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The Jakt Agor.

Even a thought of the name of that cursed place put a shiver down his spine. He growled unconsciously as he thought about the riivaaja that roamed that land, demon beasts which only loosely resembled the wildlife of the Wild Lands.

A'ton startled him out of his daydream when he clapped him on the shoulder on his way to the bakery.

“Don't forget the fish for supper!” Colli's voice rang out from inside the house. A'ton winced as he ran by.

“Yes, dear,” he called back towards the house, only to hear Ta'rak laugh. He looked back over his shoulder to see the big man smiling in amusement.

“You've been caught! Better run or she'll have you scrubbing her oven again!” Ta'rak's words seemed to light a fire in the younger man, who only squeaked before he ran through the back door to the baker's house.

The smell of fresh bread bombarded Ta'rak as the door opened. He loved the smell of fresh bread in the morning, his mouth watered as he thought about the butter melting into the steaming hot bread, with wild blueberry jam ready to slather on top. Ta'rak loved to eat, even though his frame didn't reflect over indulgence.

Ta'rak walked through his memories of this burly man and how much he trusted both him and his wife. A'ton had seen someone try to get behind him with a dagger. Ta'rak was facing another legal opponent in the Ring and unable to realize that they planned to cheat.

The young man, muscles chiseled from long hours of work cutting trees in the forest, rushed into the ring and tackled the bastard. A'ton had no battle experience, and had not held a sword in his life. For his bravery, Ta'rak has trusted the man with his life, and his home, ever since.

Ta'rak placed his tea on the railing, stood, stretched and worked the stiffness from his muscles. He watched a couple of children zip by his house, one chased the other down, rough housed a bit, before they reversed roles, and the chaser became the chased.

Ta'rak smiled. These boys would soon be at the age when they would begin an apprenticeship with one of the craftsmen of Harm's End, or over in Stromgren. It would be time to turn boys into men.

He remembered his own apprenticeship, that first day under the Kalpa Mestari, the Sword Master of Arouna Dell. He earned a fair amount of bruises that day, and some of Haltija's respect.

“I should go see his other student some day. I wonder what stories we would tell each other.” The Kalpa Mestari rarely took on students unless they showed unusual promise with the blade. The Sword Master's duty was to keep the Soturi, Arouna Dell's guard force, free of corruption. There were none more skilled with the sword.

His eyes traveled towards the tanner's house, where his blood brother, Furlon, as well as his wife, Akeena, currently lived. His face darkened a bit.

“I hope you forgive me soon, Furlon. I need you to get my armor refitted.” His friend's pride had been hurt when he found that room. Dozens of unused pieces including weapon sheathes, belts, bracers, gloves and gauntlets, and just about anything else a fighter might need to protect himself in battle. They were all Furlon's work, purchased over the years, and stored here. Ta'rak didn't have a pressing need for the items. Furlon's leather lasted for years. By purchasing so much of what he did not need, he was able to supply his friend with a little extra silver when he needed it.

He was still surprised at how angry Furlon had been. He called it charity, a sneer in his tone. Ta'rak didn't consider it charity. He would need those pieces eventually.

“Maybe I did go a bit overboard.” That was the biggest concession he had made. In his mind, it was his silver, and he could spend it however he pleased.

"I'll apologize when Furlon returns from his hunting trip. Wounded pride is a hard thing to heal, but if I'm clear, maybe things will go back to normal." He sighed, and hoped that with a few careful words, they could drink cider until Akeena came to box his ears for leaving her alone for so long.

“Maybe I could get Furlon to make some new tents for the Hunt.” he said softly. "That is a reasonable amount of work. My tent has seen better days, it will not be charity. If I steer some of the people who registered this year towards his shop, it might help to soothe those ruffled feathers too."

The Hunt was an annual event where he took assorted wealthy patrons, and any bodyguards they cared to bring, close to the border of the Jakt Agor to hunt. Since he was the event's organizer, he could easily influence their decisions on needed gear. They were hunting very close to the Jakt Agor. His opinion counted.

“TA'RAK!” He lifted his eyes to the bakery as A'ton ran out the back way. A chill traveled down Ta'rak's spine at the way he shouted his name.

* * * * *

The guard shielded his eyes from the noon day sun, but as soon as he was able to make out five men, their horses trailing behind them, he followed his orders. Take quick visual stock of the approaching people and send word for the Elder to come to the gate. He continued to assess them from a ladder.

