Thakern spied Cameos standing in the entrance watching the fluid exercise that he himself practised many times a week, but Thakern could see from his young friend’s face that he was seething with anger.
‘Cameos!’ Thakern’s booming voice thundered across the training room, snapping Cameos out of his violent thoughts.
Cameos walked towards Thakern, then pushed straight past him to jump into the practice pit. ‘Cameos, in the mood for more punishment? I think I could spare a few seconds out of my day’, offered Thakern.
‘I am neither in the mood for jokes nor for lessons Thakern, so pick a male who’s my match and have him join me’, replied chief Cameos with a stern tone of authority.
‘As you command’, Thakern said as he chose the combatant, a male, not much older than Cameos but a few inches shorter, by the name of Doista. Cameos and Doista had been friends for many decades and frequently trained together. They also socialised, often over food and drinks or hunted the few animals that roamed the desert at night.
Doista entered the fighting pit and approached Cameos in the traditional stance. Before Doista had taken two steps Cameos was upon him, delivering lightning-fast blows with closed fists, thrown straight, and aimed accurately at Doista’s mouth and nose. Doista blocked the first four, knocking them aside with the palms of his hands, but Cameos’ attack was relentless, and the following two connected squarely, splitting Doista’s lips and loosening several of his front teeth. Cameos did not slow for a second as he took full advantage of his opponent’s unbalanced position. He grabbed Doista by the arm pulling him forward sharply. Cameos bent his legs bringing himself low to the ground and using the floor of the pit like a springboard he propelled himself into the air, converting his head into a battering ram and annihilated Doista’s nose causing him to fall sideways. Cameos dragged him back upright and in one fluid motion twisted Doista’s arm whilst stepping to stand behind the half unconscious, bleeding Elf. An echoing loud snap indicated that the arm had been broken as Doista fell to the floor.
‘Another!’ Cameos screamed at Thakern in a state of total animal bloodlust. ‘You’ve lost control, my chief. This is no longer practice, so it has no place in this gymnasium. Maybe we could take council together? In the serenity of the temple, perhaps?’ asked Thakern, his smile now gone, a look of deep concern replacing it.
‘Do you question my order, Thakern? Do I not rule here?’ He turned to face the group who had gathered round the pit to witness the fight. ‘Do I not rule here?’ Cameos shouted as he looked over the crowd, then back to Thakern. ‘I asked you a question, tutor’, snarled Cameos though gritted teeth.
Thakern’s smile returned as he answered in a loud and clear voice, ‘Cameos. chieftain of Elven Earth rules here!’ and Thakern dropped to his knees, quickly followed by every Elf present, and they rejoiced, for Cameos ruler of the Elven folk was beginning to show his strength.
Chapter Four
Dreams of Power
Kane, first of that name, known throughout his kingdom as Kane the Cruel, knew with certainty that he slept, yet with equal certainty he knew that where he resided in his sleep state was no dream. It was much more a vividness that gave him proof that he had been brought to this place by a being who could control what he saw in his mind’s eye.
The place was a palace in the heavens’ the sight before him was staggering. He walked upon the finest piece of marble he had ever seen, a single piece which seemingly had no beginning nor an end. He seemed to be in the middle, or at least he could not see any walls, neither to the front and back of him, nor to either side. Instead, the palace seemed infinite, blending out of existence at the end of his human ability to see. All around he saw evenly spaced columns that rose indefinitely upwards. Every hundred or so feet they rose, each one made from the most perfect cuts of the most precious materials known to man. Some he did not recognise, even though he knew in every cell of his body they had value beyond measure. The highest quality gold and silver. The purest clarity diamond, ruby, emerald and sapphire. Minerals and jewels yet to be discovered by the race of Man, and some already forgotten from an age before the kingdom was forged. All around him opulence bloomed without apparent need. Golden tables were laden with jewel-encrusted goblets, and crystal platters were piled high, with delicacies from a hundred nations not known to the king.
