Fallen Empire

by Keith McArdle

  Until you get stopped and questioned.

  “Shutup,” Vyder whispered.

  Doubt crept into the back of his mind. The only words he knew of the Huronian language were ‘yes’ and ‘no’.

  Lucky for you brother, you have me. I speak Huronian fluently.

  The doubt evaporated.

  “If they question us, just don’t get us killed.”

  Where’s the trust my human friend?

  Vyder listened to the chuckle boom in his mind.

  “You talk?”

  Vyder glanced over his shoulder at Ahitika. “Everything is good. No need to worry.”

  “Ah, you talk to crazy one.”

  He returned his attention to his direction of travel and smiled. “Yes, I talk to crazy one.”

  The closest campfire was now at his right shoulder and would soon be behind them. At a guess, they’d need to cross another two miles of terrain before they reached their destination. He kicked something soft, lost his balance and found himself sailing through the air. Hard ground met his face and air erupted from his mouth in a rush. He groaned. A shouted sentence in the Huronian language exploded from behind him.

  Let me help, brother.

  Heaviness swept around his body and Vyder allowed the nature spirit to take control.

  “You hear me, idiot? Who the hell was that?”

  Gorgoroth grinned, leapt to his feet, turned around and knelt beside the Huronian soldier lying on the ground near him.

  “I’m sorry boy, my mistake.”

  “Damn fuckin’ right it’s your mistake, why the hell are you walking through this area of the camp anyway?”

  “It seemed like a good idea. Besides, I need the exercise.” The nature spirit slapped the armour plate covering his stomach.

  “Stick to the track. There’s even rope marking it out over that way, closer to the fire. For the sake of the gods, just go away before I report you to my superior.”

  Gorgoroth’s hand dropped to caress the hilt of the knife at his belt.

  No, Gorgoroth! Just walk away.

  His smiled widened, fingers clenching a hold of the weapon.

  Gorgoroth! Trust me, we don’t know who else is close by. If we break our disguise, we’re done for.

  The nature spirit clenched his jaw. “It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t, or it’ll be the skin of your back feeling the scourge of the whip come sunup.”

  Gorgoroth stood, tapped Ahitika on the arm and walked away.

  “Should have slit his stinking throat,” Gorgoroth whispered through clenched teeth.

  Just walk!

  The nature spirit stopped. “I’ve had enough for now brother, here you take the reins, or I’ll end up killing the next person I come across.”

  Numbness flooded Vyder’s arms and legs. He locked his knees to prevent himself collapsing to the ground.

  Ahitika prodded him in the back and said something in Huronian. He clutched a hand to his mouth and stopped himself from coughing, clearing his throat instead.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “It is I.”

  The Kalote woman switched back to Wendurlund. “Ah, I see. You not speak Huronian anymore. You crazier than cut snake.”

  Vyder stifled a chuckle. When he was sure the muscles of his legs would support his weight, he walked on towards the fire. The flickering light cast by the flames illuminated the ground, aiding their vision. Three times, Vyder narrowly avoided stepping into the middle of clusters of sleeping soldiers. While the camp fires dotted around the vast open ground gave light to warriors sitting or standing around the tall stacks of burning wood, it was only a fraction of the Huronian army. The majority of the enemy soldiers were hidden in the shadows sleeping, or talking with one another in hushed tones.

  From out of the darkness appeared a faint, white horizontal line, growing more distinctive with each step. Vyder reached out and clamped a hand onto the rope. The campfire was close, close enough for him to hear the voices of the soldiers cast in hues of flickering orange. He turned away from the campfire, released his grip on the rope and began walking, keeping the white line signifying the track on his right side. Ahitika’s soft steps fell in behind him. The position of the prison wagon, still etched in his mind was in front of them and to the left. It would be a long walk in, but if the rescue was successful, an even longer stroll out.

  If unsuccessful, we don’t walk out at all.

