Free The Dragon God (Book 2) by Brae Wyckoff Page A

who hunt and never return. Can your god not hear your cries?”
    The tribal leader shot a menacing glare at the ordakian and then turned back with renewed strength. “Oh great Thahaal, this defiler mocks you and we ask for retribution. You have only taken our men who are not worthy. Send us your mighty power and set this altar ablaze for all to see your greatness.”
    Bridazak pleaded, “It is not about power of summoning fire, but instead about providing for those in need. You silently pray in your hearts that he would answer you with food, but he does not come. Why? Where do your prayers and sacrifices go?”
    Dulgin turned to Spilf, “Be ready, Stubby. Our fearless leader is riling this Chiefy up and I expect trouble soon.”
    “Yeah, that’s what’s scaring me. What is he doing?”
    The sun had blazed through the day, but now it steadfastly dipped lower in the horizon. With no godly response from Thahaal, the chanting song barely dwindled on, but it had lost its fervor.
    Bridazak began again, “Don’t lose heart, Yavakai tribe! The true God of everything has heard you, and will answer you with the return of the elkhorns,” Bridazak smiled reverently, compassion in his eyes.
    A scream of utter rage came from the chieftain. He fell to his knees while lifting his arms in worship of his deity. His tribe also followed his lead and began shouting. Their cries echoed through the village in audible waves, undulating in tones from low-pitched groaning, to high, emotional screeches.
    Bridazak noticed others within the congregation exchanging glances to one another and he pressed on yelling above the chant, “How did I know of the elkhorn herds vanishing if not told by my God? I don’t understand why your deity does not answer you.”
    The tribe leader became more outraged and his voice intensified.
    As the sun’s last rays disappeared over the looming mountains, the Chieftain ended his chanting and stood. He waved off the guttural moaning and then silence fell on the village.
    He slowly approached, and whispered to the dak, “Your god will not answer you, of this I am sure. I look forward to your death.”
    “I have a request,” Bridazak said in a dry, cracked voice.
    “Go on, what is it?”
    “I would like some water.”
    The chieftain nodded to a warrior, “Bring him water.”
    “No, not for me.”
    “What, then?” the Chieftain snapped.
    “I want a ditch dug around my altar, and I want you to pour four jars of water over the wood.”
    There was a long pause as the face painted leader stared into Bridazak’s sincere eyes. He scoffed and backed away.
    “Do as he says!”
    The tribesmen ran and dug an arm’s length ditch all the way around the wooden tribute. Others gathered four huge jar pots and filled them at the lake, pairs of women lifting the heavy load. Once the trench was in place, they began to pour. The water ran down the wood and slowly leaked into the freshly dug dirt gulley.
    Dulgin called, “What are ya doing, ya blundering fool?”
    Spilf added, “You’re soaking the wood!”
    Bridazak smiled at his friends and turned back to the chief, “What is precious to the Yavakai tribe?”
    He sneered back, “The elkhorns are prized amongst our people. The horns symbolize our god’s favor and strength.” He pointed at the tribal tent that was encompassed by the aged and cracked bone of the animals that once roamed freely through the woods.
    “Where have they gone? You have not seen any for years and your people starve.”
    “Our god wants to see our faith. We will not waver.” The chief turned toward his people, smirking, and raising his hands in victory. “You see this man-child has no power to summon food that only our god can provide us with.”
    Just then a low whimper of an animal echoed from the hut the heroes had occupied. A hush fell over the gathered. The leader squinted at the wicker doorway, and then his eyes flared wide when the antlers of an elk-horn suddenly materialized and