Tales From Earth-E: The Warlord

Part 1

"And the great house of Shamballah shall fall. This shall be the final sign heralding in the last days. And the end will come in this manner. The Destroyer shall come from the blackness beyond, and on the day of his arrival all of the kingdoms of this world shall weep and tremble. The sky shall split open and fire shall rain down upon all flesh. And thus shall the world perish."



"These are the words of my contemporaries and of my forefathers. In their prophecies they offer only misery and destruction; they speak no words of hope. And upon all of these things they agree.



"Why, then, do I see more? Am I more gifted than these around me, seeing hope beyond the destruction, or am I simply mad? I see visions of a man coming from somewhere beyond this world. Oh, not from the blackness from which the Destroyer comes, but from a world just beyond our own. He shall become a great warlord, raising an army of followers that will fight to restore Shamballah's great house."



* * * * *



"These are the words that give me hope," the feminine voice of the cloaked visitor said.



"Pri...Tara," a second female voice replied, "you are the last of your house, a house that no longer exists. Come with me and my family will take you in. At least when the end comes, you won't be alone."



"Do you not understand what I am trying to tell you, Shakira? This is not the end. If it were, why would these prophecies speak of my house being restored?" the one called Tara asked.



"If this prophecy is true, then why was it given to just one man?" Shakira questioned. "Perhaps he is a madman just as he supposes."



"But what if he is not? What if the gods chose him and him alone to receive this vision; what if he continued to stare into the future when the others chose to blink?" Tara paused to study her friend's face. When Shakira said nothing, she continued. "Tell me, my friend, which would you rather do: stay here and wait for death to come, or go searching for hope? Even if we do chase the ramblings of a madman, it is better than sitting on the ground wondering if tomorrow will ever come."



The dark-haired girl turned away and thought of what her friend had said. Her family had never been one to wait for death, if anything, death usually had to chase after them. She also took into consideration that this was her friend. True, they had been born completely opposites in every aspect of the word, but the bond that was between them was beyond that of mere friendship, it was closer to that between sisters. She finally turned back to face her friend.



"Alright, I'll go," she said. "But know this, it will be dangerous, even more so if Deimos' people find out that there is still a member of Shamballah's ruling house alive."



"I have given thought to that," Tara said, pulling off her cloak. Shamballah's last surviving princess stood before her friend wearing not the finery that was expected, but the simply garments of a traveling warrior. Her chestnut hair was pulled back and tied in a ponytail. The thing, however, that caught Shakira's eye was the longsword hanging from Tara's belt.



"Do you know how to use that?" Shakira asked with a smile.



Tara glanced at the weapon and smiled back. "I was the youngest daughter; let's just say that I was allowed to learn things of my choosing. I've also decided that if we encounter anyone on our travels, I'm going to let them think I am nothing more than a simple huntress."



"Well, "Huntress", I guess the only thing left for me to do is pack and kiss my family farewell." She took Tara by the arm. "Don't just stand there, let's go find your warlord."







Part 2

Tara could feel the snow melt against her skin and run down into her boots. She pulled her cloak tight in a feeble attempt to protect herself from the bitter cold. Several yards away, Shakira was examining a strange structure they had come upon.



"I've found something," Shakira called to her.



The former princess trudged through the snow to see what her friend had found. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw what had caught Shakira's attention. "How did a man come to be inside of this thing?" she asked.



Both women could tell that the man was dead, although the cold had prevented his body from decomposing. While neither of them had seen anything like the strange garments he wore, they could tell he was a warrior.



As Shakira ran her hand along the cracked dome that held the man inside, she felt it give slightly. With a push, she sent pieces falling into the body's lap.



"What are you doing?" Tara asked as her friend stuck her head through the opening.



"Whatever this is, I don't think it ate the man. That means he found a way inside it." After a couple seconds, she spotted a latch. Pulling her head out, she stuck her arm back through the hole and gave the latch a tug. The dome moved enough for her to get her fingers in the seam. "Help me," she said.



"I don't like this," Tara said as she slid her fingers into the seam. "We shouldn't be disturbing the dead like this."



"Neither do I," Shakira replied, "but I like starving to death even less. My guess is that if he got inside of this thing on purpose, he might have had food with him. Besides, it isn't like he's going to be needing it anymore."



