Chapter
1
The old man flicked his stick, yelling “Heeyip! Heeyip!” in a sort of guttural bark at the edge of a small herd of yekkums. Distant thunder reached his ears as he slowly made his way around the cluster of wooly animals. He pulled his simple, homespun cloak tighter around his bony frame. The little gray animals might not care about the coming weather, but he did not care to be cold and wet. He sniffed the air. The sky was generally overcast, with a cold, gray light filtering from above, but it did not seem quite right for rain. No matter. He had been wet before and he would be wet again. Oiled leather had been sewn around the better part of his outer cloak, and that would serve to keep the worst of it from his aging flesh.
He was driving the herd to the edge of his usual territory, searching for fresh pastures. The thick-coated yekkums were partial to clearing a field right down to the dirt, so he had to keep them moving. Fortunately, no one claimed this particular stretch of land, or if they did, they didn’t enforce their claim. Many yekkums herders were forced to take their flocks far a field due to their pasture razing habits. Some landowners would not tolerate them at all.
Idiots! He thought to himself. Hypocrites. They wore wool, didn’t they? Where did they think it came from? For all the magical seeming materials that could be bought in the cities far to the north, wool was still best, especially as winter approached. He flicked his switch in annoyance as an older female tried to shy away from the flock.
It was time for a decision. The female was clearly past bearing any more young, but that was of no consequence since the animals were primarily prized for their wool. However, she was starting to look overly haggard. Her wool was not coming in, as it should, with the harsh winter months approaching. The whole flock had recently been shorn for the final time that season, and they were all showing signs that their thicker, winter coats were coming in quite nicely. It would be a long haul to spring, but the heavier wool that would be shorn then would bring a very nice price.
With a practiced eye he judged the animal. She had no limp. He condition seemed good. There was only the thinning of her coat that was a common sign of advancing age in the animal. Disease was probably not at fault, but her value was extremely diminished. Still, she had some value yet.
He would call to his son when he returned the flock to its pen. The old female would be culled that very night. They would butcher her, roasting the greater portion of her meat, curing some of it and setting the skin out for tanning. The organ meats would be mixed with grains to make a hearty pudding. That would have to be eaten quickly, but the cured meats would help them through the winter months. It was a small blessing, to be sure, but culling the herd was a small perk in an otherwise lean time of rations.
There was that thunder again. It was closer this time, if his weakening ears could judge it. He looked around. The sky was the same uniform gray overcast. Despite the gray, it was too bright for an approaching storm. He sniffed about once more and turned his attention back to the flock. Didn’t smell like rain! The young ones scoffed at him, but there was a distinct odor the air took on with a nearing shower. Might be the extra water vapor, or something. He didn’t have the scientific knowledge to know about that. He simply knew how the air smelled when it was going to rain, or snow, or…what have you.
Something was odd about the sound. It didn’t boom and fade away. It was a constant sound, like a low rumbling just on the edge of his hearing. It also seemed to come from one direction, rather than from several sources like a storm would. The sound would grow and fade slowly, rolling around the low hills of the grassy countryside.
Concerned, the man reached into his leather pouch and produced an object of black metal. He touched something on the top and a small green point of light came to life. He held it to his ear for a minute or so, then doused the tiny light and put the object away, cursing mildly.
Must be a storm, anyway. The radio was a very cheap one, but it served to carry one anyway. If a Master was about, he would be certain to have the little self contained device on, lest he miss some important announcement. Otherwise, he left the device turned off. Dimly he was aware that the power cell in it would last indefinitely, but he always begged off wanting to conserve it. Too much of the inane drivel from his so-called superiors made his head hurt. He did his job, and the whole of it was tending the flock and making sure that plenty of wool was harvested before the animals had to wool up for winter. Politics and obedience to distant leaders did not figure in that existence.
Must be a storm, anyway, he thought. A small electrical storm was all it took to knock out transmissions in such a remote area. The transmitter in the nearby village was not much, and it was only maintained in accordance with the laws. The village leaders knew well enough how unimportant it really was. Perhaps this was not so in the large cities, but here, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Like sitting under a tree half the day while the flock took a drink at a pond.
The thunderous sound suddenly grew, until it was finally clear that nothing in nature was responsible for it. The flock suddenly scattered, eliciting the worst cursed the venerable shepherd could muster. The creatures were stupid, but they had reasonable instincts. Confronted with what, to them, was an unidentifiable threat; they sought what cover they could in thickets and boulders. There wasn’t much cover in the sparse valley, but they found most of it.
The sky was suddenly blotted out as something passed overhead. The sudden contrast of dark metal against the bright gray sky made it seem like night time was spreading across the heavens. His own instincts took over, and the man fell to his knees, covering his head with his cloak. His stick was cast aside and forgotten as the dreadful apparition passed above. It seemed to take forever, so long, in fact, that his eyes had time to adjust, letting him pick out details of the object.
It was indeed something, apparently made by man, which blotted out the sky. It was made of metal; that much was clear. What it was escaped him at first, until his wits began to return to him.
Words escaped his lips that would earn him swift punishment if any Master were to hear him. He spoke an invocation in a language long dead, repeating it over and over as the dread apparition passed. He prayed with his whole soul that the being he knew would be inside the massive object would pass him by, leaving him and his soul intact.
The sky brightened once more, and the unholy thing had passed. The thunderous roar of it’s passing still echoed through the hills, shaking the very ground where he lie quaking. Slowly he looked up once more, only to see the bright gray overcast. A few smaller craft passed overhead quickly, much like flies following the bulk of some great creature. Something unidentifiable assailed his sensitive nostrils.
His people were a normally stoic folk, but the sight of the Master’s Palace flying overhead filled him with superstitious fear. Logically, he knew that the ancient structure in fabled Daganshire was actually a starship of some sort. The tale had been told all of his life about how men were busy in the old capitol pealing the age old stone cladding and the encroaching city away from the awesome object. It was something else entirely to see something so large that you could not see its beginning or end above the hilltops actually flying!
He noted with shame that he had soiled himself. Well, that would have to wait. Despite his fear, he was whole, and, for the most part, unharmed. Now was the time to set about the task or rounding the flock up. Many of the animals were emerging from their hiding places and slowly gathering back into a group. It would still take quite some time to round up the stragglers, and it was even possible that some of the young could have been trampled.
What good or evil would come from the flying Palace, now that it had passed him by, didn’t matter half so much as making sure his charges were accounted for. Now where was that elder?
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