  He grunted in agreement. They walked in silence for some time before he heard movement ahead of them. The gentle thud of boots grew louder and out of the darkness appeared the silhouette of a tall Huronian solider heading straight for him. The Huronian rattled off a sentence in an aggressive tone of voice, Vyder stepped out of the way and then the soldier had passed them by.

  Ahitika stopped beside him. “He said move over. We stick to left of track.”

  “He say anything else?”

  “Yes, don’t know word, though. I think he liken you to stupid animal.”

  Vyder smiled and moved on. “Fair enough.”

  Several times they strode past small clusters of Huronian soldiers moving in the opposite direction, probably on their way to relieve soldiers standing watch. Vyder had heard many tales of how weak and unprofessional the Huronian army was, but he realised none of it were true. A cold chill swept down his spine. If the Huronian continued their march into Wendurlund territory, King George’s army would be facing a first class enemy.

  * * *

  Ahitika clenched a grip on the helmet and pushed it back up, so she could see properly. The heavy steel dome continued to slip down her forehead hindering her line of sight.

  How did the Huronian soldiers fight weighed down with all of this rubbish?

  Her legs and neck ached under the weight of the chest armour and helmet. With a curse, she adjusted the helmet once more. The thud of boots upon the ground was muffled from within the enclosure of steel and moments later the silhouettes of another group of Huronian soldiers trudged past. She glared at them as they swept by, willing them to stop and question her. One of them might be worthy of scalping, but she doubted it. The Huronian warriors, however, remained silent, minded their business and disappeared into the night behind her.

  She returned her focus to the wide back of the tall highlander walking in front of her. Ahitika could barely see him in the blackness, other than a figure slightly darker than the night itself. He paused and she narrowly missed barging into him.

  “We’re almost there, little human. Are you ready to fight?” The crazy one spoke in fluent Huronian. The pale flash of teeth gave a hint of the grin widening his mouth from within the depths of the open-faced helm.

  She adjusted the steel dome upward and stared at the single gently glowing blue eye that appraised her. “Always. How have the Huronian soldiers not noticed your eye, though?”

  “I close it each time we walk past a group. Vyder’s vision is enough for me until the enemy have departed.”

  The tall assassin changed direction and headed off the track. She dropped a hand and touched the steel of the chest armour. She could feel her breastplate wedged against her breasts beneath the Huronian steel and wanted, needed to run her fingers across it. She wanted to feel the power of The Great Spirit. But, the cold, lifeless armour hanging from her shoulders formed a barrier stopping her from gaining comfort from the Kalote breastplate. For now, the Great Spirit and the soft voices of her ancestors were separated from her. She cursed and followed the tall crazy man. They travelled in silence for what felt like an age, the ache in her legs and neck growing. Soon she would cast the helmet and armour aside. Damn the consequences!

  I’d rather die with the wind in my hair, than entrapped in a heavy metal cage like some animal.

  “I seem to have lost my way!”

  Ahitika was about to tell him to shut his mouth, when she heard a new voice.

  “Aye, you certainly have, boy. You
need to go back the way you come from. The main track is a fair way off. How the hell did you get this lost?”

  She stepped alongside the assassin and the scene came into view. She slammed a hand onto the helmet and pushed it away from her field of vision. The dull glow of a single torch attached to the prison wagon gave limited light to the area.

  “There’s two of you!”

  Oh, you can count Huronian! Good for you.

  The muscles of her face contorted, pulling her mouth into a snarl.

  The dim, flickering light provided by the torch fought back the darkness blanketing the wagon. Her eyes narrowed and in the gloom she could just make out the figure of a man sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, arms hugging his legs and head resting on one arm.

  “That second one, looks like he’s got the build of a twelve year old.”

  A chortle broke the silence and another Huronian soldier appeared to stand beside the first. “You’re not wrong,” the newcomer’s voice was deeper and for some reason Ahitika thought she heard a hint of cruelty in his voice.

  Ever come across a Huronian that wasn’t cruel?

