Along the rugged slopes of the great mountain dwelled the simple people of the Mountain Clan. While empires rose and fell out of the primordial muck, while new inventions changed the world and the dealings of men, the Mountain Clan lived as they always had — simply, courageously, and without worry. They had no need for coins or treasures. They hunted the wild beasts that shared the mountainside with them, and what few necessities they could not gain from these creatures, they would purchase with the precious pelts of the slain animals.

Amongst these men of the mountain, there lived one who had left the lofty slopes and ventured through the lowlands. One who had felt the sticking sweat of the fly-dappled jungles, who had left his footprints in the sands of the Desert Kindred, who had splashed through odious swamps and run through the high grasses of the plain-lands. He was a mercenary, a hunter, an adventurer, and a warrior, but above all else he was a Mountain Clansman. He had returned, married the prettiest maiden on the slopes, and already fathered two children. His people respected him, and he earned the title that followed his name. They knew him as Culpug, the Cavelord.

Rarely did Culpug think of his many years away from the mountain. But one day of harsh snow and endless storm, he sat restless in his cave, his curly-haired son Urven at his side, and gazed into the fire. Urven was bored and looked at his father’s lined and weathered face.

“Father,” Urven asked. “Could you tell me a story of the world away from the mountain?”

“Mayhaps I could,” Culpug muttered. “But I do not know if you would care to hear it. Or if I would care to relate it to you.”

“But I hear the world away from the mountain is amazing!” Urven cried. “I hear they do not live in caves, but in villages and great cities. That they keep the wild beasts out with walls instead of spears and clubs. That they take the wild beasts and raise them as their own.”

“Bah!” Culpug spat into the fire. “Civilization! A curse on men, sent by the Gods to punish us for our brazen ignorance!” He turned to his son and his expression softened. “Very well, little Urven. I will tell you of my travels. I will tell you of my time amongst the Valley Tribes, during the days of Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade.”

And so Culpug gazed into the fire once more and began his tale.


The men of the valley are not like us, young one. The Valley Tribes tame the great lizards that roam their land. The ones with frills and three horns, nearly as large as a mammoth and with similar strength, they used to plow the fertile land. The plants they eat grow not wild, but at their command, and they were never at a loss for food. So the Valley Tribes had ample food and wealth, and they prepared great stone pyramids for their temples, armor for their warriors, and many golden trinkets for their temples. As they grew more powerful, they grew greedy, and so Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade came to power.

He was a tall and lean man, hawk-eyed and handsome, with closely cropped hair under his helmet and flashing eyes under his brow. His ears were heavy with jade plugs, and his nose bore a pair as well. A long sword was never far from his grip, and as Thu’kon’s name proclaimed, it was often crimson with the blood of his foes.

It was he who led the warriors of the Valley Tribes deep into the forested wild lands. The great lizards carried the Valley Tribesmen into the land of thickets and groves, and the carnivorous ones feasted on the dead of the forest folk. The people of the woods were simple, like us. They had no steel for their weapons, no beasts to set their haunches on, and only their nakedness as armor against the sharp blades of the Valley Tribes.

Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade led his armies deep into the woods, driving the natives before him. His armored ranks followed him, their spears held high. I still can picture their tunics under their hard leather and steel armor, died the red of Thu’Kon’s blade, and the silhouettes of their round helmets in the forest gloom. Thu’kon would lead them with his elite cavalry, all mounted on the giant scaly lizards, bipedal beasts with tiny arms and mouths packed with teeth. Behind them, catapults and other siege weapons were dragged by pack lizards, and the camp followers brought up the rear.

But Thu’kon did not wish to pit his civilized men against the savages of the wood without other savages. He hired a number of Mountain Clansmen to help lead his armies through the dense forests, as we are the best trackers and woodsmen in all the world. I was there as well, and when the rest of the Mountain Men drifted away from the Valley Armies, I remained.

I was much younger then, no gray in my brown hair or beard. My garments have not changed, a simple jerkin of tanned hide and a good fur cloak around my shoulders. My weapons have not changed either. I carried a sturdy spear and a pair of sickle blades, made of ivory and fashioned over generations. I carried a bow and quiver of arrows as well.

Much time had passed since I joined Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade, and we had made many victories against the Forest Folk. There was some talk of taking our spoils and returning to the green valley, but Thu’kon would hear none of it. “There is more land to conquer!” he proclaimed. “These people fall like saplings before a raging fire! We will never turn back!”

He led us deep into the heart of the tangled woods, to the lands that the Forest Folk deemed most sacred. And it was here that our final battle would be fought. Thu’kon’s scouts had reported a large settlement, perhaps the largest we had ever seen, dead ahead, and we prepared for war.

