The planet had been in turmoil for four years. The population divided into two opposing factions, Azwanians, who followed the powerful Torgath in his bid to unite the people under one administrator in a series of democratic communities, and Karl-Ryka who wanted to rule the entire planet to fulfill his own greed. In the beginning many meetings were held among the elders, trying to reach a satisfactory compromise, but each one became more raucous, with angry accusations and threats until one night it finally exploded in violence.

One of Karl-Ryka's followers, in a fit of rage, struck down an elderly man who was clutching his killer's arm, pleading for calm and order. After a moment of stunned silence the two factions fell upon one another in a pitched battle, boiling out of the council house and onto the streets. It was only when the local townspeople, mostly Torgath supporters, entered the melee and helped to drive Karl-Ryka's force out of the town and across the river. There were no more talks. Sides had been chosen. War had been declared.

The initial battle's aftermath had left many Azwanians injured and several dead, and a cloud of fear-laced gloom settled over the survivors. Torgath summoned his good friend Gothag to meet and devise a plan for protecting the citizenry and vanquishing Karl-Ryka and his supporters. Over the remaining years of battle, many more combatants suffered and died, but in the end, Gothag proved to be a brilliant strategist and finally subdued the enemy.

With a minimum of wasted time the citizens demanded justice and the remaining members of Karl-Ryka's force were imprisoned in a small canyon at the foot of the Dragon Mountains until they were brought to trial. Over the vengeful cries for execution, Gothag persuaded Torgath and the other elders to agree to banishment instead.

Karl-Ryka and all his followers were placed in a space boat and launched toward the planet Belgar with the stern warning never to return. The angry prisoners screamed and shouted as the space boat left Azwan with Karl-Ryka staring at Gothag's receding form, eyes blazing and cursing him beneath his breath.

Belgar was a desolate planet. Natural resources were few and those lucky enough to stake claims where they existed, kept them for themselves, threatening and even killing any who tried to take them. Belgar became a lawless society loosely ruled by Karl-Ryka and his most loyal followers. Anyone running afoul of his wishes was summarily executed and his property added to Karl-Ryka's own.

The few women who were among those exiled, chose, with an eye toward safety, to stay within Karl-Ryka's main group. One of these, Alysha, became his wife and eventually bore their one and only child, Din-Ryka. She was basically a good woman, foolishly caught up in mistaken loyalty to a cause that had sounded both daring and romantic. Exile on Belgar soon erased those notions from her mind and replaced them with regret and fear under the brutal rule of her husband.

As their son grew, Alysha tried desperately to protect him from the environment of violence and indifference, praying he would not acquire his father's vengeful rage. To her dismay, she succumbed slowly to a long, debilitating illness, watching her influence fade. Alysha died with just a token of grief from her son and nothing from her husband.

As Din-Ryka grew, he displayed a keen intuition for plotting and planning which contributed greatly to his father's hold over the populace. Eventually, upon reaching manhood, this earned him the position of second in command, replacing a disgruntled but acquiescent Viktor DeGang. The fact that he shied away from actual battle was overlooked by his father in light of the service he provided.

His keen insight to the deceit of his father's opponents provided the means to quell many attempted revolts. Long years of harsh rule and savage battles had gradually reduced the population of Belgar to a solid core of loyal followers but by then Karl-Ryka had grown old and feeble. After a lifetime of instilling his only son with the same consuming hate he himself held for Azwan, finally, on his deathbed, he made Din-Ryka swear he would return there and conquer Gothag who was now the Azwanian leader.

An elaborate funeral was followed by a drunken fete and Karl-Ryka's body, wrapped and secured in a small space sled, was launched into the heavens to sail for eternity. Without delay, Din-Ryka announced to the people that he was now the ruler of Belgar and that henceforth their sole occupation was to be the invasion of Azwan.

