Part IV: The Pawn of Prophecy
Chapter 1: Hacktor Derkillez
Let’s talk more about Hacktor Derkillez.
At the time of our story Hacktor had a mere eighteen winters under his belt. On the day I’m telling you about he was sitting in the Grand Cathedral of Iztak with his family, surrounded by the opulence that marked his people’s wealth. The vaulted ceilings stretched high above, adorned with intricate carvings of Drokka gods and heroes, their stern gazes casting shadows over the congregation.
The service was a magical display of ritual and rite, yet like most of you who attend church, Hacktor’s mind wasn’t on the service. Instead he brewed about the following…
Men go to war over black gold – Mirkir says they always have and they always will. So why won’t my father?
Young Hacktor chewed on that thought – for the black gold which Hacktor pined for was Blackwood — the most precious commodity in his part of the world and the cause of countless wars between the Drokka and their rivals during the last three centuries. Oh sure, Hacktor knew the stated reasons for these wars always centered around religious differences between the clans, and while he devoutly believed in the validity of those justifications, Hacktor was smart enough to know that there was also a reason behind the reason — and that the real reason was, of course, Blackwood.
[What Hacktor was still too naive to realize is that there was in fact a Real Reason behind the reason behind the reason – actually there were two ultimate Reasons: Money and Power. At the time of our story there was in fact more than enough Blackwood for both the Derkka and the Drokka populations to enjoy without worry. As a renewable resource that covered vast swaths of Gor the supply was in no danger of running out and the commodity was so common that it should have been nearly free to its consumers; however rich families like the Rukstinz and Busz who controlled the trade in partnership with their Derkka peers secretly worked together to make their peoples believe that Blackwood was a scarce commodity that needed to be controlled in order to “protect the people’s supply lines.” As a result, the power brokers of this ‘black gold’ on both sides were able to make themselves fabulously rich off the inflated prices they charged the common people – all the while making the sheep believe the shepherds had their best interests at heart. I guess some things never change, eh?]
As the son of Baldur III, Kon-Herr Drokka of the Rhokki’s, Hacktor was a prince and the first in line for his father’s throne — the most powerful seat in the eight kingdoms – or so he thought. [Hacktor was still too young to understand that monarchs throughout human history – be they Kon-Herrs, Dictators, or Presidents – have themselves always been controlled by others more powerful still – in Baldur’s case that was the Drokka’s ancient families].
Even still, Prince Hacktor was rich beyond compare and he should have been happy — instead he was far from it. For Hacktor knew that as long as Baldur was in power there would be little chance of another war — which meant little chance for Hacktor to fulfill his destiny and become the greatest Kon-Herr who ever lived.
But Baldur’s inactivity had lasted long enough and Hacktor meant to do something about it. After today, things will be different, Hacktor vowed.
As the priest intoned the ancient rites, Hacktor’s mind continued to drift from the service. He clenched his jaw, his thoughts remained consumed by the one obstacle to his ambitions: his father, Baldur. For seventy years, Baldur’s reign had been marked by peace and prosperity, a pacifism that Hacktor despised. How could his father not see the rot that was creeping into their society, the complacency that was turning warriors into merchants and kings into cowards?
Hacktor’s eyes flicked to the rows of nobles in the crowd, their faces masks of serene piety. Did they not yearn for the days of old, when the Drokka were feared and revered? When Blackwood flowed from conquered lands like blood from a fresh wound? Hacktor’s blood boiled at the thought. He was destined for greatness, to lead his people to heights unseen. Yet his father’s reluctance to wield the sword of war shackled him to a throne of inaction.
His gaze settled behind the altar, where the statue of Rhokki, the god of strength and valor, stood proud. Hacktor’s faith was a complicated thing—part genuine belief, part convenient justification. He had heard the stories of Rhokki’s might, of battles won through divine favor in decades past – before Baldur’s reign.
He knew if Rhokki could bestow such blessings upon Hacktor, then surely war was the path ordained for him. His mind raced with plans, strategies to turn the tide of his father’s pacifism. He would speak to the elite families, rally their support. He would use the religious fervor of the people, their desire to destroy the Derkka, to stoke the fires of conflict. And today was the day he would do it!
Why? Because today was Mining Day – the most important holiday on the Drokka calendar. Additionally, this was also the day Hacktor that would finally be going back to the royal court – after an absence of five years. And most importantly, this was a day of resolve – when he returned home, Hacktor vowed toconfront his father and set in motion the events that would lead to action!
The world is about to change. Hacktor glowered. I know it. My father knows it. By Rhokki, this entire crowd knows it. I can feel it in the air!
You may be wondering how I knew Hacktor’s thoughts, or for that matter, did I know everybody’s thoughts — perhaps even YOURS right now?
Rest assured on the latter – I don’t know your’s, for alas, A’H has taken that power away from me. But, during the time of this story, I did have the power to cast my psyche outwards to <hear> the mind of specific individuals who, let’s just say, had a penchant for the dark side.
My powers didn’t work with Hef Fastuz because of his childlike innocence (which is crazy for someone who made instruments of death!), but since most humans were (are) flawed, I could pretty much get into the mind of anyone I wanted to back then.
Now lest you think this was a good thing, think again – for the cacophony of humanity’s thoughts could be deafening! Throughout history mankind has accused the gods of not listening to you – but what you don’t realize is that you people are like the constant bleating of mindless sheep — it’s such a nuisance that most of us gods simply ‘turn off the noise.’ However, if I concentrated back then, I could cut through the noise and eventually filter towards certain prospects who appeared to be aligned with my goals. There are always a few interesting voices in the wind — if you knew how to find them. Hacktor was one of my favorites.
But if you think that Hacktor was just born bad, think again – he was actually a very happy baby, and in the beginning he grew up in a loving family — I had to work hard behind the scenes to lure him to me. My efforts were successful (as usual) and now it was time to enjoy the fruits of my labor…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 