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Hezzkal — Simon Fox
When Hezzkal Vallmar embraces a new faith, he incurs the murderous wrath of the Xunnland's State Religion ... HEZZKAL is Prequel 4 to THE FIRSTLORD CHRONICLES, a cutting-edge series of science-fiction novels by Simon Fox.
CHAPTER 1
“Major, I want you and your men to remain here for a few hours while I go further up into the mountains,” said Hezzkal Vallmar, FirstLord of the Xunnland.
Kallja Lisstra, Hezzkal's bodyguard commander, blinked with astonishment.
“My Lord?!” he exclaimed, unable to fathom Hezzkal's meaning.
Hezzkal trusted and liked Lisstra, but there was no way he could explain to him his reasons for going off into the mountains alone.
“I'll be perfectly safe,” Hezzkal assured Lisstra.
“But, my Lord, we're in Varrd! If you encounter any of the natives, they may try to kill you!”
Hezzkal shook his head. “That's not going to happen, Major " believe me. Now, tell your men to set up our camp here. I'll be back well before dusk.”
Lisstra briefly considered the idea of keeping Hezzkal there forcibly, for his own safety, but he knew he would never dare to do such a thing to the FirstLord.
“As you command, my Lord,” said Lisstra with a sigh of resignation, making no attempt to hide his misgivings.
Without further ado Hezzkal set off along the floor of the narrow mountain valley, which soon became steep and rocky. After an hour or so, he came to a cluster of moss-covered boulders, just as he had seen in his Dream. Here he would meet … whoever it was he was meant to meet. The Dream had been vague about this person. Hezzkal simply knew that he (or possibly she) would be able to answer the questions that had been nagging him for about twenty years.
Ever since his mid teens he had had a gut feeling that the State Religion " despite its power, its wealth, its complex rituals, its millions of ardent believers " was somehow a sham, a cheap substitute for something more substantial, more worthy, more true. He had kept these thoughts to himself, of course, since even a FirstLord could get into trouble for daring to suggest that the State Religion was anything other than the fount of all wisdom and spiritual knowledge.
Hezzkal sat down on one of the boulders. Here he would wait. He had no anxieties about his safety " the Dream had convinced him that no harm would come to him. Besides, he had his trusty short-sword at his right hip and a loaded pistol at his left.
He had been waiting only about ten minutes when he saw a Varrdan walking down the valley towards him. The man was short by Xunnish standards, had long white braided hair and a full white beard, and was dressed in an ankle-length grey cloak. Hezzkal found it hard to judge the ages of non-Xunns, but the fellow looked like he might be in his sixties.
Hezzkal stood up. The Varrdan halted at a distance of about 20 paces and gave the FirstLord an appraising stare. Like all Honns, he had white-grey-yellow freckled skin. To Hezzkal, accustomed to his own people's red-pink-brown pigmentation, Varrdish skin appeared outlandish, otherworldly " alien.
“You're Hezzkal Vallmar, aren't you?” said the Varrdan in the Xunnish language. His voice was deep and contained not one jot of fear.
Normally, not even a Xunnish commoner, let alone a Varrdish slave, would ever dare to address the FirstLord of the Xunnland in such a blunt, familiar manner. But Hezzkal knew this wasn't normality. This encounter had been orchestrated by the Dream.
“I am,” replied Hezzkal. “And who are you, might I ask?”
“My name is Takeen Oshpaal,” answered the Varrdan. “I'm The Fayshonn of Varradenn.”
Hezzkal knew what this title meant: Oshpaal was the spiritual leader of the Varrdish nation. He was a head shorter than Hezzkal and less solidly built, but still Hezzkal felt he was in the presence of a man of stature, authority and power. Not the power of armies and wealth and palaces " a different kind of power altogether ...
CHAPTER 1
“Major, I want you and your men to remain here for a few hours while I go further up into the mountains,” said Hezzkal Vallmar, FirstLord of the Xunnland.
Kallja Lisstra, Hezzkal's bodyguard commander, blinked with astonishment.
“My Lord?!” he exclaimed, unable to fathom Hezzkal's meaning.
Hezzkal trusted and liked Lisstra, but there was no way he could explain to him his reasons for going off into the mountains alone.
“I'll be perfectly safe,” Hezzkal assured Lisstra.
“But, my Lord, we're in Varrd! If you encounter any of the natives, they may try to kill you!”
Hezzkal shook his head. “That's not going to happen, Major " believe me. Now, tell your men to set up our camp here. I'll be back well before dusk.”
Lisstra briefly considered the idea of keeping Hezzkal there forcibly, for his own safety, but he knew he would never dare to do such a thing to the FirstLord.
“As you command, my Lord,” said Lisstra with a sigh of resignation, making no attempt to hide his misgivings.
Without further ado Hezzkal set off along the floor of the narrow mountain valley, which soon became steep and rocky. After an hour or so, he came to a cluster of moss-covered boulders, just as he had seen in his Dream. Here he would meet … whoever it was he was meant to meet. The Dream had been vague about this person. Hezzkal simply knew that he (or possibly she) would be able to answer the questions that had been nagging him for about twenty years.
Ever since his mid teens he had had a gut feeling that the State Religion " despite its power, its wealth, its complex rituals, its millions of ardent believers " was somehow a sham, a cheap substitute for something more substantial, more worthy, more true. He had kept these thoughts to himself, of course, since even a FirstLord could get into trouble for daring to suggest that the State Religion was anything other than the fount of all wisdom and spiritual knowledge.
Hezzkal sat down on one of the boulders. Here he would wait. He had no anxieties about his safety " the Dream had convinced him that no harm would come to him. Besides, he had his trusty short-sword at his right hip and a loaded pistol at his left.
He had been waiting only about ten minutes when he saw a Varrdan walking down the valley towards him. The man was short by Xunnish standards, had long white braided hair and a full white beard, and was dressed in an ankle-length grey cloak. Hezzkal found it hard to judge the ages of non-Xunns, but the fellow looked like he might be in his sixties.
Hezzkal stood up. The Varrdan halted at a distance of about 20 paces and gave the FirstLord an appraising stare. Like all Honns, he had white-grey-yellow freckled skin. To Hezzkal, accustomed to his own people's red-pink-brown pigmentation, Varrdish skin appeared outlandish, otherworldly " alien.
“You're Hezzkal Vallmar, aren't you?” said the Varrdan in the Xunnish language. His voice was deep and contained not one jot of fear.
Normally, not even a Xunnish commoner, let alone a Varrdish slave, would ever dare to address the FirstLord of the Xunnland in such a blunt, familiar manner. But Hezzkal knew this wasn't normality. This encounter had been orchestrated by the Dream.
“I am,” replied Hezzkal. “And who are you, might I ask?”
“My name is Takeen Oshpaal,” answered the Varrdan. “I'm The Fayshonn of Varradenn.”
Hezzkal knew what this title meant: Oshpaal was the spiritual leader of the Varrdish nation. He was a head shorter than Hezzkal and less solidly built, but still Hezzkal felt he was in the presence of a man of stature, authority and power. Not the power of armies and wealth and palaces " a different kind of power altogether ...
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