Women, with such beauty they confounded the senses, lazed naked and seductively upon settees draped with the softest animal furs, beckoning him as they caressed each other’s perfect bodies. His eyes locked upon a woman to rival the Goddess of beauty herself. Instantly he felt himself lose control of all free will; his body raged with lust as he walked towards her.
A voice cut through the serenity of the place and brought Kane to a sudden halt; all thoughts of sexual fulfilment vanished.
‘You! Kane, King of Men, have yet to earn the spoils of my hall. You are summoned, come forward.’ The voice, rather than loud, reverberated around Kane, completely enveloping him. Through his body it spoke to him; in his mind it called to him.
Kane looked fervidly for the presence that spoke to him, yet in no direction could he put a physical appearance to the voice he heard and felt. Then a blinding light came from out of the endlessness, in the direction Kane thought as forward. Shielding his eyes from the light, Kane discerned a figure coming forward.
The figure easily stood twenty feet in height and was clad in a brilliant golden suit of armour. The King of Men staggered back from the sight that greeted him. He gasped and fell to his knees. Prostrating himself upon the ground in the presence of the God of Gods, known only as He who is Greatest.
‘Rise! For you are mine, Kane the Cruel.’ The voice filled him with conflicting emotions of exaltation, fear and wonder. He stumbled as he rose but steadied both feet under him as he said.
‘Can it be? Are you truly here with me now, my lord?’ Even as Kane stuttered the words, he knew the question to be folly. Every fibre of his being sang with the realisation that he was truly in the presence of the mightiest of all.
‘You rule my people well, Kane the Cruel, for they are weak and only the strong may abide upon the lands I have blessed unto them. I have gifts for you, for you are my chosen king, gold piled to dwarf the trees, gems too large to hold in a single hand, yet there are demands I would make of you.’ The voice was commanding, yet inviting, filled with undiluted power, yet also with warmth and promise.
‘What would you have of me, Father? My body, my mind, my soul are yours to do with as you wish.’ He had regained his composure and his thoughts had turned to the treasure it promised him and the power he would surely wield.
‘As it should be, so it will come to be. Punish the weak with pain until death and prepare the strong for war. I shall come to you again King of my domain, Purifier of the unblessed, servant of God.’
Kane awoke with a start, but without any doubt of the divine message he had received. He felt an overwhelming sense of righteousness and a hunger for the promise made by the greatest of all. Kane had never been a pious man, but now he saw the truth: he was indeed chosen to rule. All his past actions were now not only justified but blessed, and he made the promise, to the dawn breaking through his windows, that every dawn would see more blood than the last. His armies would grow strong through the pain of the weak. His lust for suffering, shared with He who is greatest, filled him with a newly found vigour. He felt young again and strong, determined to do God’s work and reap the benefits.
Across the room, a young woman, barely more than a girl, mewed in broken agony. Her chains rattled as she regained full consciousness and pulled at the fastening which held her tight against the wall. Kane grinned as he saw realisation hit her. The fear in her eyes brought him to full arousal as he took in the sight of her blooded body. As he crossed towards her, leering at her fear, as a mountain lion leers at the sight of an injured doe, he caught sight of the wounds he had inflicted the previous night. Her womanhood was torn and bloody. The smell of bodily waste
assaulted his nostrils, as he moved closer, in the closed environment of his private chambers.
He turned away and instead crossed to a large cupboard. Opening the door, he disappeared briefly behind it, as the girl mumbled pleas for mercy. Pleas to the Gods and pleas for her mother. Reappearing Kane the Cruel brandished a large, loaded crossbow, and levelled it at the terrified victim of his sadistic wonts.
‘It seems I used you all up, fun though it was.’ Kane said through sneering giggles. He pressed the trigger and the mechanism on the crossbow released the bolt at devastating speed. It struck her face with such velocity it shattered bone like a boulder through thin ice, pinning her lifeless skull firmly to the stone wall her violated body was still chained to.