“Culpug!” he told me, his crimson cape flapping in the light wind as he dismounted from his giant lizard. “Mountain Man, will you honor me by leading the first contingent of soldiers into the fray?”

“As you command, sir.” I gripped my spear tightly. “But I ask that we be cautious. We have never encountered a settlement of this size. Perhaps something is there beyond our reckoning.”

“Perhaps.” Thu’kon shrugged. “But these forest savages harbor few surprises. Go lead my men, Culpug. See what you can.”

And so I and a platoon of armored Valley Tribesman ventured ahead of the main army and came to the town. There were many wooden huts clustered around a circle of standing stones. A bluish fire burned in the center of the stones, and the Forest Folks leapt and danced around it. Crudely constructed men of wood and reeds stood on each side of the village, animals trapped within as they burned. Above the fire, watching the entire scene from a place on a high pole, rested the hollow eyed skull of some ox, goat, or other horned animal. The Forest Folk had painted their pale skin as they did for battle, half red and half blue. I have heard that the blue represented the Earth Mother, and the red their other deity, the Horned God.

I raised my spear, and the Valley Tribesman raised their tall pikes as well. “Charge!” their lietentant shouted, and we ran into the village of the Forest Folk. Thu’kon had placed his archers in the woods around the village, and showers of barbed arrows flew past us as we charged. More infantry followed us into the fray, and the Forest Folk grabbed weapons and ceased their rhythmic chanting to drive us away.

They came at us from the standing stones and from behind the huts and out of the trees themselves. Each warrior of the Forest Folk was dyed in red and blue, but otherwise wore no clothes. Men and women alike battled us, striking at us with wooden clubs and spears, curved daggers and blades of jagged bone. Our arrows cut some of them down before they came into contact with our warriors, but the rest of the Forest Folk fought on, even with numerous shafts projecting their bodies.

“Slaughter them to the last!” Thu’kon shouted above the din of battle. He rode into the fray atop his giant lizard, crashing the beast straight through one of the burning wicker men and crushing Forest Folk under the beast’s clawed feet. Thu’kon stabbed downwards with his lance, piercing the Foresters that tried to stop him. In time, he dismounted and drew his long sword, hewing a shrieking woman in twain as more large lizards and their riders entered the village.

And I was right in the thick of it. Know that I have still have strength in my old limbs, young one, but back then I was a mighty warrior indeed. I plunged my spear through a wild-eyed Forester as he tried to bring me down with a bone club, then I withdrew the spear and cracked another assailant on the side of the head. As he went down, I planted the point of the weapon in his chest and drew my sickle blades. I slashed them across a bearded Forester wielding a stone axe, and his head flew from his shoulders and landed in the shadow of his Horned God.

Thu’kon turned to the image and swung his long sword into the pole. He cut it down and the skull fell to the earth, where the large foot of a frilled and horned lizard stomped on it. Thu’kon threw back his head and laughed as the battle degenerated into mere slaughter. The Forest Folk that were too old or young to fight tried to flee, but we cut them down without thought or care. We were battle-mad, and the painted warriors of the woods could not match our inhumanity.

When we had cleared the village, Thu’kon ordered that we set up camp and rest. We would stay the night and move on in the morning, forcing our way deeper and deeper into the woods. We burned the huts and pushed the bodies away from the village.

I was hurling a torch into one of the final huts when a spindly man in loose robes ran out and grabbed my shoulders. He spoke the language of the Valley Tribe, and I saw from his frayed tunic that he was once a soldier from our ranks.

“You must apologize!” he cried. “This is the altar of the Horned God and you have disgraced him! You must respect him and beg for mercy! You must!”

I pushed him away. “What are you talking about, friend?” I asked. “Were you held captive by the Foresters?”

“They changed me!” he cried. “I have seen the cold truth that dwells in the hearts of all men! You would be a fool to deny it!”

Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade had spotted this disturbance and walked over to investigate. The captured soldier turned to Thu’kon and fell to his knees before the Valley Tribe warlord. “You must apologize!” he cried. “Sacrifice your beasts to it, for he owns them already! Give him the blood of your men, for he owns that as well! Praise and venerate the Horned God!”

“Poor devil,” Thu’kon muttered. “The savage tortures must have driven him insane. Ah, well. I can bring him peace.” He gripped his sword and swiftly struck the madman a solid blow across the neck. The soldier fell to the ground as Thu’kon marched off.