  Her jaw bulged.

  “How old are you lad?”

  “He’s mute. Tongue cut out before he joined up,” Gorgoroth spoke, cutting off Ahitika as she made ready to reply.

  She shuffled forward a step as Gorgoroth slapped a hand onto her back, the metallic ring echoing out over the immediate vicinity. “Bloody terrible. He’ll see his nineteenth year this coming Summer.”

  Gorgoroth slammed another hand against her back and she lurched forward, although regained her balance before she was forced forward another step. “Won’t you boy?”

  She snarled, pushed the helmet out of her vision and glared up at the crazy one beside her.

  Is he doing this deliberately? I’ll cut his stinking throat.

  Ahitika strode forward, felt Gorgoroth’s hand clamp onto her shoulder but shrugged it away. Her fingers snaked around the haft of the torch and she pulled it clear of the bracket holding it in place.

  One of the guards stepped forward. “The hell you doing boy?”

  Ahitika ignored him and shoved the torch in between the bars of the prison wagon. The light illuminated the prisoner.

  He’s skinnier than a starving dog on its last legs! And this is a prince? Pathetic.

  “Good idea boy,” Gorgoroth stopped alongside her. “We may as well see the prisoner while we’re here before we head off. No harm is that is there?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Ahitika felt Gorgoroth lean forward, pressing his forehead against the bars. “Exactly as I thought,” he spoke softly.

  It is confirmed then. This is the man we came here for.

  The Kalote warrior withdrew the torch, moved around the crazy one and dropped the torch back into its bracket. Her hand dropped to her waist and came up holding her hunting knife. She lunged forward and buried it into the throat of the first guard, the weapon’s advance only halting when the hilt slammed against the skin of his neck. Hot blood flooded across her fingers and trickled up her arm, dripping from her elbow to the ground. She ripped the weapon clear and stepped away as the wide-eyed guard clutched at the wound from which his life-blood pulsed. He tried to speak, but blood bubbled from his mouth and slid down his chin.

  As she prepared to attack the second guard, the tall crazy one had beat her to it and was already lowering the dead guard to the ground, his knife buried in the back of the Huronian’s neck at the base of the skull. The Wendurlund assassin had moved with lightning speed.

  He turned to her and bent down to look her in the face, that pale blue eye lancing through her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “We’re here to free the prince are we not?” she spoke through clenched teeth. “We can’t really do that with these pieces of scum wandering around can we?” she prodded the body before her with a boot.

  “And how do you expect we gain entry to the prison wagon? Hm?” Gorgoroth cocked his head, teeth flashing as his mouth widened in a death’s head grin. “Any thoughts?”

  Ahitika glanced at the wagon, focusing between the bars at the statue-still prisoner who was now watching them with interest. She cast a look back at the crazy one. “Hadn’t thought that far.”

  “Fantastic! What an incredible plan.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “I hadn’t even considered that line of thought.” The assassin straightened to look over her head at the wagon behind her and switched to the Wendurlund language. “And what of you, prince, any thoughts?”

  She turned back to see the prisoner had scuttled closer to them, he sat hands clasping the bars, head pressed between them, like some rabid dog eager for freedom. “One of them carries a key.”

  Ahitika kicked one of the bodies and after a moment’s pause to gather her thoughts, also changed to the tongue of Wendurlund. “One of these has key?”

  “No, not those. There is a guard by the name of Braif, he has the keys.” The skin covered skeleton pointed on the far side of the prison wagon. “He’s sleeping over there somewhere.” The prince looked at the sky. “But hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  Ahitika followed his line of sight and noticed that the eastern horizon was turning a hue of gunmetal grey, a stark contrast to the black blanket cast over the rest of the sky. Dawn was coming.

  * * *

  Gorgoroth cursed. He tapped Ahitika on the shoulder. “Little one, you stay here, I’ll summon this Braif.”

  Get moving Gorgoroth!

  “You don’t say, brother?” he muttered, striding away from the prison wagon.