Their armor would need to be replaced. He could see tears, slices, and blood stains all over. One breastplate looked so badly damaged that it would probably be turned into lacing or patches. Two men held their swords, almost dragging them behind them, with blood staining the blades.

Nongul, one of village's councilors, arrived at the gate a few moments later, climbed the ladder and took a look for himself.

“Open the gate. I don't think they are here for a fight.” He jumped down, his stocky but agile frame easily absorbed the impact of the jump. The guard opened up the gate just as Rodan arrived.

“Ancient alive, look at them! What happened to them?” Rodan looked from man to man.

“They were in a battle. A bad one by the looks of things. Their eyes look haunted.” Nongul cleared his throat.

“Ho, gentlemen. From where do you hail?” The councilor was no stranger to the blade. He had survived many battles in his life, including many in which his opponents did not.

“We're from Stromgren, four or five days to the west. We were hunting up near the Jakt Agor and ran into some trouble.” The man's voice was strained.

“I see one of your number now rests. Did he die well?” He spoke as a comrade, and hoped he went down fighting. To die standing on your feet, fighting for every bit of life was the way most any man in the Ostyr Agor, the Wild Lands, wanted to go out.

“Aye, he died well, but he's not one of ours. He's from Harm's End. I met him once before, and if I remember correct, he's the tanner.” Nongul faltered and realized what he missed.

These men were from Stromgren, and by all rights, they would have returned there. They traveled instead to Harm's End. They had a reason to be here.

“Furlon?” Rodan felt like he was punched in the stomach as the news was delivered. One of his own villagers was dead.

“Were you able to kill the beast? It must have been big, and fierce to do this much damage to this many of you! Was it a bear?” He asked hopefully. Nongul looked at the Elder, a frown on his face. He didn't like that soft as a woman's tone of his.

The man shook his head, and handed Rodan a leather bag, the string drawn closed. He noted the white eyes that looked like a pearl. There was no iris or pupil, just a solid white. This was the physical sign that the person was a Raaka, and most likely the Elder.

“We gutted the beast and burned its body where it died. We took only its paws as proof. Its all we really needed.” Rodan opened the bag gingerly, his vision swam, grayed at the edges as sparks flew. It felt like he might pass out.

“Ancient preserve us! I think... I need to sit for a moment.” He tried to catch his breath as his hand found the wall.

Nongul's lips thinned. This wasn't the first time he was dissatisfied with their Elder. He couldn't believe that a powerful Raaka, one with Hajjakar, was completely unnerved by what was in the bag.

“I...men, we-we owe you a debt of gratitude in what you've done! Please, come inside and have something hot to eat. My home is open, and we would be glad to have men such as you there.” Rodan said quickly. The leader shook his head, shaggy hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

“Sorry, we can't stay. You have a comrade to bid farewell to, and we have our own village to warn. Take comfort in the knowledge that he wounded the beast enough to allow us to kill it.” The five men walked away, eyes downcast but they could not help but stare at the body across the saddle as they passed. The tent that was wrapped around the body was caked in blood in places, but they knew what was underneath the leather. It would be a while before they could get the image of his corpse out of their minds.

Rodan turned to Nongul, his face reflected a deep seated fear of what he saw in the bag. His inability to deal with the situation was unnerving, and maddening.

As the Elder, he was the power in this village. If he said to kill someone, the guards would execute them. If he said to burn someone alive, they would do it. He possessed Hajjakar, divine chaos, the ability to generate elemental energy and use it to inflict vast amounts of damage to buildings, structures like palisades, and people.

For this identity alone, he was given the traditional title of Elder, and the responsibility of the village's protection. Raakas, as they were called, were rare and valuable pieces of any community's defense plan. A village without a Raaka was a prime target for raiders and bandits.

“What do I do? I've not dealt with a Crossing before!” Rodan wrung his hands, completely thrown by this event.

“Whatever happened, you have to get a hold of yourself!” he said firmly. Nongul's eyes hardened, and his tone was sharp as he tried to keep the contempt from his voice. Rodan looked over at him with despair written clearly on his face. How could someone who wielded this much power be so mentally weak?

“You are the Elder! You have to hide what you're feeling, even when things are tearing you apart inside! You can't show fear or weakness! You can't show anything that would say to our people that you can't protect them! They will be relying on you for guidance, and you better be prepared to give it to them!” He held his hand out.

“Let's see what is in that bag.”