The former Shamballah princess could not dispute her friend's thinking. The two women struggled for a few minutes before the dome pulled free. Once they gained access, Shakira began to search the compartment.



While she searched, Tara took the opportunity to get a better look at the body. Despite the man's snow-white hair and beard, she could tell that he wasn't all that old when he died.



"Found something," Shakira said holding up a few sealed packages.



"What are those?" Tara asked.



"I think it is food of some kind. I found it in this hidden chest with what appears to be a container of water."



Tara took one of the packages and tore it open with her teeth. Inside, she found a piece of flat, salted bread. "Not bad," she said. "If there are anymore, grab them. These things may keep us alive a little while longer."



"What about not disturbing the dead?" Shakira asked with a grin.



"Like you said, he doesn't need it."



The raven-haired woman continued searching. When she finally climbed off of the strange structure, Tara noticed that she was carrying a belt with an odd leather pouch attached to it.



"What's that?" she asked.



"I don't even have a guess," Shakira told her. "Whatever it is, this belt looks to be in very good shape." She unbuckled the pouch and pulled something out.



Tara raised an eyebrow. "That looks like someone tried to make a hand-crossbow completely out of metal and didn't finish it."



"Maybe it had sentimental value to the man," Shakira suggested.

"That's possible. Well, you had better put it back; I don't mind taking the food, but I won't steal the personal belongings of a dead man," Tara said. "Besides, an incomplete hand-crossbow won't do us any good."



Shakira nodded. "What about the belt?"



"Keep it...if you think you really need it."



The dark-haired woman looked at her outfit. Despite the bitter cold, she wore very little; a strip of black fur was tied around her chest while a black fur loincloth covered her lower regions. She also wore a pair of soft leather boots and a long, flowing cloak. With a shrug, she returned the belt and pouch to where she found them.



"There doesn't seem to be anything else," she said as he hopped off the structure and back into the snow.



"Then we had better move on," the princess said as she glanced at the sky. "It will be getting dark soon, and it looks as if it might begin snowing again."



The two women shared the remains of the flatbread Tara had opened as they began to walk away. They gave no more thought to the strange structure or the dead man they left behind.



* * * * *



Shakira stood with her hands on her hips, gazing out at the seemingly endless expanse of ocean before them. Glancing back the way they had come, she saw the two sets of footprints fade into the snowy distance. At last, she turned her attention to her friend. "Well, Tara," she said with a grin, "did your prophecy tell you what we are supposed to do now?"



Tara met her friend's grin with a grin of her own. "I believe it mentioned something about finding a companion who could hold her tongue."



Shakira responded by sticking her tongue out at her friend, which set the Shamballan to laughing. Her own laughter soon joined her friend's.









Part 3

Oliver Queen sat bolt upright in bed, the scream that woke him still echoing in the hall. He immediately know the scream's origin and, grabbing his robe, jumped out of bed and ran to his son's bedroom.



Connor Queen's face was a mask of terror as his father entered the room. It took a few minutes for him to realize that the man had his hand on his shoulder and was speaking to him.



"Oh, Dad," he sobbed as the man's strong arms engulfed him, "it was horrible."



"The dream again?" Oliver asked.



The shudder that ran through his son's body was all the answer he needed.



After letting his father hold him for a few moments longer, Connor gently pulled away and wiped his eyes on his pajama sleeve. "Geez, Dad," he said. "I'm almost a teenager, and here I am, freaking out over a bad dream like a little kid."



"Everybody has those kinds of nightmares every once and awhile, Hawk," Oliver told his son, using the nickname he had given him in an attempt to reassure him, "even me."



Connor looked at his dad, surprised by the revelation.



"The only difference between our nightmares, yours and mine," he continued, "is that I don't wake up the entire neighborhood with mine."



Connor gave his father a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that."



"Don't worry about it," Oliver said. "So, do you want to talk about it?"



The boy nodded. "It was...I dreamed..." He took a deep breath. "I saw Mom again."



Oliver understood his son's hesitance. He had dreamed about his deceased wife every night since the accident. Unlike his son, however, he had embraced the dreams and forced his subconscious to replay only the good memories. Every so often, though, visions of that day would creep in and he would find himself awake, bathed in a cold sweat.



