The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One

by Aiden L Turner

  Jacob placed a hand upon Red Rob’s shoulder and said, ‘Four of you will be in for a most unpleasant night. But take comfort, Father in the fact that you won’t have to ride for weeks on end’, Jacob said in a light-hearted jest remembering when he himself had been accidentally subjected to the Wisteria seeds and their awful yet short-lived stomach aches, vomiting and the flux.

  Jim seemed oblivious to any of what was being said and just looked on with anxiety clear upon his features. Holak seemed intent on devouring a large piece of chicken whilst Askia said, ‘Wisteria seeds? I have not heard of, but I can judge from the conversation you wish to make us temporarily ill, so we have reason to stay. Am I correct?’

  Holak appeared much more interested now, whilst Jim looked terrified.

  ‘You are correct Askia’, Jacob replied. ‘For I fear the king will use my absence and the absence of those who are loyal to me to hatch some plot. He will no doubt find a way to discredit her in my eyes and turn her into a creature of lust who betrayed me and died before my return. You four will prevent that from happening and deal with the perpetrators of any action against the Lady Elysabeth.’

  Holak spoke for the first time during the meeting, ‘Deal with my prince?’

  Jacob stood, his expression stern and regal. ‘Discretion is key. Kill all involved in any such plot against Elysabeth, for she will be your queen when I am your king.’

  Holak and Askia entered the mess hall where food, mostly bread and cold cuts of meat and cheese but also an ever-present pot of stew bubbling over the fire, were available during the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning. As expected, at the hours before highest night and breaking of dawn there were only a handful of off-duty guardsmen and servants present.

  Askia turned to his brother and said, ‘Take a seat, I’ll fetch us something to drink.’ Askia returned to his brother, who was now sat at an empty table, with a large pitcher of ale and two jugs. Setting down the clay drinking pots, he then filled each with a frothy ale, brewed in the keep and kept cool in the cellars.

  Holak raised his pot to his brother and said. ‘Well, brother of mine, here’s to service no matter the cost.’ With a grim smile, he drank deeply and said quietly, ‘I know that stew will make me bad, yet the smell of it still has my mouth gushing water like a river. One more for luck.’ He said whilst pouring himself and Askia both a second ale. After emptying the pot in one again, he belched loudly enough to cause the room to glance his way before they returned to their meals. ‘Well, nothing for it, brother, I’ll get us each a bowl.’ After a few moments, Holak returned to the table with two steaming bowls of beef stew. They sat in silence eating the stew they knew to be poisoned with the Wisteria seeds.

  Askia looked around and felt a pang of guilt that people here would also share their suffering, knowing they were giving no warning, and that those here would not know what caused their gastric distress. Both brothers finished at the same time, a first as Holak had normally moved on to his second course before Askia was halfway through his first. Askia offered a slight smile to his brother, and they both stood ready to leave. As they left Father Robert entered with squire Jim. The brothers both offered greetings as they passed with Holak saying, ‘The stew was particularly fine this evening, Father.’

  Seventeen people were afflicted by the poisoning and whilst Father Roberts’ plan to poison the stew in the mess hall had seemed a little callous and unnecessary to Jacob, the plan had proved prudent. The king not only seemed unsuspecting of foul play, but he also forbade any who presented symptoms from journeying with him to the south for fear of the unknown illness being a containment.

  With his goodbyes said to his beloved and his thanks expressed to Father Robert, Askia, Holak and Jim, Jacob sat astride his beautiful and treasured Frostbite in the early morning sun. His expression grim and determined, he waited patiently whilst the castle staff filled wagons with supplies, and pages and squires busied themselves with all the preparation needed for such a long voyage.

  At the sound of his name, Jacob turned his horse and with the slightest of pressure applied with his legs he urged it to a slow walk towards his uncle and the Lord Godwin.

  ‘My Lord King. Lord Godwin. It seems we shall have a fine start to our journey, but I had thought we were to leave at first light.’ Jacob said, hiding his worry at being delayed and how long the effects of the poisoning would last.

