The Lod Saga by Vaughn Heppner

Author:Vaughn Heppner [Heppner, Vaughn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2011-05-17T22:00:00+00:00

-6-

“There,” Lod said, pointing far below.

They stood on a cliff at the edge of the foothills. The cliff jutted outward, a towering stand of bare rock. Behind them rose the forested foothills and then the greater mountains that ended in snow-covered peaks. Before them, spread the great Pishon River Valley. The mighty Pishon was obscured by haze and was thus impossible for either of them to see. The Pishon ran parallel with the mountains and emptied westward into the Ammon Gulf. Forty leagues away, the city of Shiva stood on the right bank of the Pishon and along the Ammon coast. It was the god’s capital, the headquarters of the Nephilim invasion of the Pishon River Valley.

Bosk squinted where Lod pointed. As Bosk did, Lod glanced at the huge man’s ham. It had been a day since Lod had dug out the arrowhead. Even after prolonged running, the wound had healed enough so it no longer seeped blood. Bosk healed faster than normal, but not at a frightening, supernatural rate.

Bosk grunted.

Lod looked up. Far to their right, coming out of the mountains, flowed the Zin River. Far to their left was the swift-flowing Zur River. The two mountain-rivers converged in swampy Lake Zin-Zur and each poured out in a different waterfall that traveled to the distant Pishon River. Double Forks was a village on Lake Zin-Zur, which from here looked to be about the size of a Larak silver shekel. The people of Double Forks ran a ferry, taking goods to whatever side one wished of the various rivers.

Lod shaded his eyes. Dust rose on the road below. Occasional glints shone through the dust. The glints might have come from a slave-chain reflecting sunlight.

“It’s Manus Farstrider,” Bosk said.

“Do you have eagle sight?” Lod asked.

“Over there at the head of the column. The giant towers over the others, and the sun reflects a golden color off his helmet.”

Lod squinted. There was possibly a taller man there, a giant. Bosk’s superior sight was yet another proof of his tainted blood.

“We need chariots,” Lod said.

“They didn’t help you last year.”

Lod scowled. The battle by the salt marsh had been a confusing, dust-swirling fight. He’d been a chariot runner in it, a sell-sword for the nobles of Ramoth. “The Nephilim used cunning tricks that day,” While remembering the terrible, surprise attack from the rear, Lod added, “We would have beaten them otherwise.”

“Those tricks are called tactics,” Bosk said. “The Nephilim are masters of them.”

“Were you there?”

“I’m a boxer and a wrestler, not a soldier. When I lose, I get to fight another day. When a soldier loses, he’s usually dead.” Bosk nodded at the iron javelin in Lod’s grasp. “How far can you hurl that?”

“When the time comes, I’ll use it as a pike.”

Bosk appeared skeptical. “Just run up and stab the giant, eh?”

“Is there a better way to kill Manus Farstrider?”

“What works is the better way.”

“Have you fought Nephilim before?”

“I’ve walked out of the Great Arena every time,” Bosk said. “I’ve cracked skulls

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