Connor began speaking again. "It was that day on the yacht again. I could see you fishing off the bow, while Mom and me were in the stern. She was painting, and I was playing with...something, cars, I think. Anyway, she put her paintbrush down and started to kiss me when this big wave rose up from the ocean like a big hand, grabbed her, and pulled her into the water. I yelled at you, but you were reeling in a catch. When you pulled it up, it was Mom, only she was all covered in seaweed, and her skin was a pale blue. I watched you cut the line and let her fall back into the ocean. After that, the sky grew dark and the storm hit. The yacht began to break apart and sink.



"I suddenly found myself looking up through the waves, and felt something tugging on my shirt. The next thing I knew, you were standing on this island, reeling me in. you pulled out your knife and started to cut me loose. I begged and pleaded for you to pull me in, but you went ahead and cut the line. I started screaming as the waves began to laugh and pull me under. That's when I woke up, still screaming. Oh, Dad, it was awful."



Oliver put his hand back on his son's shoulder. "You know that I would never do that, to you or your mother."



"I know," Connor said. "I know when the storm hit and the yacht sank, there was nothing we could do to save Mom. I just don't know why I keep having the dreams."



"You miss your mom," Oliver told him. "Eventually, these dreams will stop and you will remember the good times we spent with her. Until then, I want you to know that I will be here for you."



"Yeah, I know." Connor gave his father another hug.



"Are you going to be alright now?" Oliver asked.



"Other than the fact that I probably won't go back to sleep," Connor smiled, "yeah, probably."



"Well, at least try," the elder Queen told his son as he stood up and started towards the door.



"Hey, Dad."



Oliver stopped. "Yes?" he asked without turning around.



"Since there isn't any school tomorrow, can we..."



"Sure, why not," Oliver said. He turned back to his son. "You've got fifteen minutes to change."



Connor let out a whoop and jumped out of bed as his father headed back to his bedroom. Twenty minutes later, a stylish, hunter green motorcycle and sidecar was leaving the Queen Estate, unseen, from a backroad.







Part 4

Tara and Shakira stood on the frozen shore of a vast expanse of water, one larger than any they had ever seen before. While it was true that they had seen both the Dragon Sea and the Sea of Grel, this unknown sea knew no known bounds other than the shore upon which they stood.



"We could walk for days in either direction," Shakira said, "and never find an end to this water. I think your quest for a warlord has reached its pitiful conclusion."



Tara looked at her friend, giving her a sad smile. "Don't tell me you have given up hope, my friend."



Shakira saw the look in eyes of the Shamballan princess and knew that her next words would have a great effect on the woman she loved as a sister. "In the quest, maybe, but not in you. If your convictions tell you we must continue, then I will go with you to the ends of the world...if we haven't reached them already." To this last bit, she added a wink.



The princess smiled at her. "Thank you."



"Well, then," Shakira said, "in which direction do your convictions lead us?"



"Come this way."



Tara drew her longsword while Shakira immediately went into a defensive stance. The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman dressed in a long white dress. Where she came from, or how she came to be out here in the middle of nowhere, the two travelers knew not, but they had an idea.



Magic.



"Stay back, sorceress," Tara said as she took a couple of steps backwards. "We've no quarrel with you."



The woman held her hands out, palms up, to show that she was unarmed and meant them no harm. "I come to offer you aid," she said.



"Who are you?" Shakira asked.



"I am known by some as the White Witch, but you may call me Madame Xanadu."



"And how is it you speak our language?" Shakira continued her interrogation.



"I speak many of the forgotten languages," the woman said.



"You said something about aid," Tara reminded her.



"Your journey will take you across these waters," Xanadu told them. "I will direct you to one who can help you make the crossing. I also have these to offer," she said as she put her hand to her belt and then held it out again.



Lying in her outstretched palm, the two friends saw two earrings. They exchanged curious glances.



"Take them," Xanadu told them. "As long as you wear them, you will be able to speak with, and understand, those you encounter."



Neither woman moved for several seconds. Finally, Tara reached out and took one of the earrings. Shakira followed suit.



Both women scooped up a handful of snow and held it to their earlobes. Once they felt the numbness begin to set in, they pierced their earlobes.



"How do you know so much about our journey?" Tara asked.



"I have seen you in my cards," Xanadu replied. "I know you seek a warlord to restore you to the throne of your fathers. I also know that only one of you will return from this journey."