‘Boy!’ the king screamed. The briefest of moments later the king’s personal squire entered the chambers and, being one of only two people allowed admittance to the king’s private rooms, showed no surprise at the sights that greeted him.
‘Bring me food and ale aplenty, for I have such an appetite this morning.’ He pointed at the young life he had ended without remorse, and added, ‘Oh and get rid of that mess. The wolfhounds shall feast this morning as well.’
As the squire closed the door behind him, he heard a sound that caused him to shiver right through to his bones as the king laughed like one touched with moon madness. As he passed through the corridor, past a huge open window, a gust of wind, unseasonably cold, blew as strong as a gale. From the north it came and for the briefest of moments the squire heard a word upon the wind, a word that, although never heard before, filled him with dread. That word was Vor’rok.
Chapter Five
Brotherhood
The troop came to a halt as one. Each man instantly noticing the rising of their captain’s balled fist, indicating an immediate stop. Each of the fourteen men at arms was equipped with the traditional two-handed great-sword. Its four feet of double-edged, razor sharp, tempered steel, capable of smashing through armour, flesh, and bone, made the weapon a gruesome tool of the soldier’s trade. Although the hilt on the enormous sword made it comfortable to wield with two hands not one man in the elite platoon had ever favoured the two-handed styles of sword craft, outside of the occasional dual or the practice halls of the academy. Instead, the years of training and seemingly endless drills allowed the weight of the great-sword to be a comfort, rather than a hindrance, for every soldier that had enjoyed the six years of military schooling at the academy.
Just as every warrior, young or old, fresh recruit or veteran, took up his sword with his right hand, the left held his shield. Its uniformed three feet in height and two-foot width, with sharpened edges, made the shield arm of a kingdom warrior capable of inflicting as much death as the sword arm.
In command, of the immaculately attired patrol, was Baron Oswald. His appearance portrayed his noble bearing, fresh yet strong. His muscular physic and smooth lined face held all the vigour of youth, yet his eyes shone as hard and as cold as the steel in his scabbard. As with all the men he led, he was tall and carried himself with the military bearing that came from countless generations of soldiering. Warriors of the realm of Men were not simply trained, they were bred until their very blood boiled with the battle lust of a thousand conflicts.
Baron Oswald stood as solid and as silent as a granite wall as he used hand signals to attract the attention of his lead scout. The scout was positioned commanding the high ground to the fore and at about two hundred yards from the rest of the patrol. The scout named Einar, a tracker and veteran of unsurpassed ability and advancing years, quickly informed his leader what every man amongst them already tasted on the cool evening air. Smoke. A lot of smoke.
The lands in their patrol vicinity were the lushest, and yielded more bounty than any other in the entire kingdom of Man. But as the Creator gives with one hand, He takes with the other, and not more than five miles away from this arid farmland lay the border of the forbidden jungle
The land of the enemy. A jungle so thick that not even sunlight could penetrate more than a few metres into this dank and dark realm of Goblins and monsters who persistently raided into the kingdom to burn and destroy villages, devouring the flesh from defenceless peasants forced to work for a king who showed no love or compassion for his subjects but only greed and contempt.
Knight-captain Colburn came from his position at the rear and addressed the baron, ‘I have sent additional scouts to the flanks.’ His hand was raised, sweeping from the high ground at the left, then to the right as he spoke. ‘These damned valleys are the perfect place for an ambush.’
The last was said in a slightly scolding tone, following their disagreement of the best course for their patrol to take. For whilst Baron Oswald was of noble birth and as expertly trained as any other warrior of Man, he was untested, far too eager to prove his courage, and in the knight-captain’s opinion, stupid. No. Colburn amended that thought, not stupid, just oblivious to what appeared to Colburn as obvious. The anointed knight and honoured captain of the brotherhood cursed once more the obligations the order he served had to the nobility. Only days before, the baron had ridden to Iron Guard and demanded his right to lead a patrol. In less than an hour, Colburn had handpicked his finest men at arms and set off to pander to this nobleman’s desire for adventure.
