The Azwan Chronicles

Chapter 1

The constellation Fornax in the heavens of the southern hemisphere was comprised of several small stars and planets moving in close orbit to a huge star of the first magnitude. The light and heat from this star was so intense that the closest planet, Azwan enjoyed a perennial climate of warm weather and was bathed in daylight for eighty percent of the time.

Adding to the idyllic atmosphere was the presence of a huge lake beneath the planet's surface, that surfaced through the top of the Dragon Mountain and flowed in several separate rivers down to the planes below.

Since water was an important life force of the planet, communities were originally established next to these rivers and used for commerce as well as survival. The largest of these was Tor and therefore, the capital of the planet and home of the Azwanian ruler, Gothag. The Azwanians were mostly a happy people who spent their lives pursuing the arts; painting, sculpting, crafts of all types, and were particularly adept at spectacular architecture.

The newer part of the city contained the best examples of this artistry. In a magnificent structure in the very centre of Tor, designed and built by the citizens, Gothag tended to the matters of state. He was judge and jury for all decisions pertaining to the planet and its people.

As the population was small, the laws were clear and simple. The heart of the city was reserved for arts, entertainment and education and was always filled with people using the many amenities. At its limits stood all the stores and shops necessary for the community's commerce. Here the people from the outlying communities had the opportunity to offer their wares and to see, firsthand, their competition.

Immediately outside the commercial district was the property of the most senior members of the population, giving them the easiest access, and across the river, dwelt the rest of the people, their property radiating away from the town like ripples on a pond, according to their ages; the youngest the farthest away, with some exceptions.

Gothag's wife Marra, an accomplished artist, spent most of her time teaching and supporting in the city's core, sometimes assisted by her daughter Kress. Although Kress, a free spirited, mature young woman with many suitors, delighted more in frequenting the shops around the edge of town and bartering songs for wares with the many vendors; most of whom were more than happy to part with a small trinket for the joy of hearing her silver voice.

It was during one of these outings she noticed a young man beneath a colourful awning in an adjacent stall occasionally watching her as he sat at a carving bench. When she finished her song to a round of applause and accepted a miniature clay vase from its beaming owner, she sauntered over to where the young man sat and leaned against the awning pole. Looking in from the bright sunlight, the young man was cast in the canopy's shadow and his features hidden.

"Did you like my song?" she asked smiling and tilting inward for a better look.

"I've heard it before." He muttered, busying himself with his carving.

"Does that mean no?" Kress straightened up, hands on hips.

"No. No I mean, it doesn't mean no," he peered up from his work briefly, "it just means I've heard it before."

Kress studied him closely. His curly fair hair hung to the shoulders of the checkered shirt that stretched across his broad back. She watched his hands as they manipulated the knife and the piece of wood he was working on.

"What is that you're carving anyway?" she asked, changing the subject and stepping into the shade of the stall.

Aware of her nearness, he answered without turning. "It's going to be my image of the god Reb. The god who watches over Azwan from the constellation Fornax. He's . . ."

"I know who Reb is. We all know who Reb is." Kress huffed and turned away to look at the shelves of carvings along the inside of the shop. "Did you do all these?" she asked, selecting a small replica of a horse from the shelf.

"Yes." he answered, turning from his work to watch her. "Would you like to buy that? It's six azzies."

"Six!" she whirled around and gaped at the young man's calm face, "You value your work very highly." She smiled demurely, "I will sing you a new song in trade for it." Kress held it up to admire the fine workmanship and detail, awaiting his reply.

With a chuckle he turned back to his bench and continued working at the piece of wood. "You value your voice very highly."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard." he sighed, "I can't afford to give my labour away for whimsy."

Red faced, Kress stepped forward and plopped the little horse on the bench, "Whimsy! Well keep your precious piece of labour. And while you're at it tell me your name, so in future I won't squander my- my whimsy on anything to which it is affixed."

"Marc. Marc of Altan. The community on the third river." He stood, taking the rejected carving and placing it back on the shelf, paying no attention to her sarcasm.

Kress backed away slightly, discovering how much taller and bigger he was than she, "So, fine . . . well then mister Marc of Altan from the community on the third river, I bid you good day." and turning, she strode in a huff from the stall into the narrow street, her skirt bouncing angrily with each determined stride.

"Good day to you Miss Kress of Tor." he called after her, nodding in amusement.

Oh the impudence, she thought, stomping even harder as her neck and cheeks flamed.

*****

"Our men have been down as far as a place they call the Third River, in a town named Altan." The scruffy soldier slouched across the cave and flopped down against the cold, rough wall, "They don't even know we're here. This should be an easy conquest." He snorted, slapping the holster that held his weapon.

From the back of their Dragon mountain hideout, the thin, pale man rose from his squatting position and wandered to the cave opening, staring out in contemplation, "Don't underestimate the difficulty of this operation Viktor. We are only twelve men with the task of subduing an entire planet." He turned and stared back into the candle-lit cave. At the rear he could make out the shape of the space boat that smuggled them from Belgar, their home planet and he experienced a sudden pull, wishing he felt more confident in their mission.

"Our scheme must work perfectly or . . ." he let his thought hang in the musty air of the cave.

"You are too cautious Din-Ryka, our twelve are worth any number of these soft fools." Viktor stretched his leg out and kicked at a pebble. "Besides, take their leader and the war will be won."

Pacing back to stand over his second in command, Din-Ryka spoke slowly and carefully in a flat, cold voice, "Their leader Gothag led the battle which resulted in our banishment to the planet Belgar. He is a formidable soldier and not a man to be taken lightly. These people may not have an army or training in the ways of battle but a force like Gothag could rally them very quickly to the defense of their homeland."

Viktor shrugged and drew his leg back. "All the more reason to take him out then."

"We will. But don't expect it to be so easy an order." Din-Ryka returned to front of the cave and thought back to his youth when he was a citizen of Azwan.