  Once he’d negotiated around the far side of the wagon, he crouched beside the first sleeping figure he saw. Grasping a hold of the sleeping man’s shoulder, he shook it. “Braif?” he asked in the Huronian language.

  The sleeping man took a deep breath and groaned. Gorgoroth shook harder. “Braif!”

  “I’m not Braif, he’s sleeping two down from me idiot. I’ve already done my watch tonight. Go away!”

  Gorgoroth chuckled and patted the man’s cheek. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Piss off and leave me alone!”

  He stood, stepped over the sleeping figure, ignored the next two sleeping guards and knelt beside the fourth man. He clamped a hand onto the man’s arm and felt it tense beneath his grip. “What is it?” the man whispered.

  “Braif?”

  “Yeah, what the fuck is it?”

  “We have a problem.”

  A groan, a stretch and Braif sat up, yawning softly. “Gods, I was having a good dream too. This better be life threatening!”

  “You have your keys on you?”

  A metallic tapping followed as Gorgoroth realised the dark figure must have been patting a hand against the key ring at his waist. “Always.”

  “Then yes, it’s life threatening.”

  Gorgoroth reached down with both hands and snapped Braif’s neck with the sound of a sodden branch breaking. He lowered the body to the floor slowly, before patting his hands down the man’s flanks until his fingers touched the keys. He detached them from the guard’s belt and stood, moving back the way he’d come with the same care.

  He reached the prison wagon, found the small, locked door and chose a key at random. Too small. He flicked through them. Too large, wrong shape. Each one he tried, failed. Distant shouts broke out on the edge of the encampment. There were several voices, with others adding to the cacophony with each passing moment. Although he could not make out the words, the tone of voice gave a hint to the urgency.

  He turned to Ahitika standing nearby, watching him struggle with the keys. “They’ve found the bodies of the guards we killed earlier!” he hissed.

  She chuckled.

  Then an ear piercing horn shred the still air asunder. “The enemy are amongst us!”

  Gorgoroth paused. There was no denying the words shouted by the deep pitched voice. The horn blew ag
ain. “The enemy are amongst us! To arms!”

  Let me try Gorgoroth, you have no clue.

  “Fine!”

  Vyder coughed, locked his knees against the numbness sweeping his legs, clenched his fingers into fists to fend off pins and needles sweeping his hands, squeezed shut his eyes, then forced them open again a moment later to focus upon the ring of keys. He clasped the torch out of its bracket and brought it close to the prison wagon’s door. The lock was long and thin. He shoved the torch closer and leaned in so he was looking into the depths of the lock, ignoring the heat cast from the torch next to his face.

  “It’s a wooden lock, not metal.” He opened the hand containing the keys and flicked through them. Finally he found a short, stubby wooden key hidden in the midst of the keys. Clasping a hold of it, he slid it into the lock and turned it gently. There was a click. He pulled on the door and it groaned open.

  “Just what the bloody hell is going on here!” a guard appeared on the far side, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Another appeared behind him and a third stopped beside the pair. Bleary-eyed as they were, their focus soon became keen as they watched their prisoner step clear of the prison wagon and jump onto the ground.

  “Here!” one of the guards screamed. “They’re here!”

  A protracted scream exploded from beside Vyder, sending a shudder up his spine and something pushed past him. He watched Ahitika sprint forward and with lightning speed was amongst the trio, her knife rising and falling. She moved around and through them with lithe agility and even as he withdrew his knife from its sheath and he prepared to help the Kalote warrior, the last guard fell to the ground, his wide, dead eyes staring up at the eastern sky, now hewn with streaks of deep purple and faded pink.

  She ripped the metal helmet clear of her head and dropped it to the ground, long, black hair streaking down around her face, light glinting from fury-filled eyes hidden beneath strands of thick hair. She spoke a sentence in Huronian and spat upon the grass.

  Vyder sheathed his knife. “It’s me, Vyder.”