If Baron Oswald noticed his second in command’s tone, he portrayed nothing and simply stated, ‘Einar reports smoke. Maybe a farmstead caught fire, or a field is burning out of control. Some witless peasants struggling with the mastery of fire no doubt.’ Oswald smiled broadly at the scepticism creeping into Colburn’s normally blank expression and then added, ‘Worry not, captain, we shall investigate as duty dictates.’
Colburn nodded his head and said, ‘Yes, baron’, and with that he turned to address his men in a voice so loud and deep it reverberated through the air like thunder. ‘Alright, you sons of whores and sinners! Fall in! On the double, single file on me!’ Before the command was finished, the sounds of heavily armed and armoured men shattered the evening quiet, moving to obey without hesitation or preamble. With the captain taking point and the sergeant bringing up the rear, they headed in the direction of the smoke at a light trot. Fast enough to reach their destination in short order yet reserving enough energy to fight effectively should the need present itself. The Men at arms moved out.
As the scouts returned to the patrol, gaps appeared in the line and were quickly closed by the returning men melting into their positions within the formation. Colburn raised his head in the smoke’s direction and his battle-trained instincts told him they would certainly need to fight.
It was just short of twenty minutes and two miles when the patrol crested the ridge, and, spreading into a line, they halted. It was not a spoken command that caused the line to halt its advance, but rather the sight that lay before them. Three hundred metres down the gentle slope, to where fifteen shocked and sickened warriors looked on with horror, as anger brewed within them, stretched a scene from hell. The once vibrant farm town of Bancroft, home to about a thousand men, women and children, the surfs and peasants who tilled the earth to provide the higher classes with the fruits of the harvests, now lay in desolation. The wood and whittle hovels, and more sturdy wooden storage buildings, were now raging infernos and smoking ruins. Mutilated corpses lay in their agonising death throes. Body parts and discarded organs lay strewn about like offal on an abattoir floor. The only living thing appeared to be the cause of this wanton destruction. Even though an acrid, thick smoke hung in the air like heavy fog, Colburn could make out at least a dozen forms unmistakably belonging to the great enemy of Man, Goblins.
Averaging only four feet in height, they were physically akin to human children compared with the kingdom’s men at arms. Yet their power was not measured in the strength in their arm, but rather speed, and a ferocity that was only matched by the wolves, giant spiders and boars that occasionally carried the spawn of evil as they raided, butchered and feasted upon the kingdom’s weak.
/> Shock transformed into anger as Colburn focused on one particular creature. Its blue-tinged green skin left naked but for the loincloth that seemed to be made from some sort of pink hairless skin. Anger turned into barely controlled rage as the thing sunk its inch-long yellow fangs deep into the corpse of a bisected woman. Pulling away a mouth full of flesh, blood dripping freely from its slowly moving mouth. A softly spoken word brought Colburn back to the situation at hand.
‘Suggestions’, Oswald asked, his eyes never leaving the scene of gruesome carnage that started at the base of the hill and ended somewhere beyond the smoke and death.
Colburn pointedly ignored ‘suggestions’ and turned to issue his command directly to the men. At first shocked and sickened, the faces that awaited his voice were filled with vengeance and hungry with the anticipation of bloodletting.
‘Drop packs!’ His voice cut through the air. ‘Fan out! I want a single battle line, three sword lengths between each man.’ The men hurried about their duty as they abandoned their equipment and put the required length between each of them. ‘We charge through the village.’ Colburn continued. ‘And destroy anything not of Man.’ Shields raised, the platoon awaited the ritual words that boiled the blood and inspired feelings of great pride in every kingdom warrior. ‘Draw sword!’ knight-captain Colburn bellowed into the night. And as one, swords were unsheathed. The scrape of steel being pulled from the throat of scabbards caused smiles to spread upon the faces of all the men, all but two. Colburn turned to his obviously frightened superior and snarled through gritted teeth, ‘Lead!’
The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One Page 6