Midwives of Life, Chosen of Death
or The Final Misfortune of Duke Hemish of Bartenstein
The establishment of Chant’Atl, the first official W’adrhŭn settlement in the lands of the Kingdoms, was, by and large, a peaceful one; after the initial hostilities, that is, and the agreement that Nagral of the Coati made with King Brand of Rottdorf. Sanctioned by King Fredrik of Riismark, Chant’Atl was a thing many local lords despised but dared not oppose; but while the authority of Fredrik carried weight, it was not a gospel to be followed blindly. The truth of the matter was that few dared to challenge the W’adrhŭn. Their warriors looked fierce and powerful in the eyes of humans, and the novelty of their sudden appearance had even the hardiest, cruelest brigands stop in their tracks and abandon any plans of raiding. At least at first.
As time passed, and with Fredrik’s and Brand’s eyes fixed in Angengrad, things begun to change, especially after the bulk of the W’adrhŭn population left Chant’Atl, unable to be supported by local resources. Little by little, the imposing W’adrhŭn turned from an exotic, mighty presence, into the subjects of bigotry and envy, then into a source of speculation: what wonders could they be bringing from the lands of the Old Dominion? What treasures and relics of old could their huts and caverns hide, their barbaric idiocy too great to appreciate? It was not long before the W’adrhŭn of Chant’Atl met the uglier face of humanity, with raiders, emboldened patrols and even idiotic mobs harassing or openly attacking them. Their violent endings usually brought back peace for a time but only served to fuel more of the same later on. Then one attack changed everything.
Few ever understood why Duke Hemish of Bartenstein had his men attack Oyohua, the Den of the Death Cult in Riismark. Some claimed it was because Nagral of the Coati had ignored the Duke’s offer to have the W’adrhŭn as his vassals, if they bend the knee to him. Others outrageously claimed he expected a child with one of the barbarians and wanted to erase his shame. Most, however, thought it was simply an easier target. Mirroring the Awlery of the Wastelands, the den served as infirmary and birthing center for the Coati tribe, and was situated outside Chant’Atl, in the natural caves of the Shlegg Rocks, its entrance all but unseen from the main settlement and with no visible guards. It was a place of nurses and midwives. Who would defend them?
* * *
When the Duke’s men made their way into the den’s caverns under cover of night, they did so dressed as brigands and cutthroats. It was dark; darker than it had any right to be, but the cloud hung heavy and low, leaving no silver light of moon or starlight slip through. Captain Marder Zhein cursed as much as he was thankful for this. On one hand, it was the fourth time he had heard one of his men slipping on the rocky path and they risked being heard by any guards that could be waiting inside. On the other, he had seen against the glare of the torches of the settlement below the head of the long-neck beasts and he was in no rush to be seen from below. Cussing under his breath, then fixing uncomfortably the awkward barding brigands favored, he urged his men for stealth one more time, then went on. Only a few dozen steps remained until the cave entrance. Unlit, save by the gentle light of lanterns, rather than the glaring light of torches, the mouth of the cave cautioned in silent warning, as they drew closer and closer. Distant screams echoed in his ears, and at first, he thought he was imagined it, a sign that they should turn back. Every step he kept taking forward revealed the truth; a woman was giving birth, somewhere deep inside the den. With a gulp, he muttered a prayer between his teeth, exhaled, and turned to give the order. Five faces he could barely see watched him back and he could read in their expression how they shared his superstitions. Two dozen more were following, some tens of meters behind. Steeling himself, he motioned for them to move. One by one, they rushed stealthily inside with surer footing, guided now by the light of the lanterns.
The cave was small and empty, save for the lanterns and some barbaric totems made elegantly of reeds, roots and leaves. Some men warned off evil as the Deists do and Marder growled at them to be professional. Scanning the empty room, he saw the tunnel leading further in, the same small lanterns guiding there as well. With a motion, he led the way; but not for long.
Three dozens steps; that how deep down the tunnel they walked before it turned and opened into a second cavern. The screams of the mother-to-be from deeper still came clear now, but it did not have a chance to unnerve the humans further. The female figure before them, standing with but strands of wool and straps of leather to cover her decency, managed that before anything else. She stood alone as if waiting, hands clasped behind her back. Her hair, caught in tight braids adorned with bone, feathers and strings, passed through a bone headpiece, a skull perhaps from one of their beasts. She seemed to look at them passively almost, as if she stood miles away from them rather than a few paces, but her eyes were covered under a ribbon of cloth.
“Away,” she said. Calm was her voice; no. Cold, it was. Not calm. “Who brings Death in Death’s hold is Death’s to claim.”
One of his men laughed. He didn’t. He just ordered them to charge. One of them draw a sword and did.
Blades flashed in each hand of the woman, assuming a combat pose before the man had reached her. She pushed aside the larger blade easily with the left hand and, in the same motion, one unbefitting a blindfolded woman, she danced around the man, her right hand turning to stab with her back turned at her victim. Before they had a chance to gawk, she was on to the rest of them, killing one by driving one blade up his chin, then shoving him to an ax bearer behind him to gain time. Their training kicking in, the rest would not go without a fight. One swung for her head from the side, and she twisted and bent backwards towards him, slicing with both blades and spilling his guts, while allowing his swing to force a second attacker to stay back. Crimson now marring her face and torso, she got up, driving one blade to a third attacker and using it as leverage, only to block a club from the second man with the other. The parry shook her, and she faltered, forcing her to put a leg back to maintain her posture and regain her composure. She was not given much time. Marder was on her, timing his attacks with the man with the club. She parried and evaded, dancing and twisting around them to keep them between her and the man with the ax, who had pushed her second victim off him and was coming at her. Shocked but trying to keep his composure, Marde screamed for the rest of the men outside the cave to hurry in. It was the last thing he did, her blade piercing his throat through. The last thing he saw was a second figure towering over him, and a third next to her. From afar, he heard his reinforcements screaming a charge and a woman yelling above them, as she was bringing new life to the world.
Time passed. Like a gaping mouth, the entrance to Oyohua was silent once more, whispering only the distant screams of a newborn. Then three women came out, adorned in the crimson of those who would defile their domain.
“We have a name?” one asked. Another nodded.
Few ever understood why Duke Hemish of Bartenstein had his men attack Oyohua, the Den of the Death Cult in Riismark. Many, however, knew the tales of his fortune after that.