Shakira looked at her friend, then back at the woman standing before them. "Are you saying that one of us is going to die?"



"All I can tell you is what I saw and no more."



At that moment, the wind brought the sound of a strange roar to their ears. Immediately, the two travelers went back on the defensive.



"You have tricked us," Shakira said accusingly.



Xanadu laughed, but her laughter held no threat. "Forgive me, for I did not mean to frighten you. What you hear is the one of whom I have told you." She pointed south.



Both women looked in the direction their benefactor was indicating. What they saw widened their eyes and caused their mouths to drop open. A fur-clad figure was approaching on an unusual looking chariot that moved across the top of the snow without the aid of animals. Behind him, attached to his chariot was a sled.



"Greetings," the man said as he turned the key and shut off his snowmobile. "I am called Mikola Rostov, and I am at your service."



As he removed his hood, both women could tell that this Rostov was a handsome man. His most striking feature was the shock of white that stood out from among the man's brown hair. He began to take their supplies and tie them onto the sled.



"I have enough room on the snowmobile for both of you," he smiled.



Tara pulled her eyes away from this strange man and his chariot and looked back at Madame Xanadu, only to find her gone. "Where has she gone?" she asked as she began to look around.



"Her work here was finished," Mikola said. "So. Are you ladies ready?"



Shakira looked at Tara. Since neither woman had any idea of where they were going, or how they were going to get there, they climbed onto the snowmobile behind Rostov.



"Where exactly are we going?" Tara asked as the man started it up.



"You are going to America."







Part 5

"Dad!" Connor yelled as he held his thumb on the television remote's volume button. "You gotta see this."



By the time Oliver entered the living room, he could barely hear himself think. Placing his hand on the back of the couch, he vaulted over it and dropped onto the cushion beside his son. Before Connor could react, his father snatched the controller from his hand and began to decrease the volume.



"What is so important?" Oliver asked.



"This T.V. show is doing a story about costumed heroes."



As a tall, well-dressed, blond gentleman appeared on the screen standing before a set of oak double doors, Oliver turned the sound back up (just a bit) and settled in beside his son.



"In recent months, there seems to have been numerous sightings of what the older generation are referring to as "super-heroes". Men dressing up in garish costumes and taking the law into their own hands: is it just a fad, or are there ulterior motives?



"Tonight's panel includes noted author, Jonathan Law; syndicated columnist and president of the women's organization, The Liberty Belles, Libby Lawrence; and Dr. Richard Shade, a professor at Ivy College, and host of the PBS series "The Changing Man".



"And I'm your host, John Chambers."



He turned and began to lightly push against the doors. As they opened (thanks to an uninspired flash of insight on the part of the show's producer), digitally added words hung in the air just beyond the doors.



Dramatically, John said, "Let's go...Behind Chamber Doors."



As the camera focused in on the opening credits against a shadowy background, the host hurried to his seat. The shadow succumbed to the brightening overhead lights and was completely gone by the time the final notes of the theme music faded.



"We have all heard of the Metal Men," John began, " a group of ex-soldiers who, thanks to scientific and technological advancements, continue to defend the freedom of the American people. Led by the legendary Commander Steel, once a member of the Justice Society of America, this group has been very open and accessible to the public.



"But what of these new costumed vigilantes that have been popping up over the last couple of months? A super-speedster calling himself "The Flash" has taken up residence in Metropolis; Star City has the Robin Hood inspired "Green Arrow", and there have been a few "Batman" sightings in Gotham."



"Wasn't Batman a member of the Justice Society back during World War II?" Jonathan Law asked.



"Yes, he was," Dr. Shade replied. "But I seriously doubt it is the same one."



"Oh," Jonathan said. "Let's not forget the one the tabloids have dubbed "Nightwing. Apparently, he gets his jollies traveling from city to city beating the tar out of whomever he deems a criminal."



"Since you've already mentioned him, let's talk about this Green Arrow character." Libby Lawrence's entrance into the conversation seemed polite enough, but everyone knew the outspoken columnist was only a half a breath away from pulling out the proverbial soapbox.



"Here it comes," Oliver muttered as he turned the television up a notch.



The camera switched its focus from the group to Miss Lawrence. The woman was as attractive as she was strong-willed. She brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes and then began to speak.



"What is this guy thinking? What kind of man takes a child into the danger that comes with being a vigilante?"



