Called the “Rite of Kardane,” over the centuries it had been used to carefully breed to dozens of different races, but every bit of that genetics had been from proven warriors. Those that weren’t… Well, so many accidents can befall a person.

Tartar eyes, a legacy of Genghiz’s hordes, blond and red hair from the Norse, black from the Turks and Ottomans; the men were powerful and handsome, fell beyond belief in battle; the women gorgeous and fey and nearly as dangerous.

But they needed their lord, their Kildar. They needed his genes, yes, but very nearly as good sat in the room with them. What they needed, most, was his leadership and the knowledge that each generation had brought to the Keldara of the best, most modern, way to destroy his enemies. The Keldara had been axemen from the North, bow-men riders and armored knights in their time. They had swung swords and fired long jazeels. They lived on the cutting edge of the blade; whatever would kill the most enemies was fine by them.

Now they armed themselves with M4s and machine guns, MP-5s and sniper rifles. Their armor was Kevlar and composite.

None of it was any good without the Kildar, though.

“I could beat him up,” Master Chief Charles Adams said.

The burly and bald-headed former SEAL had known the Kildar for years, since both were in BUDS together in the infamous Class 201. They’d been on the same team, briefly, then the Kildar had gone off to teach meats while Adams climbed the ladder of rank. Adams had next run into his old buddy in a stinking underground fortress in Syria, finding him shot to ribbons after holding off, with very little support, a Syrian commando battalion.

Later his “friend” had called him up and asked him to assemble a team and come train some weird group of mountain people in the country of Georgia.