to travel with, and at the same time plated armor over his shoulders and elbows for heavy battle. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    “My father requests your presence in our royal hall before we go.”


    Mitakahn followed Bridger as he adjusted and locked his sword-belt around his tunic, “I half-expected you to keep me from leaving so soon.”


    Tron ran up to them and put his arm around Mitakahn’s shoulder, “You are one tough son of an ape.”


    Mitakahn winced. Tron was anything, but gentle.


    “Tron didn’t believe me. I guess that proves I know you better.” He grinned.


    Bridger led them in. They entered the capital hall of Compis Falls, the royal family’s hall, and the throne room of the Stag Kingdom. One of the most influential seats of power in all of MagnaThora.


    “This is Rendir’s Hall, and that is a memorial of our great ancestor, Korbin, the first Lord of the Woodlands,” explained King Mightier Callister, down at the head of the room speaking with the rest of the company, as he pointed to the mural over their head. It was of the shining Stag Gods, pale white bucks surrounding a boy kneeling down, wearing a crown made of silver vines. Mightier continued as they walked closer…


    The Legend of Korbin Callister


    Korbin was just a boy when greatness was thrust upon him. His father was dead before he was born. It was different back then, in the forest before the stags. Elemental monster predators reminiscent of the Fire Age reigned supreme. The first men of the Stag Tribe did not live very long. Korbin was raised by his mother and her sisters. When a Mongrel claw pierced his mother’s heart during a night raid, he became an orphan. Korbin would always struggle to remember his mother’s face.


    Something about the demons in the forest made them thirsty for the blood of man; maybe it was a primal directive to assassinate an entire species alpha. Many families of the woods found themselves in the same position as Korbin, one male amongst a horde of mothers, aunts, and sisters. As the years passed Korbin lost his aunts. They were paying the price for Korbin’s life.


    Until finally he was old enough to wield a sword and protect himself, now only having one guardian left alive, his Aunt Luminora. Living in the forest and surviving where most had perished, hardened Luminora and Korbin. They slept in the trees and barely spoke, they’re entire existence focused on one thing…survival by not drawing any attention.


    The first time the Grey Wolfe walked across MagnaThora he claimed the east as the biggest threat and vowed to found his tribe there. But before he could do all that he was an infant god exploring his new kingdom for the first time. The beasts of the Woodlands did not care if they killed man or god, so the young godling took preemptive control. The Wolfe laid whispers upon the great wildertrees, hundred year old pines and oaks, giving them the ability to protect themselves and other innocent habitants of the forests, including man.


    A mongrel could best be described as a stone beast with horns and fire in their eyes and breath. They ransacked certain parts of the Woodlands, burning down clusters of age old wildertrees. In those ashes the Wolfe’s whispers grew pale white, leafless yearlongs. The trees grew unnaturally fast, never sprouting. Instead, the branches bent and fractured down, digging into the ash-ridden soil. As if life was leaving the branches they snapped apart. The tops of the branches pointed up into the air once again and the broken pieces of the branches remained stuck in the dirt. What grew beneath the ground absorbed the ash and shook the dirt off as it emerged, fur bound cleft hooves pushed its body up from below the soil with the pale branch tips on its head. Each yearlong tree bore multiple stags. With the ashes of the forests cleared by the stags the green was free to return. The stags were made of what remained after the mongrels’ burn, which made them impervious to mongrel fire.


    The Stags gave the good of the Woodlands a fighting chance. What they needed was a champion. No one wanted to face the mongrels; men were set on waiting for the stags to drive them away. The stags were merely mortal, in fact it took multiple stags to defeat just one mongrel and often a couple of them died in the process. Korbin wanted to fight. Against every word of his Aunt Luminora he ran with the stags, all she could do was follow him. In the first assault Korbin’s aunt was burnt alive. Korbin cried over her ashes from the battle and a white yearlong sprung. The night moved the dirt, and the white branches parted the ground, releasing the stag. It was twice the size of any other stag. He looked more carefully at it. There was a point for every sister, including his mother, in the stag’s antlers.


    Korbin rode with the stags of the Woodlands and wiped mongrels off the face of the earth, freeing the woodland realm of monsters. Mankind was allowed to grow and prosper. It was only fit that they gathered around Korbin as a pillar of the gods’ presence in the world. As a testament to his anointing the townspeople called him Lord Korbin Callister and knelt in his presence, eternally grateful of his sacrifice.