As he gurgled his last stilted breath, the dying Valley Tribesman grabbed my legs and caught my eye. “Beware the Horned God!” he cried. “Beware the ones who walk in his shadow!” His grip slackened as he fell back and died. Somewhere above us, thunder split the sky.


We set up camp before the rains began, and when they did, we clustered around the fire in the shadows of the standing stones. The downpour was thick and bracing, pouring into the joints of the Valley Tribesmen’s armor and wetting my fur cloak. I held my hands out and warmed them on the bonfire’s glow. Strangely, it still blazed despite the rain, as if the downfall could be ignored.

Thu’kon sat with us. For all of his faults, he loved his men, and never stayed apart from them. Normally he would lead his soldiers in rousing jests and merry songs, but tonight we fell silent and watched the fire. In the shadows of the tall trees, the giant lizards moaned and roared uneasily. Thu’kon stabbed his long sword into the dirt and fingered its pommel.

“Culpug,” he suddenly asked. “You are kin to these naturals. What say you of their Gods?”

“I do not know what to say, sir.” I lowered my head. “In the mountains, we have gods for everything. The moon, the sun, the snow, and the mountain itself.”

Thu’kon smiled. “I doubt you have much more on your desolate mountain! But go on.”

“We have gods for bravery in battle and in childbirth, and gods who collect the souls of the dead.” I looked up at the standing stones. “But these Forest Folk seem to have just two gods, who rule all other spirits without question. The Earth Mother and the Horned God.”

“And what do you think of this?”

“I do not know.” I looked at the remains of the wicker men. “Our gods take nothing from us, and we expect nothing from them, but the respect these people hold for their two deities is something different.”

“They are fools.” Thu’kon gripped the pommel of his sword. “It is not the place of men to cower before superstitious idols! That is why we will always win, and the Forest Folk will be wiped from the globe.”

Lighting cracked above us, and the rain increased its downfall. The beasts roared and stamped their feet. One of the larger ones pushed down a tall tree, which fell with a clatter on the dirt floor of the forest. “T’lack, M’yark, go calm the animals down!” Thu’kon commanded.

“Yes, sir.” Two burly Valley Tribe pikemen stood up, gripped their weapons, and walked off into the darkness. I had spent my entire life in the cold climes of the mountains, but something about this wretched night made me shiver. I looked again at the standing stones. I saw runes and symbols carved into them, spiraling and jagged at the same time. I touched one of the runes and ran my fingers across the ancient design.

Lightning crashed again, and T’lack ran back into the camp. His helmet was gone and his hands shook. His pike was gone, and his sword was out. “T-there’s something in the woods!” he cried. “W-we just went to check on the beasts and something came out of the woods!”

“Calm yourself, soldier!” Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade stood in front of T’lack. “You are no superstitious fool! What did you see?”

“Something got M’yark!” T’lack gasped. “Just grabbed him and pulled away. I only saw the outline of it when the lighting came. I swung at it. I wounded it, I swear I did.” He looked at his short sword, and the polished blade reflected his terrified visage back at him, not a drop of blood on it.

“What did the outline look like?” one of the soldiers asked.

“It—it was very tall. And it had these big horns.” Thunder rumbled again, and the night seemed to get colder.

“Some Forester hiding in the woods, in a costume no doubt.” Thu’kon spat. “Culpug! Go into the woods and find who it is. Bring me their head.”

I am no coward, but I wanted more than anything to stay by the fire and stay out of the darkness. But I had pledged my service to Thu’kon of the Reddened Blade, and I had to obey him. I stood up and gripped my spear. “As you command, sir.” I said.

I walked away from the campfire and headed to where the lizards rested. They were very agitated, hooting and roaring as they thrashed at their ropes. I walked warily past them, and into the underbrush. I soon spotted the body of M’yark.

He lay against a tree, his chest split down the middle and his lungs pulled out and placed on each side of him. I recognized the execution method from some of the more brutal tribes of the upper mountains. “The Blood Eagle,” I whispered. Something rustled in the underbrush and I looked up.

The lighting crashed once more, and I saw the shadow of a tall figure. He was head and shoulders above me, and from each side of his head sprang a long curled horn. As he stepped forward, I saw he wore nothing but his own muscles, and his face was replaced with the narrow skull of some forest animal. His eyes looked at me through the pale bone of the eye-sockets. Then, he held out his hands, and behind him I saw Forest Folk crawling towards me through the trees, each one carrying a curved blade in their teeth. They made no sound, and all I could hear was the pounding rain and my own ragged breath. The Forest Folk were painted black, or maybe they were just in the long shadow of the Horned God.

