by Geltab
The Red Horde: Story I
By
Geltab
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
The Red Horde
Copyright © 2011 by Geltab
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The Red Horde: Story I
The rumbling of the ox cart was amplified by the squealing of an axle every time there was even a slight bump in the road. The mood among the companions had soured by this time, weeks into the trek north. Verg lay on the foodstuffs hoping to get some sleep but a bolt from an ale barrel kept sticking his ribs. This part of the country was thick with forest and thin with people, just the way they wanted. Their only communication was now through carrier pigeon, receiving a message Verg read the last attack on Vir Durbel had crushed what remained of the town and any resistance. Vir Durbel had stood as one of the major cities within the empire of Lural for twelve hundred years. Serving as a hub of trade, specializing in fine wines and other luxury goods for the elite, the city also produced many artists and craftsman over the centuries. When the attacks began on empire cities, they were first dismissed as minor inconveniences, until cities began to fall no one paid attention to the “Red Horde” as they were called among Luralians. By the time news reached Vir Durbel that the red horde was marching on it, to anyone with sense it was obvious any defense would only be a short delay of the inevitable. Verg began making plans to leave, escaping with as much food and as many coins as could be carried, either owned or stolen.
Verg wanted to keep the operation small to leave as quickly as possible. Having no idea where they would go in the north or what they would do, only knowing the north was the only place with no red horde. Verg had never been past the northern border of the forest of Vadan, no one had. There was no way to tell if anything or anyone lived in the northern lands, besides the fairy tales of monsters for children. Verg had decided to test the northern lands and do what no Luralian had ever done; besides the red horde was taking every town and destroying all they came across. The people were all placed into huge altars dedicated to the God or Gods of the red horde and burnt alive. For some reason, to the red horde it was important the people be burnt alive. No trace of any village or city would remain after the red horde invaded. The only thing remaining where a thriving and populous city had stood was a large black stain upon the earth from their fires. Within months, the vegetation would take over and it would appear there had never been a town or city there to begin with. Verg might be a thief and a liar but he wasn’t stupid, there was no reason to stay and wait to be killed. Every army mustered that had stood against the red horde had been captured and then cannibalized. Apparently only innocents are offered to their Gods through fire, combatants are to be eaten and absorbed into the horde to grow their power. Again, it is important as many are alive as possible during the process. Of course no Luralian knew any of their reasoning or beliefs and when you’re on the receiving end you don’t give a damn anyway, you only want your life.
Gathering his sister Rega and his friend Basner they made plans to steal their parent’s ox cart since it could hold more than the other carts, but they would use stallions instead of oxen, an easy enough switch in the barn. Basner was their closest friend since childhood, son of the town grocer. He agreed to get the key to the food storage from his father’s drawer. They would all meet that night and take as much food as possible before leaving. All three were leaving and performing this thievery with heavy hearts, their parents were part of another generation. With some crazy notion they would rather stay and die than flee to some unknown northern land. Verg, Rega and Basner left before first light after gathering as much food and coin as possible, everything actually went a lot smoother than Verg had anticipated. Everyone else appeared to have their own concerns with the imminent red horde invasion and the actions of three young people driving a cart drew no attention. They left the morning before the first attack, they told no one, not even their parents of their plans. Their relatives had long lives of experience and had known the three wanted to flee from the city. It was all they ever talked and fought about these days. The three had decided they couldn’t waste their lives in some meaningless, futile defense. They wanted to live! There had to be a place in this world where that was still possible without fear of the red horde. The only hasty plans made to keep up on any news were ones Basner arranged. An elderly family friend was told by Basner he would be going on a long trip. This elderly friend, Jansev, kept carrier pigeons and served as the town’s newsman. Basner asked Jansev to keep him abreast of any news with his pigeons while he was abroad. They had to take a pigeon with them on the ox cart, for some reason Jansev’s pigeons could always find another one of his pigeons so long as one was in your possession. They were trained very well by the old man, Jansev had no sons and it appeared his pigeon training secrets would die when he did. Proceeding out of Vir Durbel as fast as the fresh stallions from their parent’s barn could carry them they left as the sun rose on the distant glimmering red armor of the incoming horde. Verg could only stare, “they look like a storm of blood,” Rega said as they wheeled out of distance. Basner wept openly, Verg and Rega looked at each other feeling the same way. Right away the squealing of the axle began from the weight loaded into the ox cart.
The days passed, slowly turning into dreary weeks. Every few days a pigeon would arrive bearing successively worse news. The last one that arrived that dreadful morning read, “Last message, Vir Durbel overrun, Red Horde gathering all for burning. Goodbye Basner, Love Jansev.” Their ignorant, stubborn last stand had ended as Verg had known it would from the beginning. It not only cost the lives of Verg, Rega and Basner’s parents, but now all of Vir Durbel. Vir Durbel was basically the last city left standing in the extremely fast onslaught of the red horde. Beautiful Vir Durbel, with its soft breeze and chirping birds, laughing children and happy animals, green trees and fragrant flowers, all gone, the empire was crushed now, finished. Verg wanted to cry but the anger; he just couldn’t with the fire of the anger inside him. There was nothing left to do for them but keep pushing north into the unknown. After a solid week of traveling they stopped seeing any remaining small villages or farmsteads no matter how remote. They passed right through the forest of Vadan, past the famous exploration marker of the empire. Where none in the world had ever gone beyond, other than a few playful steps among drunken friends, they passed that days ago and nothing felt any different to them. Verg began to make up his mind that manmade lines and borders with their various names and appearances make little difference, when you’re being slaughtered equally.
Traveling this far, there was still a gravel road smooth enough for the ox cart. They knew then there must be other people living in the north, or there had been and their people had lost their memory of the past. Coming to what they thought to be the very northern border of the forest of Vadan, the ancient trees gave way to a large clearing, perhaps five hundred yards across. On the other side of the clearing it appeared the forest continued and seemed to stret
ch on endlessly. They moved out into the clearing and decided to make camp for the night. Hitching the ox cart to a tree, the three built a fire out of brush and prepared a dinner of rabbit and tomatoes with crusty bread. They talked as the rabbit sizzled.
“I don’t see anything different or strange about these northern lands.” Rega spoke as she sliced a tomato.
“I’ve heard only natural sounds and seen familiar creatures as well,” answered Basner as he chewed on a piece of bread.
“Makes you