Connor frowned. "I ain't no child," he grumbled.



Oliver mussed his son's hair and gave him a wink. "Let's see what else she has to say."



Almost on cue, Libby began to speak again. "Doesn't he know that there are child endangerment laws in this country? Does he even care? Obviously not. And who is this child, anyway?"



"May I comment?" Dr. Shade asked.



Libby took a drink of water. "Of course."



"In my series "The Changing Man", I delved into this type of situation. I believe what Green Arrow is thinking is that he wants to see children grow up in a world where they can run and play until after dark. He wants to give them a world where everyone looks at them as free spirits, not as potential prey."



"So he wants all children to be safe," Libby said. "That is an admirable goal, but he seems to be hypocritical in his approach. What is he saying to this youngster whom he drags around with him?"



Dr. Shade looked directly into the camera. "I believe he is saying, "Hey, freedom is worth fighting for." I don't believe for one single instant that he is forcing that young man to do what he is doing. He is living an example in front of him, and giving him the opportunity to make his own choice on the matter."



Miss Lawrence was silent for a moment, apparently thinking about what the man had said. "So this is an excuse for him to lead the boy into danger?"



"Miss Lawrence?" Jonathan asked.



"Yes?"



"Have you ever looked beyond the fact that this is a child and listened to what he has done?"



"I'm not sure I understand what you mean?" she confessed.



"I've watched the news, listened to accounts, read the papers-this "child" has obviously received a good deal of training. I know that I personally would not want to face him in a fight. The Green Arrow has made sure he can handle himself."



"I think we've heard enough," Oliver said as he turned the television off. "Let's grab a bite to eat."



"And after we eat?" Connor asked.



Oliver grinned. "As long as it is your choice."



Father and son shared a laugh as they headed for the kitchen.







Part 6

Oliver Queen was sound asleep, and then he wasn't. Other than the raising of his eyelids, he remained perfectly still. After a few moments of hearing nothing but his own breathing and the tick of the clock, he slowly turned over to face the door.



Once he was certain that the room was empty, he quietly crawled out of bed. A half-dozen quick steps had him at his closet retrieving his old practice bow. No sense in giving my secret to a common burglar, he thought.



Now armed, the man made his way to a full-length mirror hanging on his wall. Running his fingers along the top left corner, he heard a soft click and gave the glass a gentle shove. It swung inward to reveal a narrow passage.



Stepping through the opening, he pushed the mirror back into place and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. In less than a minute, he was stepping into his son's room through a panel in the back of Connor's closet. The boy immediately sat up in bed, his bowstring touching the tip of his ear.



"Whoa, Hawk," the man whispered.



Connor relaxed and slowly lowered his bow. "What's going on?" he whispered back.



"Nothing to worry about," Oliver grinned. "Somebody just broke into the wrong house. You stay here and I'll go check it out."



Even in the night-shrouded room, Oliver saw his son's shoulders sag. "Okay, you can be my backup," he added, "just stay in the passageway."



As the duo made their way through the secret hallways, Oliver would pause every so often and gaze through a two-way mirror, or through the eyes of a painting, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Seeing no sign of anyone, they made their way down a narrow spiral staircase to the first level.



Passing one of the mirrors, Connor paused to take a peek after his father continued on down the passage. He started to turn and follow after, but movement outside of one of the windows caught his attention. He watched a few seconds longer.



So, he thought, our intruder isn't alone.



Without a moment's hesitation, the boy turned down a side passage and disappeared into the darkness.



Oliver stopped behind a wall that led into a pantry just off from the kitchen. He started to whisper something to his son, but discovered he was alone. Trusting that the boy wouldn't do anything foolish, he slid a panel back and quietly stepped into the pantry.



Kneeling down, he slowly edged around the corner and into the kitchen. He glanced around for a couple seconds before spotting the intruder perched on a countertop; the figure seemed to be wearing a costume of some kind. Oliver notched an arrow and stood.



The overhead lights suddenly flared to life.



"We need your help," the intruder said.



Oliver lowered his bow. "So, you're the Batman."



Before the man could respond, two women dressed like extras from One Million BC were escorted into the room covered by Connor. The two newcomers took one look at Oliver and one of them spoke.



"We need your help."



To be continued in When Heroes Gather Book 2.