I turned and ran. I ran past the chained beasts, now roaring and trying to break free. The Forest Folk followed, and even in hot pursuit they made nary a sound. They stopped amongst the giant lizards, and I saw them cutting the chains and plunging their daggers into the soft rumps of the reptiles.

Fear makes even the surest feet falter. I tripped over a root and fell to my face, but I spun round and readied my spear. One of the black-painted followers of the Horned God leapt for me, his dagger held high, but I jabbed upward with my spear and impaled him. I swiftly pushed the body off my spear and stood up. I readied my bow and notched an arrow. The Horned God moved behind his children, his great arms outstretched. I took aim and let fly.

But I should have known better. I should have known you cannot fell a god with an arrow. The shaft struck his head, right into the middle of the skull, lodged into the bone. He stood still, and then pulled the arrow from his skull and snapped it in two. I felt raw terror as I turned away from the Horned God and yelled out my fear for the world to hear.

“Flee! Flee! The Horned God is here!” I shouted, and then the Forest Folk finished their business with the lizards. They forced the panicked animals forward, and the great lizards stampeded straight towards the encampment of the Valley Tribesmen. I rolled under the pounding feet of some great lizard, and the bellowing of beasts was joined by the screams of men as the animals crashed into the men around the bonfire. Many poor soldiers were crushed under their pounding claws. Others were impaled on their horns or simply crushed by their bulk. As a nimble Man of the Mountains, I was able to avoid being squashed. I stood up and ran back to the bonfire, now scattered by the swinging tail of some great lizard.

Panic filled the soldiers, and they ran from the campfire, screaming like wounded animals as they leapt into the woods. Thu’kan of the Reddened Blade attempted to rally his men. “Hold, soldiers!” he shouted, raising his long sword. “They stampeded the beasts, but that is no reason to fear them. Ready your weapons and repel their attack!” He faced the dark-painted Forest Folk, and his blade flashed as he hacked through them. Some of the other Valley Tribesmen rallied, using their long pikes to keep the Forest Folk back.

Then the Horned God approached. He pointed his long fingers at Thu’kan and the assembled warriors, and let out a primal roar that could not have come from a man’s mouth. More of the soldiers began to panic, and I saw fear even in Thu’kan’s face. But he raised his sword and faced the Horned God.

“Fools!” he cried. “Do not run! This is just a man, a tall fellow wearing some goat’s skull as a hat! These savages may deem him a god, but we are not sniveling children!” He ran towards the Horned God, his sword held high. “Watch me lay their object of worship low!”

Thu’kan swung his blade at the Horned God, but the God of the Forest Folk caught the blade with both hands. I saw the creature’s large fingers wrap around the steel as he pulled the sword away from Thu’kan. The Valley warlord tried to reclaim his weapon, but the Horned God hurled it away. It landed near me, and I dared not touch it.

The Horned God reached down and grabbed Thu’kan’s neck. He hauled Thu’kan of the Reddened Blade into the air and squeezed the life from him. Thu’kan’s reign ended in an instant, and the Horned God let his body fall to the ground. He threw back his head and let out one more primal roar.

I tell you, young one, I did not care for my honor or even my skin as I fled that cursed place. It was only the Horned God that I wished to leave behind and never think of again. The other soldiers fled that place, as well. Most met their deaths from the daggers of the Forest Folks, and became living sacrifices to the Horned God, but some managed to leave the forest and return to the valley.

As for me, my days as a mercenary in the army of the Valley Tribes ended. I went further into the woods, hunted some of the saber-toothed tigers that dwelt there, and made a good living selling their pelts to some of the more peaceful tribes of the Forest Folk. But I never returned to that grove, and for all I know, it remains unconquered still.


Culpug the Cavelord looked into the face of his son and smiled when he saw Urven’s wide eyes and open mouth. Culpug ruffled the boy’s hair and looked outside the cave at the falling snow. He picked up another log and tossed it into the crackling fire.

“Well?” Urven asked.

“Well, what?”

“Was he the Horned God?” Urven stood up and gripped his father’s hand. “Was he just some priest dressed up like the Horned God, who happened to be really tall and strong? Or was he the God himself?”

Culpug sighed. “I sense the civilization in that question. You must learn that some things cannot be categorized so easily.” He patted his son’s arm and looked into the fire. “I will tell you this, young one. I looked at Thu’kan’s blade that had fallen next to me, the one that the Horned God had wrenched from his hand. And on that blade, there was blood!” Culpug looked back into the roaring storm outside, and though he was born and raised in this harsh environment, he shivered. “Yes, there was blood. But he was the Horned God nonetheless!”