*****

"What are you doing Tugby?" Kress asked curiously, hesitating in the doorway of the library with its intricate marble floor and gracefully arched windows. The chubby little man, fussing at a table full of papers and books, didn't look up as he replied in his croaky voice.

"Greetings Kress. I'm just preparing some things for the Festival of Reb."

Kress meandered over to the table and glanced at the messy piles of paper spread across the large stone table. "That's not for several days yet. What's all this stuff for?"

Tugby sighed and paused in his activity to explain. "Each year the festival is the same, we all gather in the courtyard with our chosen possessions for the ritual offering." He waved impatient hands. "This year I thought we might have a brief reading of our history, you know, for those who aren't familiar with all the events of Azwan's past. "He swept his hand over the pile on the table," These are my research sources going all the way back to the early days of Torgath's time."

"But we learn all that in the education and cultural centre," Kress stated, lifting a few sheets for a cursory glance.

"I know. I know," Tugby's ample stomach rose and fell along with his dogged protest, "but these will be highlights for all to reflect on and enhance the ceremonial rite. I've spoken to your father and he doesn't seem to have any objections." His voice took on a slight whine, as he became upset at the possibility of opposition.

"Get a grip Tugby," she leaned forward and kissed his bald pate affectionately, "I was only asking. I think it will probably be a good idea. Maybe I could help you."

Tugby jiggled all over with relief and excitement. "Oh would you Kress? That would be wonderful. Here, you take that pile over there and look for important periods in the first and second decade. Oh, this is going to be a grand festival this year."

Kress smiled and shook her head as she walked to the far side of the table and seated herself in front of the mountain of books.

Tugby was the son and only remaining family of a cousin of Torgath's, who died in one of the early battles with the Rykas, and was subsequently adopted by Torgath's wife Dezna. Realizing early on that he was of too gentle a nature to join the other boys in their rough-house activities, she allowed him to spend his days in the art and culture centre assisting the teachers and administrators.

Here his abilities flourished, along with his appetite, and soon the plump boy became the chubby man whom everyone relied upon for support in their respective duties. Now, at sixty years old, Tugby was a court fixture and somewhat of a personal confidant and advisor to all of Gothag's family.

Over the years Kress had become his favorite, mostly because she possessed a bold confidence and strength of will that was tempered with a huge capacity for compassion and kindness; the former traits Tugby himself lacked. He had watched her grow from a wild, stringy tomboy in to a beautiful young woman who, to this day, ignored the futile advances of a steady stream of suitors. Finding a young man that would compliment her characteristics and be himself, worthy of her attention, was a task he pursued daily with great delight and difficulty.

"I gather you were in the market today trading again for songs." His eyes crept up over the top of the page he was studying.

"Yes, I was." Kress paused and Tugby quickly looked back down. "There was a wood carver I'd not seen before in the store beside the potter's, he seemed to be quite full of himself." Her tone was noncommittal.

"Oh?" Tugby's interest sparked. From watching her grow up, he recognized the contradiction between her words and their tone.

"He had the nerve to say my songs were just whimsy, unworthy of his precious carvings. A silly little horse no bigger than my hand." She flipped over several pages more aggressively than necessary, embarrassed by the pettiness creeping into her voice.

Wheels began spinning in Tugby's head, "Was his work of quality?"

"Hmph, he seemed to think so. He was whittling at a replica of the god Reb, for whom he thought I needed an explanation."

"I see. And how did this replica god look?" His mind racing ahead in a whirl.

"Alright I suppose. Actually," she paused, thinking back, "from what I could see it seemed quite good." Kress slammed the book shut and picked up another. "He was such a pompous─"

"Kress! Perhaps you should think about getting a grip now." Tugby smiled to himself as he watched the blush rise in the girl's cheeks. "Was he a handsome young man?"

"Oh Tugby! For heaven's sake!" Kress stood abruptly and started for the door. "I've other things that need my attention. I'll see you later."

He sat back, as she tromped out the library door, his eyes twinkling, considering the merits of a trip to the market.