  The king looked excited and keen to set off. ‘The slaves are taking longer than thought to load and shackle to their wagons. It seems many have family who are making a fuss over their loved one’s imprisonment. Baron Oswald is dispersing them as we speak’, the king said, an evil smirk growing on his face as screams cut through the morning.

  Jacob’s horse became animated as it sensed Jacob tensing.

  ‘Then I shall assist, and we shall be on our way.’ Without waiting for the king to reply, Jacob spurred Frostbite forward. After just a few moments Jacob came upon the outskirts of the slave pens where a crowd, consisting mainly of women were screaming and running in chaos as the Baron Oswald and a dozen of his men were using the weight of their horses to disperse the crowd.

  The slaves beat against their restraints as men in the king’s livery drew swords and began using the points to cruel effect by stabbing lightly into the women’s buttocks and legs with enough force to draw blood, yet not deep enough to cause lethal wounds. The blood and screaming were causing blind panic. The women’s screams were enraging the captive men who struggled to get free and go to the aid of their women. Jacob cantered his horse towards the baron and gripped him tightly upon his shoulder and commanding the horse with his knees he turned the beast sharply away from Oswald, pulling him, with force, from his own horse.

  Oswald landed heavily on the ground. All air expelled from his lungs; he lay writhing on the grass.

  ‘Be still!’ Jacob roared over the noise, as he drew his long sword from its scabbard. Pointing the blade at the nearest of Oswald’s men, his voice bristled with the authority of royal blood.

  ‘Soldiers of the kingdom.’ His anger and station stilled the men on horseback. ‘You will dismount and kneel before your prince.’ They obeyed without question. A few of the older soldiers took a glance towards their leader but none voiced their objection.

  Baron Oswald rose to his feet. Still gasping for breath, he said, ‘My prince, I thank you for your assistance, but I had the matter under control.’

  Jacob stalked towards the young minor nobleman, teeth gritted, sword in hand, rage upon his face.

  ‘I ordered you to kneel. Kneel! Or you will never stand again, Oswald.’ The man fell to his knees and bowed his head. Jacob addressed the crowd of women who had now become calm and silent, though many were cradling wounds and more still were attempting to get past the king’s custodians to speak with their men. ‘There is nothing you can cause here but more pain.’ Jacob said, loud enough for all to hear, yet still with compassion. ‘Return to your homes.’ Jacob sheathed his blade and watched as the women began to break away and return to their villages, although their wailing bore into his heart and he was fighting back tears as he turned to see his uncle and the Lord Godwin approach. Apprehension on Godwin’s face, amusement upon the king’s.

  ‘Jacob, it seems you have resolved the situation’, the king said with an amused look at the kneeling soldiers. The king’s expression turned angry as he turned to address his custodians. ‘Get that scum loaded and move out with haste lest you find yourselves in their condition.’

  ‘My king, this fool,’ Jacob said, indicating the kneeling Oswald with a gesture of his head, ‘needs to learn how to show authority without drawing his blade. All he accomplished was panic and our delay. Shall I fetch a lash to encourage his learning of today’s lesson?’ Jacob said with an evil grin, whilst he only wished to give aid to the poor women who had lost so much and then been attacked.

  The king laughed, a shrill sound but containing genuine amusement. ‘No, dear nephew, we have been
delayed long enough. Oswald you will bring up the rear and do not tally or maybe the prince with have his lash upon your back.’ The king turned to the prince and Lord Godwin and said. ‘It has been many years since I felt the vigour of a galloping beast beneath me. Come, let us ride.’ With that the king dug spurs into his horse’s flanks and galloped towards the east followed by Jacob, Godwin and over two hundred of the king’s royal bodyguard, fully armed and dressed for war.

  The column moved slowly, inhibited by the vast amount of baggage the king insisted on taking. Huge pavilions were brought along, dismantled, and stored ready to assemble, timber along with great swaths of canvas folded into wagons drawn by oxen. Great chests filled with jewellery, cook ware, silver platters, pitchers and even artwork occupied the king as he sought to impress with his immense wealth and power. The slave wagons came last. One hundred and sixty-three young, strong men were stripped naked and manacled to the baseboards of open wagons. Men whose crimes ranged from non-existent to petty theft, and none that warranted the fate they now shared.

