CHAPTER 3

KIDNAPPED

The man had been walking for many hours through the thick Arboran Wilderness, a dense forest in the secluded northern part of the eastern continent of Cos upon Ares. It was like a thick jungle. The great tall fern-like trees and huge shrubs and vines all casting a black shadow over his path. Although it was the middle of the day, to Shamar it now appeared more like dusk because the huge tree branches and overhanging fern leaves effectively blocked out most of the light and heat from the fire red sun of Ares that shone so brightly overhead. Down here on the pathways on the lowly forest floor, it was always dark and shadowy, cold and very, very dangerous. There were always unseen things that attacked hapless travelers, wild animals and other dangers that lay unseen until they flung themselves upon you and their fangs cut deep into your throat.

Shamar stopped suddenly, his ears trying to pick out some distant sounds from overhead. He was a well-trained green warrior, a man of that race of warriors from the far-off secret city of Keva. Keva was a small but proud city state that had managed to remain free and unconquered by the hated Zarans, the Winged-men of the planet Ares who had otherwise dominated the entire world and kept the green people as slaves for generations. Not so with those of Keva. The Kevans were all valiant warriors, and Shamar, their newly installed king was the best of these, however it was not military power or warrior prowess and bravery that kept Keva free. While the noble Shamar fulfilled all the high expectations demanded of a great warrior king by the people of Keva, he was not the true force behind the power of the Kevan people. That was an entirely different and secret power that no one of Keva spoke openly about.

Shamar stood alone with his great sword drawn out and ready. He knew an enemy was near. He was expecting to be attacked any moment by the fierce Zaran Winged-men, so he mouthed a silent prayer to the god of his people as he pictured in his mind the old shrine to that ancient powerful being back home in Keva.

Overhead, though he could not see them yet, he easily recognized the terrible leathery sound of giant flapping wings, a sound that instilled fear in the stoutest of hearts and usually meant violent death or worse. He knew as a warrior lord of the Kevans, if he was not victorious here today against his enemies, he could expect no mercy.

However, it was not like Shamar to hide at the sight of any enemy, so he stood bravely upon a large open patch of ground he had found, boldly waiting in that small clearing upon the forest floor for whatever fate had in store for him as he heard the deadly winged monsters approaching. The dread flapping sound came nearer, it became louder. It was a terrible sound of impending doom and soon Shamar saw them—a group of about a dozen of the weird flying monster men.

The dread Winged-men of Zar.

Although it was dark down here on the forest floor, Shamar could see the creatures clearly now. They appeared human, or at least humanoid, but they were not like the green-skinned people of Ares at all. These winged monsters had leathery skin, were dark and rather more reptilian than human. They had blood red eyes, long claw-like fingers and their most noticeable aspect was the pair of large leathery wings that extended from the back of their shoulders. These wings enabled the creatures to fly and that airborne potential made them a most deadly species. No one knew where the Winged-men, who called themselves Zarans, had came from for certain. However, there were a hundred rumors about them— all of them bad. The creatures did not volunteer any information about themselves either. They looked down upon the green people of Ares with abject superiority and considered the green people as mere “cattle”—and Shamar knew what that term meant. Some said the creatures had come to Ares from another planet long ago that was called Zar. Whatever they were, and wherever they had come from, they were universally hated and feared by the green people of Ares. And there was good reason for this fear and hatred. It had been well-earned through centuries of oppression and far worse.

So as Shamar bravely held his ground with his sword drawn out and ready for action, he could see the winged fiends coming closer. He could see their horrid appearance and evil features now. He bravely held his ground as his terror grew and the blood in his veins turned to ice. For while he was brave and one who never feared battle, nor even fear death—for such is the final journey of every fighting man—he feared becoming the main course at a feast of these winged demons. That he did fear.

The flying men’s superior sight had instantly alerted them to the lone green man who was standing so boldly and openly upon the forest ground below them waiting to do battle. Shamar did not try to hide, he did not try to run, and the winged creatures gave off cries of delight and victory as they dived down upon what they now considered easy prey and a most tasty meal.

Terrible sounds of gory anticipation and bloody desires resounded throughout the forest by the flying men as they dove down to the lone Kevan. For these Winged-men were hungry after being routed from the green cities they had occupied for centuries, and like all their brothers on the world of Ares, these winged fiends fed only upon human flesh!