  Oswald rode beside them threateningly, since it was his master who had ordered the new proclamation deeming any and all crime punishable by forced labour. Oswald had taken a delight in ravishing the small towns where petty crime was abundant. The captives were then force marched to the slave pens. Nearly half had died. A small uprising, two men, brothers, had planned and executed a daring escape, and during the diversion a few more had seized upon the opportunity. A small uprising had quickly turned into a massacre. Oswald ran down the two brothers personally, his war horse biting and flailing its hoofs wildly as he had brought his sword down again and again, hacking into the unprotected bodies of the men and leaving them a butchered heap of smashed bone and torn flesh. He had then turned his fury upon the remaining prisoners, smashing his heavy blade into pleading men, grovelling for mercy they only received when his sword arm became too tired to wield the blade that had brought so much unnecessary slaughter. His own men, known for their cruelty throughout the lands of Godwin had stood by. Caught between shock and amusement, they watched as their leader, and inspiration for their cruelty, hacked his way through terrified meat, as his victims squealed like pigs brought to the butcher’s block. The blood and gore had soaked him from head to toe, yet he smiled inanely from his scared mouth when he finally stopped and studied his macabre work with pride.

  He curbed his stallion to keep pace with the slow trudging of the wagons and eyed the captives like a wolf stalking lambs. He became excited by their fear as some men openly cried at his bloodlust filled gaze. A shout from the head of the column brought him out of his longing and he spurred his horse onwards, cruelly digging his spurs into the animal’s flanks, causing it to surge forward in a leap. Startling other horses as he sped past, he quickly came to the head of the column and yanked hard upon the reins, causing the beast to rear up as he was brought to a stop.

  He bowed low in the saddle as he greeted the king. ‘My king, how may I serve.’ He glanced towards the Lord Godwin and his son, bowing respectfully. ‘My Lords.’ Then towards Jacob he said. ‘My prince.’ Yet the baron did not bow, and it was evident to Jacob that this man offered the greeting out of necessity rather than respect. As Jacob brought his horse forward a pace to reprimand the nobleman, Oswald’s attention was drawn behind Jacob and his face seethed with pure unadulterated hatred. Jacob was momentarily taken aback by the sudden hatred upon Oswald’s face until the king spoke.

  ‘My good Lord Oswald, you remember Colburn, I am sure.’ He said the last with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. ‘Colburn is now in my direct employ and therefore under my protection. Understood? You will therefore bury any ill feeling towards each other.’ The baron made no reply. He sat in the saddle of his horse, his surprise only matched by the hatred he felt towards Colburn, who showed no reaction, just meeting the baron’s stare with cold emptiness.

  The king moved his horse slightly towards Oswald. ‘Unless you would prefer, I let my dog off his leash and have him meet you with sword? A shallow grave dug by slaves at the side of the highway. Would that suit you, Oswald?’

  Oswald had the grace to look embarrassed as he bowed his head to the king, but he was saved any further humiliation, as commotion from the rear drew his attention from the king and his companions.

  ‘My king, it seems I am needed, with your permission?’ Baron Oswald asked with as much grace as he could muster. The king nodded his assent and with a deep bow to the king and then to his Lord Godwin, Oswald yanked violently on his horse’s reins, causing the beast to rear as it twisted.

  Oswald galloped. Shock and hatred caused his adrenaline levels to spike as he quickly came upon the cause of the disruption. Two of his men-at-arms were under a swarm of kicks and fists as a dozen slaves set free their pent-up rage at the injustice received. More of his men lay dead upon the ground. Oswald came to a sharp stop and drew his sword. He looked around the scene of chaos and discerned what was happening. His remaining men-at-arms were being held back by a group of powerful slaves now armed with weapons taken from the overthrown guards. Another group was freeing the rest of those in bondage. The group who were beating two of his men to death when Oswald had arrived had finished their grisly work and stripped the corpses of weapons. Those men now armed turned to aid their fellows in fending off the men-at-arms, whilst the group freeing the remaining slaves in the wagons had also finished and were now raiding the wagons. All were arming themselves with the spare weapons in the baggage train. From spears twice the length of a man, to simple meat cleavers ransacked from the kitchen supplies, the men armed themselves and made a rough line crossing the narrow roadway. As the slaves hurried to join their brethren, they quickly overran the few men-at-arms who were left to guard them, hacked to death in a storm of bloody vengeance.

  Oswald surveyed the scene with a calm anger as he watched the slaves form up into a rough wall of naked men. Oswald estimated that around a hundred slaves had joined the formation. The front rank was armed with sword and shield whilst the second and third ranks held the long spears that were carried on wagons in the baggage train. He could make out a dozen or so bloody bodies of slaves upon the ground whilst the remaining numbers had taken up positions on the steep banks of the road, amongst the rocks twenty feet above the road. Those men armed themselves with stones ranging from the size of a fist to the size of a man’s head.

  All this happened whilst the baron sat on his horse motionless and silently watched. It was not fear that stilled him from action, but rather a curiosity. These slaves, peasants all, barely the same race of being as the likes of Oswald, were standing. Not one of them had seized upon the opportunity to save themselves, but all had accepted the same fate. They would stand against armed and armoured men and all die together.

  The king’s guard had turned now. The ransacking of the supplies and the brutal killing of those men under Oswald’s command drew their attention. A captain of the king’s guard moved his mount next to Oswald, who stood a mere twenty feet from the rebel slaves.

  ‘Problems my lord?’ the captain of the guard said with an amused grin upon his face and a slight nod towards the battle formation.

  ‘So, it would seem.’ Oswald replied with equal amusement. A few of Oswald’s men had escaped the slaughter and came to stand next to their master and the guard had also formed behind their captain.

  ‘It seems we shall have some sport after all’, Oswald said as he touched spurs to his horse and leaned back in his saddle showing his horsemanship as the horse raised itself upon its hind legs and flayed its front hoofs towards its enemy, teeth snapping as it awaited the command to charge into battle.

  ‘Stand down’, the king said as he approached. ‘I would speak to the leader of these dissidents.’ The mounted guardsmen had moved without orders or question as they saw the king and his closest followers making their way towards the confrontation.

  A man stepped forward from the battle line. Armed with a sword, he took one step forward of h
is brethren and dug the sword into the ground as he went on one knee before the king, the prince and Lord Godwin. He had dark hair cut close and, in his nakedness, his muscular body, with enormous arms, barrel chest and broad shoulders, betrayed his years of rigorousness work at his anvil. At thirty years of age he was older than most of the slaves, yet clearly, they had selected him for his great strength rather than youthful vigour. ‘My Lord King, I am honoured to meet you, yet wishful of better circumstance.’

  ‘Your name?’ The king commanded in an even tone.

  ‘My name is David, Your Highness’, the slave leader answered respectfully.

  ‘And why do you lead these prisoners in revolt against me?’ the king asked in the same even tone. ‘You wish these men to die?’

  ‘They were dead as soon as they were chained to your wagons, Your Highness. But it is not death I wish for these men, and I acknowledge I cannot win them their freedom, so I wish to make an agreement with you, Your Highness.’

  ‘The hunter does not make agreements with his prey!’ Oswald roared as he brought his horse forward and pointed his sword at the kneeling man, who returned Oswald’s anger with an icy stare.

  ‘Oswald, you had charge of these men’s captivity, did you not? Then you may wish to remain away from my attention.’ The king said to Oswald, who slunk back behind the king to find himself a pace behind his enemy, Colburn.

  ‘And you,’ the king said pointing down towards David, anger raising in his voice, ‘you will tell me why I should not just have my dog tear you to bits?’ The king’s eyes never left David as he summoned, ‘Colburn!’

  Colburn dismounted and slowly walked towards David with the calm authority of a warrior without peer in the art of killing.

  ‘My king’, David called out pleadingly as he eyes fell upon the huge and fearsome warrior who stood before him. ‘We have made a pact between us, a pact that is bonded in many cases with blood and friendship.’ His words came in a rush, as if he feared Colburn would strike him dead before he had said his piece. Then, seeing no immediate threat, his words slowed again. ‘We know we cannot leave here and all simply return to our homes. But we also know that to kill us all would be a great hindrance to the plans to which we were destined to labour towards.’